Protect The Dolls

A white t-shirt codes resistance, signals identity, and reflects the shifting politics stitched into what we choose to wear.

Alex Consani and Troye Sivan at Coachella, available via Vogue © All rights belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Loud music. Big rooms. Sweat, laughter, and layers of makeup. Hair. So much hair. Long nails, voguing, praise, colors, textures.  Wait, can we add a little more hair? And of course: the dolls. That's the ballroom.

Ballroom culture is one of the most vibrant legacies of queer resistance. Born underground due to homophobia and systematic exclusion, it was also a space where LGBTQ+ people, especially Black and Latinx youth, could express themselves and find refuge. Pageant competitions, runway walks, vogue battles, and, of course: serve fashion and beauty. That alone was a form of protest and resistance, one that still echoes today.

Although we no longer have the police raiding queer bars (or do we?), it has been harder and harder to express our differences in broad daylight. Recently, the U.K Supreme Court has stated that the legal definition of a woman is based on biological sex, and Trump policies in the U.S. have declared that passports sex markers have to match one's biological sex at birth. Are we being forced to come back to the shadows?

These attacks aren’t new, queer bodies have long been treated as battlefields. But we’ve always found ways to reclaim space, and fashion has remained one of our most powerful tools for affirming identity and refusing silence. Recently, a simple white tee resparked the debate on fashion’s role in politics. What started as a “we <3 the dolls” t-shirt idea evolved to “protect the dolls” as an urgent call to action on the worldwide regression of trans people’s rights.

Can we take a minute to talk about the dolls? “Doll” is a slang in LGBTQ+ vocabulary used to compliment or refer to hyper-feminine trans women. It’s not strict, and it’s not a term accepted by everybody, but it’s the word chosen by the designer Conner Ives to make a statement for the trans community. As Conner Ives put it in an interview with Vogue, “Fashion in the 21st century has to be reactive... You need to find a way of being able to do that.” His “Protect the Dolls” t-shirt is a direct response to that urge, turning a fashion item into a platform for change and visibility.

The message wasn’t confined to the design,  it traveled further, through who wore it and where. The t-shirt costs £75 and the amount is fully reverted to Trans Lifeline, an organization that helps trans people in crisis providing both emotional and financial support. It made it to the Coachella stage with Troye Sivan performing in Charli XCX’s concert and was also a red-carpet statement with Pedro Pascal, who has a trans sister, at the premiere of the new Marvel movie Thunderbolts. Other celebrities such as Addison Rae, Tilda Swinton, Lisa Rinna, Haider Ackermann and Charli XCX also wore the protest t-shirt. These pop culture moments are striking, but they also suggest a deeper question: when does fashion activism go beyond aesthetics? 

It’s easy to dismiss these gestures, but there’s a deeper pattern worth examining. Fashion, often labeled as frivolous, has always had the power to protest. A simple piece of clothing might be an armor, a banner and even a megaphone. “Protect the Dolls” reminds us of that. Just as Dior did when it released its “We Should All Be Feminists” tee. That time, however, only part of the cost of £690.00 was reverted to an NGO, Clara Lionel Foundation (CLF), founded by Rihanna.

This tension between performative and purposeful is where things get complicated.This raises the question about how fashion engages with activism: performatively, or meaningfully? Designers know how all eyes are on them during Fashion Week season and how influential political statements on the runway can be. This is where we can draw the line between actively doing something and surfing on a “woke wave.” 

But still, using our body as a political billboard has its effect. Consider Lewis Hamilton, Formula 1 pilot, wearing a tee demanding justice with the message “Arrest the cops who killed Breonna Taylor.” Going further, it’s impossible not to mention Kerby Jean-Raymond’s collection for the Pyer Moss label in 2015. At the New York Fashion Week, the designer played Eric Garner’s police violence video during his runway show. To look away was not a choice. And perhaps that’s what fashion can still do at its boldest: demand visibility. From state violence to gender oppression, the same system policies our bodies differently. But the resistance is connected.

But the power of fashion doesn’t stop at symbolism or spectacle. It also tracks the undercurrents of our society, from injustice to economic shifts. Take the skirt theory, for example: according to the Hemline Index, when the economy is not good, the length of skirts tends to shorten. When it's good, it lengthens. Even the length of your skirt has a political message behind it.

Haven’t we reached the point where everyone knows that everything is political? The fashion choices we make could not be different. Upcycling and thrifting are ways of saying we care about the planet, choosing brands that have ethical processes, too. It goes as far as producing bigger sizes and hiring diverse people in all sectors. How are your fashion choices reflecting your political beliefs?

So when a white t-shirt tells us to protect the dolls, it’s not just a plea. The backlash is loud, but we’ve always known how to answer. We’ve always known how to turn survival into spectacle. Queer bodies unfortunately remain modern battlegrounds, and now the persecution is focused on the trans community. It’s time to show how our bodies can be political weapons for change and fight back, too. There is still time to protect the dolls. All of them.

Isabella von Haydin

Isabella von Haydin is a Brazilian journalist and writer based in London. Instagram dumps, pottery, surf and literature lover, she is currently in her final stage of her Master of Arts at Royal Holloway, University of London.

Previous
Previous

Secretary (2002) in 2025

Next
Next

Incredibly, Stupidly Sensitive