In the early 2000s, some of the best WNBA basketball in the nation was played in my backyard of San Antonio, Texas—or not too far away. My peers and I had the Houston Comets, the Dallas Wings, and the San Antonio Stars as powerful examples of athleticism, teamwork, and women breaking barriers. But within 15 years, the Comets would fold, and the Stars would relocate to Las Vegas.
Years later, I found myself in my Harlem apartment reaching for my Carhartt basketball and heading to a New York City Pride League event, which would later turn into an opportunity to attend a New York Liberty Game—my first WNBA game since high school.
As I looked around Barclays, I saw how many other queer basketball fans there were, and quickly realized the importance of this space for my community to collectively dream. It was like witnessing hope become a renewable resource for us. And in a time where hope feels more nostalgic than guaranteed, it dawned on me that this cultivation could be happening across the league, and therefore across the nation.
So, I planned to attend the 40 regular season New York Liberty games as a way to visit all 12 WNBA stadiums, inviting friends to sit alongside me and witness a group of people committed to the idea of liberty prevailing in this country. Because in an age of disconnection, apathy, and nihilism, I think one of the most powerful things you can do is be a fan; to make a conscious choice to show up consistently as your full self, with the opportunity to witness history taking place before your very eyes.
For me, being a part of this fandom meant documenting the people who make up the community surrounding women’s basketball, and what they are wearing. After talking with hundreds of New York Liberty and WNBA fans from New York to L.A., and various cities in between, I plan to make a photo book. But until the championship dust settles, here are some of my favorite pictures.
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