Dear Diary, I used to think that I didn’t have queer representation growing up. But when I really sift through my memories, I realize I did, in fact, have queer representation. There was David, my mom’s hairdresser. Handsome and flamboyant and charming, I was obsessed with him. I accompanied my mom to all her hair appointments just so I could watch him in action, to hear the femininity in his voice, to emulate his graceful movements.