by Jazmín Ruiz Diaz Figueredo and Kira Xonorika

Versión en castellano aquí

Jazmín Ruiz Díaz Figueredo is a journalist, writer and PhD researcher in the Department of Culture, Media & Creative Industries at King’s College London. Her doctoral thesis explores co-creation between artisans and fashion designers in the Global South. Her work lies at the intersection of critical fashion studies and decolonial perspectives on culture. Her arts-based research project Kuña Jesareko: The Paraguayan female gaze in times of selfies was published as a chapter in the book Amalgama: Women, Identity & Diaspora (2019).

Kira Xonorika is an interdisciplinary artist, researcher, and writer. Her work is based on the complexities of colonial powers, pathologization, trans and cuir temporalities, knowledge production from the Global South, Internet aesthetics and AI. She is an academic at the Universidad Nacional de Asunción, a former fellow of Outright's Beijing +25 Program and a speaker at the UN's Equality Generation Forum, Hague Talks. Her writing has been featured in GenderIT, e-flux, Tonantzin, and the University of Cambridge.

Disobedient Bodies, Radical Expressions

Paraguayan writer Augusto Roa Bastos has referred to Paraguay as “an island surrounded by land” to express the country’s geographical and cultural isolation — an isolation perpetuated by a political structure of historical bipartisanship that refuses to disappear and that has closed the possibility of implementing the necessary institutional reforms to confront inequality and combat political corruption. [1] In this sense, attempting to produce theoretical knowledge from and about Paraguay is arguably framed by a double subalternity: not only in relation to the Global North, but also within the region. It is a problem that is related to the lack of data, records, and access to resources. In this political context, the official discourse is openly anti-gender, which is the reason talking about dressing practices of subalternized groups becomes a challenge. [2] Not only because of the lack of historical records and academic sources dedicated to gendered dress practices in the country, but because of what it means to make situated dress practices visible in the field of representation politics. As researchers, this implies addressing the topic in all its complexity, as it takes place in a historically hierarchical and Eurocentric ecosystem of knowledge production and distribution.

On this basis, this article is a first exploration of dressing practices that break with the cisheteronormative / binary-gender discourse in Paraguay. The aim is to answer two research questions: How do radical expressions of dress manifest themselves in Paraguay, and how do these expressions respond to an authoritarian nationalist discourse around gender? To this end, we present the analysis of two independent brands based in this country that are openly outside this discourse. The first is Deiv/Bassen, a brand that offers “humanswear,” i.e., gender-neutral clothing. The second is Baby Trauma, the production made by Arian Carrillo between 2020-2021. Although these small brands may not have the financial scope to challenge wider structures, the symbolic contributions of Deiv/Bassen and Baby Trauma make possible “moving the conversation forward for a better representation of queer, trans, and gender non-conforming people.” [3] By bringing to the forefront decolonial perspectives on gender for the analysis, this paper contribution expands the literature in fashion studies. It is also an invitation to further research on the subject highlighting the voices and experiences from people in the Global South.

Coloniality and Gender

For Lugones, biological dysmorphism is the category prioritized by science that establishes, on the basis of intelligibility, the genitalist assignment of two anatomical patterns, in conjunction with the patriarchal and heterosexual organization of social relations. [4] These intelligible genitalia constitute in themselves a category of cisgender thought for the understanding of bodies. Further, Vergueiro argues that cisgenderness represents a framework of epistemic reflection that naturalizes three significant aspects in gender technologies: pre-discursiveness, the gender binary, and gender as something fixed, as categories that operate interdependently in the cisepistemic matrix, understanding it as an unconscious political symptom of coloniality. [5] [6] [7]

Following Vergueiro, the dominant effects of the crystallization of two natural genders, from a cisepistemic perspective, operate in multiple spheres of life: the biomedical, the institutional, the legal, and the religious (from a Eurocentric origin). Therefore, the marginalization, dehumanization and stigmatization of trans corporealities — understood as those that do not follow the colonially installed patterns — is a consequence of the crystallization of genders. 

In tracing the colonial legacies of marginalization, dehumanization, and the construction of antagonizing narratives about those who are interpreted as others, we find strong intertwining with the binary construction and racialization of the non-Western world. According to Godoy, the enslavement of people from Africa and the indoctrination and religious assimilation of bodies identified as “Indians” were also justified by locating them in a place of bestiality, a condition often linked to cannibalism. [8] In the Chronicle of Peru (1553), in an interview with Peruvian philosopher and activist Giuseppe Campuzano, we find accounts in which the Spaniards perceive Indigenous children, ''dressed as women, imitating manners and costumes'' that were punished by the civilizing and demonizing morality of the time. These colonial operations have largely established a necropolitical legacy of precarization of life.

Mbembe describes necropolitics as the ability to define who matters and who does not, who is disposable and who is not. [9] Necropolitics is a pattern of power derived from coloniality, which translates to the total abandonment of vulnerable populations or the right to expose people to social and political death. In other words, necropolitics would thus be a framework that illuminates how governments assign differential value to human life. Necropolitics can facilitate an understanding of the extent of state neglect as it assigns differential value to the lives of racialized and feminized bodies, conditioning a slow death through the effects of systemic neglect.

Thus, the greater the proximity to the dominant powers (installed by colonialism) the greater the value of life. Here, the matrix of colonial assimilation can be cited: the greater the proximity of whiteness, cisgenderness, and heterosexuality, the greater the proximity to bodily morphologies devoid of a history of biomedical pathologization, as central categories of humanization, as glimpsed in previous sections.

Travesti theorist Marlene Wayar argues that there is a genocidal temporality that delimits the possibilities of life for transcorporalities in the context of capitalism. [10] Hence, necropolitics as a force that maintains the social status quo responds to the gearing of the systems of power and domination of capital and constitutes a form of slow violence as it operates from long-term precariousness, thus lodging itself in the systemic gearing of coloniality. With this systematicity, the forces of exposure to violence operate through institutional neglect.

In Aizura's concise assessment of necropolitics, following the political theorist Randy Martin, consolidating politics only around the figure of death reduces the whole range of forms of social contestation over life. [11] With this in mind, the consideration of how time is configured for subalternized corporealities is extended.

Figure 1. Paraguayan women in traditional costume. Photograph by A. M. Friedrich, ca 1950. Taken from Acervo Milda Rivarola

Decolonial Perspectives in Fashion Studies

Fashion is much more than a matter of interest exclusive to the “white, Western, [cis] heterosexual, bourgeois, female consumer,” as Kaiser has pointed out, advocating for a feminist and cultural view of fashion studies, capable of questioning and challenging the oppositional (either/or, binary), linear (heterosexual), and essentialist (predetermined) thinking of Western (colonial) thought. [12] This dualism, which constrains the ways of understanding fashion in a transnational context, also creates arbitrary hierarchies that prioritize the modes of dress of certain geographical regions over others, of one race over another, of one type of gender and sexual identity over others. For Kaiser, power is multidimensional, and fashion should help us to see it in this way. When power is simplified, contradictions and third terms (such as bisexuality or Latina ethnicities) are obscured.   
According to Kaiser, fashion is not an essence but a process of “becoming collectively with others”; a way of materialising bodies through time and space: “the process of deciphering and expressing a sense of who we are,” which happens in synchrony with “expressing and deciphering when and where we are.” [13] We cannot think about fashion without a context and that is why we cannot reduce the system or the history of fashion to a single one. Therefore, recording, signifying, and re-signifying our own histories in order to rewrite them from the Global South is an eminently radical act.

Then, if we focus on the field of fashion studies, we could say that this article aims to contribute to a gap between two fields. On the one hand, we find analyses of dress practices and discourses from a queer, mostly Western, perspective. According to Vänskä, this field of study has been especially prolific in research that puts the practices of marginalized groups at the centre. [14] Vänskä  notes that fashion has been central to contemporary gender and sexuality theory and cites Judith Butler and Jack Halberstam as examples: both Butler and Halberstam have referred to drag queens and drag kings, respectively, “as evidence that gender and sexuality are socially constructed performatives” and that “masculinity and femininity are free-floating signifiers and not natural, given, and immutable traits.” [15] [16] Furthermore, Vänskä highlights the fashion theorist Elizabeth Wilson as a predecessor for queering fashion, in the sense that, from a feminist perspective, Wilson was one of the first to argue that fashion is an “important social technology that represents self and body as culturally produced concepts, and allows non-[cis]heterosexual ways to creatively resist imperative gender norms.” [17]

On the other hand, we draw on research that aims to decolonize fashion studies, or what Jansen has called the “decolonial fashion discourse” as a critical response to how systems of fashioning the body “continue to be included in the global fashion conversation within the modernity/coloniality framework, rather than in their own right.” [18] Thus, a decolonial discourse of fashion will advocate for the recognition of aesthetic and epistemological pluralities in relation to fashion and dress. That is why we understand decoloniality not “as a static condition” or “a lineal point of arrival,” but as “a way of thinking, knowing, being and doing” that contributes to the advancement of radical perspectives that displace “Western rationality as the only framework and possibility of existence, analysis, and thought.” [19]

However, if we think about the intersection of gender and fashion from a decolonial perspective, we find a gap in academic literature that requires further exploration. In this sense, it is also necessary to understand fashion as a living and embodied practice that demands us to think about decolonizing knowledge by looking outside academic frameworks. To illustrate this point, we need to mention the work of non-binary author Alok Vaid-Menon, who uses the form of the essay and social media as the space from which to establish a conversation outside — but in relation to — academia. [20] The work of figures like Vaid-Menon is fundamental, because by drawing upon their own experiences, they show that storytelling about cuir dressing practices can become a way of memory and resistance.

An Approach to Dressing Practices in Paraguayan Culture

Bringing decolonial perspectives to fashion studies can help us understand how this “rapid and continual changing of styles” functions in contexts with other temporalities, but also in the aesthetic discourse of subalternized groups such as the cuir and trans collectivities in South America, or more specifically for the purpose of this article, in Paraguay. [21]

What is the place of clothing in the construction of these cultural imaginaries? To answer this question, we need to understand how this discourse has been developed historically. In this field, historian Milda Rivarola offers one of the few works dedicated to recording the chronicles of dressing practices in Paraguay from a cultural perspective. [22] Her work covers from the records of the adorned bodies of the Tupí-Guaraní Indigenous people — from the colonial gaze of the first Spanish chroniclers — to the beginning of the twentieth century, describing the popular dress of the workers of the Mercado Guazú (’Central Market’ of Asunción, see Figure 1). At the end of the book, the author concludes the following:

Then as now, it is difficult [...] to speak of a single Paraguayan costume. There was and still is a taste of the middle and upper classes, there were and still are popular forms of dress [...] Clothing is today - as it has always been - an indisputable symbol of ethnic and social identification. [23]

Rivarola's work allows us to approach a discourse of class and race that is inscribed through dressing practices. For example, the author described the process of crystallization undergone by ways of dressing that began in the popular section but are now presented as the Paraguayan national costume, while the elites distinguished themselves as ‘modern’ by incorporating styles imported from European fashion. She also highlights distinctions in the way Paraguayan “men” and “women” dressed at different times but says little or nothing about dressing practices that have been subversive to the binary codes of gender.

Hence, in order to understand how we will analyze the discourse of the two case studies we propose in this article, we first need to situate the context, framed by three characteristics: a) the historical/nationalist construction of the discourse around cisgender masculinity and femininity in Paraguay; b) the impact of neoliberalism; and, c) the advance of anti-gender policies in the region.

From there on, we will argue that both Deiv/Bassen — with a proposal of tailoring and design that breaks with the gender binary — and Baby Trauma — and its proposal of jewellery as an extension of the body — are radical projects that confront a dominant cisheteronormative discourse. As such, they can open a pathway towards the project of decolonizing fashion discourses from Paraguay, even when the influences are marked by a history of European fashion. We understand as valid expressions not only the cultural forms generated within these subaltern groups but those that “coming from other cultural sectors, are incorporated, assumed as their own and considered apt to express the identity of that group and act on its history.” [24]

Figure 2.
Children in military uniform, in front of the bust of Mcal. López, in the Governmental Palace. Album of the death of General José Félix Estigarribia, 1940. Taken from Acervo Milda Rivarola

“In tracing the colonial legacies of marginalization, dehumanization, and the construction of antagonizing narratives about those who are interpreted as others, we find strong intertwining with the binary construction and racialization of the non-Western world.”

Masculinity and Cisgender Femininity in Historical Discourse

The imaginaries of cisgender masculinity and femininity in Paraguay have been constructed from a historical discourse linked to nationalism, as stated by Duarte-Sckell and Potthast. [25] [26] For Duarte-Sckell, masculinity is linked to authoritarianism and militarism; therefore, it is a masculinity that must be understood as propelled by the state. According to the author, as soon as the military subject is established as the main political actor, this linkage leads to arbitrary ways of exercising power. Likewise, the extension of nationalist discourse has determined the representation of other non-masculine subjects from the perspective of war; that is, women and children as well as Indigenous and Afro-descendant populations.

Analyzing the attention that has been paid to the role of women in the historical development of the country (at least in the general consciousness and the official presentation of national history), Potthast highlights the particular discourse that has been created about Paraguay as a “country of women,” as a myth that has been perpetuated based on the leading role that women have played in national reconstruction after the War against the Triple Alliance (1864-1870). [27] During the war, women ensured not only food and supplies, but towards the end of the conflict, they also took up arms. The fact that only 250,000 Paraguayans survived, of which a tenth were identified as men and the rest as women and children, would have marked Paraguayan society, which among other things is manifested in the fact that women — urged by necessity — would have almost single-handedly rebuilt the country and, to this day, continue to do most of the work (both parenting and economic support). Hence, Potthast argues that the myth of Paraguay as a “country of women” does not relate to an interest in women themselves (as the lack of gender-equality policies demonstrates), but it is rather a “highly ideological discussion, aimed above all at strengthening Paraguayan nationalism.” [28]


Rojas Villagra traces the genealogy of the contemporary Paraguayan economy. In his research, he finds that there is a link to the period after the Great War of 1870 in its detachment from local interests of autonomous development. [29] Rojas Villagra argues that it is nevertheless informed by the capital accumulation needs of international influences and their processes of development.

Neoliberalism in Paraguay, as in the rest of Latin America, developed after the regional anti-communist dictatorships and in synchronization with the disintegration of the Soviet Union. From a linear epistemology of time, Rojas Villagra describes this process as ''disorderly'' and ''discontinuous'' in relation to the industrial developments that were being facilitated in the Global North. [30]

Neoliberalism in Paraguay has advanced and amplified the effects of pre-existing poverty. Free market extractive economies have advanced in the constitution of markets such as agro-exports, subjugating territories belonging to rural populations. Rojas Villagra indicates that this process is accompanied by the rise of a political class with a greater business bias and the influence of transnational capital.

Anti-Gender Policies

In Paraguay, the political classes that concentrate monolithic access to resources are those empowered by extreme right-wing values, which embody the colonial preservation values of ''biological inheritance'' of whiteness. This is associated with moral values that pathologize bodily expressions of gender and sexuality: bodies that do not conform to these hierarchies of humanization have often been excluded from access to education, health, and financial wellbeing.

According to the Global Trans Rights Barometer (2022), the level of acceptance of transgender people in Paraguay is only 35%. This is why this territory of the Global South is qualified as ''persecutory'' in terms of human rights. Furthermore, the last five years have seen the advance of anti-gender movements: interregional articulations that seek the preservation of the cisheterosexual nuclear family, discursively operationalized by the Christian orders of the region. [31]

Moreover, while the representation of trans people in media and visual arts has previously been marked by expropriating narratives, archetypes between exoticization, caricaturization, fascination, and disgust, trans influencers have recently started to gain voice and momentum on social media, thus finding capitalization in the beauty and entertainment markets.

Figure 3.
The Deiv/Bassen power suit consists of a two-piece 100% cotton ao po'i jacket, which can be worn as a waistcoat by removing the top bolero. In the image on the left, the jacket is complemented with a pair of ao po'i trousers. Photograph courtesy by Sandra Gonzalez,  Deiv/Bassen.

Deiv/Bassen: Deconstructing the Power Suit

The power suit is the most representative garment of power dressing, a style that emerged in the 1980s and had a significant impact on the Western fashion discourse. Entwistle argues that this discourse on professional women's dress marks the emergence of a new “technology of the self,” a self that proves to be ambitious, autonomous, and entrepreneurial by taking responsibility for managing her appearance. [32] This discourse, however, was far from speaking to “all” women. It was not addressed to the cleaning lady or the factory worker but to a new generation of working women that emerged in the 1970s: the university-educated, middle-class professional woman entering career structures that were previously exclusive to men. [33]

For Deiv/Bassen, the brand launched by the fashion designer Sandra González in 2020 — early in the pandemic — tailoring plays a fundamental role. With a predominantly monochromatic palette, where black and white are the protagonists, the brand resignifies the power suit in a context of late, disordered, and discontinuous neoliberalism. But it is not targeted to the cis, white, middle-class, Western woman who was the protagonist of the discourse of the power dress from the eighties.

The ways in which the power suit is deconstructed and reinvented by Deiv/Bassen can be read at different levels. First, at a material level, by the selection of textiles: the designer uses ao po’i, which is a traditional textile of Paraguay. In Guarani, ao po’i means “thin thread,” which translates to how light and fresh the clothes made of this fabric are, making them suitable for the high temperatures of this region. According to Gonzalez, the decision to use local resources also reflects a commitment to sustainable practices. Second, at the level of how the suit is constructed: for the size chart of the brand, Gonzalez followed international guidelines, which are standardized for “men” and “women,” and broke with this binary distinction by finding one middle between the two, while making the chart broad enough to include a wide range. Third, at the level of design, the silhouette of the suit has been created to cover the body without emphasizing any features. This ambiguity of the shape works as a white canvas for the body. The fourth level is representation. There is a clear intention of disruption delineated by the visual communication of the brand. This can be seen from the selection of the models (see: Figure 3) to the styling, for which Gonzalez works with the fashion stylist Matias Irala: “We want to create images that make the audience feel uncomfortable, but we want to do it with beautiful compositions that catches the eye.” [34]

Unlike other proposals in the local market, Deiv/Bassen seeks to question the pre-established concepts of gender. To do so, González nourishes her practice as a designer with research from authors such as Paoletti , who reflects on children's clothing in the United States throughout history and demonstrates how certain customs that are common practice today — such as highlighting the baby's gender — would have been scandalous at the end of the nineteenth century: [35]

Paoletti highlights the extent to which what leads us to classify a garment as masculine or feminine is determined in the details. I now seek to translate this analytical [Western] perspective to frame it in a local [non-Western] context such as Paraguay and Latin America, since I find that the concept of gender that we handle is rather alien to the ancestral cultures that are also part of our [cultural] DNA. [36]

González presents her brand as “humanswear,” while the designs and visual proposal invite us to break with gender dichotomies. Under the slogan “We are coexistence,” the designer insists that issues such as gender cannot remain in the binary spectrum. In this sense, Deiv/Bassen's vision mirrors that of Montecino, who argues that we cannot reduce gender identity to a single variable because of the constant interplay of relationships and interactions between subjects, which is tinged by history and generational transmission. [37]

When one studies fashion design or dressmaking, we are automatically led to think of “menswear” or “womenswear” by assigning “basic garments” for each biological body type in order to learn how to construct these clothes. At this stage of the brand, I think it is important to think about the construction of each design under other parameters to really create from outside the gender binary. [38] 

In the Deiv/Bassen power suit, the ao po'i — a traditional Paraguayan textile — is redefined with a futuristic look. The shapes are clearly influenced by the deconstructivism of 1980s fashion, a movement led by designers such as Rei Kawakubo (Comme des Garçons), Yohji Yamamoto, Helmut Lang, Jil Sander, Ann Demeulemeester, and Martin Margiela.

This group of designers proposed a style that contradicted the style of glamour and waste popularized in the 1980s, as well as the image of the ultra-feminine and perfect woman. In return, they “challenged the fashion system by questioning tenets of beauty and luxury and reinventing the traditional rules of tailoring and silhouette.” [39]

Just as Margiela “produced garments that look unfinished that seem to follow a different pathology,” and opted for garments sewn inside out, frayed, tattered, and with missing sleeves, Deiv/Bassen's power suit provokes from its materiality. Something as subtle as unifying the size chart or creating a suit that wraps the body without emphasizing any features, acquires a new meaning with visual communication that plays with non-binary imaginations. [40] In a context where anti-gender movements are raising and supported by the right wing in power, these become garments that discomfort the cis/heteropatriarchal gaze and, in that sense, challenge the imaginaries of traditional femininities and authoritarian masculinities inherent to the national discourse.

Figure 4.
Protective mask with metal assembly and stone inlay. From the Instagram of bby.tr4uma.

“[The] dualism, which constrains the ways of understanding fashion in a transnational context, also creates arbitrary hierarchies that prioritize the modes of dress of certain geographical regions over others, of one race over another, of one type of gender and sexual identity over others.”

Baby Trauma: Jewelry as an Extension of the Body

Baby Trauma began as a collaborative creative venture, founded by trans Paraguayan artists Pasión González, Anin Nihil and André Kanonnikoff, who were later joined by Arian Carrillo, a trans man. Our writing will be focused on the production made by Arian Carrillo between 2020 and 2021. According to Carrillo, Baby Trauma emerged as a proposal focused on establishing sublimation mechanisms through the practices of decorating the body, trauma, and the wound in common; trauma at the community level, articulated at the intersection of transness, a trauma informed by a context of medical pathologization, religious demonization, and legal isolation that contextualise the conditions of existence of trans people in the region. [41] Therefore, trauma is externalized in a second skin, what Huxtable would describe as clothing as an extension of the flesh. [42]

For trauma theorist Cathy Caruth, the open fracture challenges a “new way of hearing the testimony, precisely, of impossibility.” [43] The jewelry is mainly composed of aesthetic patterns of chrome-plated assemblage: chains, aluminium openers, padlocks, and keys. According to Arian Carrillo, when he began to create the work, the pieces were initially made from found objects; later, when they began to market on a larger scale, they found the assemblage pieces in mass markets in Asunción.

Figure 5.
Metal rings and chains. Photograph courtesy by Arian Carrillo.

The operations of Baby Trauma are mobilized in a territory that proposes rethinking the skeleton of trauma. As the “Spine” corset (Shaun Leane for Alexander McQueen, Spring/Summer 1998) once did, the work exposes internal architectures while articulating a metaphor about the hybridity of a non-human and animal body (in a splitting of the colonial key), it is a layered metaphor: a body composed of industrial elements such as aluminium and metal, built on the inventions of the pharmacological industry, reflecting on the molecular impact on collective corporeality and inter-identitarian trauma.

The aesthetic production developed in Baby Trauma's jewelry constitutes a semiotic operation that reflects a detachment from the flesh. The jewelry is a new skeleton, a configuration of movable parts, which enunciates an embodied futurity. As Haraway would have described it in the Cyborg Manifesto, the apparent limitations between human flesh, animal flesh, and cybernetic machines are blurred. [44]

In parallel, the jewelry establishes a dialogue on non-heteronormative sexuality, in codification of a cuir order. The chains and the synthetic use of forms allude to the architectures of the erotic and BDSM practices. Following DeClue, the fields of sexuality and sexual practices, when embraced as spaces of possibility and exploration, become the realm through which pain, pleasure, grief, ecstasy, abandonment, and reunion come together to produce new ways of seeing, being, and being seen. [45]

The cuir codifications of Baby Trauma function as an instrument of recognition of subjective complexities in interrelation with sexuality beyond anatomical walls and ways of decorating the body. Baby Trauma explores the beauty of monstrosity, of overflowing bodies and their prosthetic morphologies, of bodies that flee the mandate of cisheterocoloniality and its automation.


Paraguay's aesthetic production is informed by an ecosystem enveloped in colonially established gender politics, authoritarianism, the polarizing gender binary, and the access granted by class differentiation. Consequently, these norms produce intelligible subjects and corporealities according to the historical adaptation of hegemonic aesthetic codes. The practices of Baby Trauma and Deiv/Bassen destabilize these cultural norms, reimagining the body and its extensions. De-gendered fashion proposes another functional value, a gaze that does not adhere to everyday taxonomizations, but rather responds to community needs and agency in the economic sphere.

On the one hand, Deiv/Bassen articulates critical reflections on power in a neoliberal temporality and its territorialized intergenerational continuity, in the uniforms worn to signify upward social mobility in the last century. The power suit is redefined, fragmented, superimposed. On the other hand, Baby Trauma proposes a proto-morphological rearticulation from ornamentation, in conjunction with a cyborgian subtropicality, the memory of pain transmuted into the memory of creation. Both fashion proposals reject the behavioral and valorizing assignment of the gender binary, celebrating the existence and resistance of critical bodies that affirm their agency from their externalized skin.

Although the resolutions and renegotiations are articulated in the symbolic realm, this is not a minor fact: art and fashion communicate infrastructural events that operate through collective agents. Paraguay is going through a process of tectonic mobilizations in public policy and, in parallel, the prominence of new markets.

Notes: Clothing and Adornment as Resistance

[1] Augusto Roa Bastos. “Paraguay, una isla rodeada de tierra” in El Correo de la UNESCO: Una ventana abierta sobre el mundo 34, no. 5/6 (1986): 30.

[2]Clyde Soto and Lilian Soto. Políticas Antigénero en América Latina: Paraguay (Brasil: ABIA – Asociación Brasileña Interdisciplinaria de SIDA, 2020).

[3] Verónica Llamas. “Between transgression and tokenism: The simultaneous inclusion and exclusion of trans and gender non-conforming bodies” in Fashion, Style & Popular Culture (2022): 17. 

[4] María Lugones. “Colonialidad y Género” in Tabula Rasa, no.9 (2008).

[5] Viviane Vergueiro. Por inflexões decoloniais de corpos e identidades de gênero inconformes: uma análise autoetnográfica da cisgeneridade como normatividade (Salvador de Bahia: Universidade Federal da Bahia, 2015): 61.

[6] Kira Xonorika. The Colonial Matrix of Subjectivation, Worldviews: Latin American Art and The Decolonial Turn (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2021).

[7] Anibal Quijano defines coloniality as a temporality that is adjacent to processes of colonialism. It becomes capitalism, framed by territorial and racial hierarchies.

[8] Francisco Godoy Vega. “El capítulo de la imposición subjetiva de la supremacía blanca” In El agua que hace dulce al plátano (Madrid: Matadero, 2021).

[9] Achille Mbembe and Libby Meintjes. “Necropolitics.” in Public Culture 15, no. 1 (2003): 11-40.

[10] Marlene Wayar. Marlene Wayar: El Estado y las sociedades son altamente exitosas en el exterminio de la comunidad (Argentina: Grupo la Provincia, 2021).

[11] Aren Aizura. “Trans Feminine Value, Racialized Others and the Limits of Necropolitics” in  Queer Necropolitics. Edited by Jin Haritaworn, Adi Kuntsman and Silvia Posocco (New York: Routledge, 2014): 132.

[12] Susan Kaiser. Fashion and Cultural Studies (London: Bloomsbury, 2012): 18.

[13] Susan Kaiser: 13.

[14] Annamari Vänskä. “From Gay to Queer—Or, Wasn't Fashion Always Already a Very Queer Thing?” in Fashion Theory 18, no. 4 (2014): 447-463.

[15] Judith Butler. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (New York and London: Routledge, 1990).

[16] Jack Halberstam. Female Masculinity (Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press, 1998).

[17] Elizabeth Wilson. Adorned in Dreams: Fashion and Modernity (London and New York: I.B. Tauris, 2003).

[18] Maria Angela Jansen. “Fashion and the Phantasmagoria of Modernity: An Introduction to Decolonial Fashion Discourse” in Fashion Theory 24, no. 6 (2020): 815-836.

[19] Catherine Walsh. On Decoloniality. Edited by Walter Mignolo and Elizabeth Walsh (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2018): 17.

[20] Alok Vaid-Menon. Beyond the Gender Binary (Nueva York: Penguin Random House, 2020).

[21] Elizabeth Wilson: 3.

[22] Milda Rivarola. Desde el Typoi: Crónicas del Vestir Paraguayo (Asunción: Fundación Migliorisi, 2012).

[23] Milda Rivarola: 53.

[24] Ticio Escobar. El Mito del Arte y el Mito del Pueblo: Cuestiones Sobre Arte Popular (Asunción: Museo del Barro, 1986): 90-91.

[25] Jazmín Duarte-Sckell. “Elementos para comprender la construcción de la masculinidad militar paraguaya en el siglo XX” in Historia y Sociedad 41 (2021): 143-166.

[26] Barbara Potthast. ¿”Paraíso de Mahoma” o “País de las Mujeres”? (Asunción: Fausto Ediciones, 2011).

[27] The war between Paraguay and the Triple Alliance, a coalition formed by Argentina, Brazil, and Uruguay,  is called the War against the Triple Alliance — also known as the War of the 70s, the Guerra Guasú (”Great War” in Guaraní) and the Guerra do Paraguai in Portuguese. The war began in 1864 and ended in 1870 with Paraguay's defeat.

[28] Barbara Potthast: 2.

[29] Luis Rojas Villagra. La Economía Paraguaya Bajo el Orden Neoliberal. Edited by Luis Rojas Villaggra (Asunción: Base Investigaciones Sociales, 2011): 13-48. 

[30] Luis Rojas Villagra: 14.

[31] Mirtha Moragas. Puto El Que Lee #44: Visibilizar la historia con Michi Moragas (Asunción: Puto El Que Lee, 2020).

[32] Joanne Entwistle. “Power Dressing’ and the Construction of the Career Woman” in Fashion Theory: A Reader, 2nd ed. Edited by Barnard Malcolm (Milton: Taylor & Francis, 2020): 297-306.

[33] Joanne Entwistle: 288.

[34] Sandra González, interview via email, 19 March 2022.

[35] Jo B. Paoletti. Pink and Blue: Telling the Boys from the Girls in America (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2012).

[36] Sandra González, interview via email, 19 March 2022.

[37] Sonia Montecino. “Identidades de Género en América Latina: Mestizajes, Sacrificios, y Simultaneidades” in Debate Feminista 14, (october, 1996): 187-200.

[38] Sandra González, interview via email, 19 March 2022.

[39] Adam Geczy and Vicky Karaminas. “Time, Cruelty and Destruction in Deconstructivist Fashion: Kawakubo, Margiela and Vetements” in ZoneModa Journal 10, no. 1 (2020): 65-77.

[40] Adam Geczy and Vicky Karaminas: 66.

[41] Arian Carrillo, interview via email, March 2022.

[42] Juliana Huxtable. Mucus in my Pineal Gland (Pittsburgh: Capricious LLC, 2017).

[43] Cathy Caruth. Trauma: Explorations in Memory. Edited by Cathy Caruth (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995): 10.

[44] Donna Haraway. Manyfestly Haraway (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2016).

[45] Jennifer DeClue. “Let's Play: Exploring Cinematic Black Lesbian Fantasy, Pleasure, and Pain” in No Tea, No Shade: New Writings in Black Queer Studies. Edited by E. Patrick Johnson (Durham: Duke University Press, 2016): 216-238.

Issue 13 ︎︎︎ Fashion & Politics
Issue 12 ︎︎︎ Border Garments: Fashion, Feminisms, & Disobedience

Issue 11 ︎︎︎ Fashion & Digital Engagement
Issue 10 ︎︎︎ Fashion & Partnership

Issue 9 ︎︎︎ Fall 2021

Issue 8 ︎︎︎ Fashion & Mental Health

Issue 7 ︎︎︎ Fashion & Motherhood

Issue 6 ︎︎︎ Fall 2020

Issue 5 ︎︎︎ The Industry

Issue 4 ︎︎︎ Summer 2017

Issue 3 ︎︎︎ Spring 2017

Issue 2 ︎︎︎ Winter 2016

Issue 1 ︎︎︎ Fall 2016

Issue 13 ︎︎︎ Fashion & Politics

Issue 11 ︎︎︎ Fashion & Digital Engagement

Issue 10 ︎︎︎ Fashion & Partnership

Issue 9 ︎︎︎ Fall 2021

Issue 8 ︎︎︎ Fashion & Mental Health

Issue 7 ︎︎︎ Fashion & Motherhood

Issue 6 ︎︎︎ Fall 2020

Issue 5 ︎︎︎ The Industry

Issue 4 ︎︎︎ Summer 2017

Issue 3 ︎︎︎ Spring 2017

Issue 2 ︎︎︎ Winter 2016

Issue 1 ︎︎︎ Fall 2016