Digital & Print Membership
Yearly + Receive 8 free printed back issues
$420 Annually
Monthly + Receive 3 free printed back issues
$40 Monthly
The State Cannot Hold this Kind of Love
Love takes many forms: grief, resistance, rage, intimacy, pleasure. Far beyond what we’re conditioned to chase after—the illusion of false realities and perfect utopias.
There are many kinds of love the state cannot legitimize, let alone protect. The love preserved in the prayers of our ancestors. The love held in how we care for and protect the earth. The love carried in queer entanglements. The love found in the dreams of our future kin.
This is a meditation on that kind of love. The kind of love the state was never meant to hold and the kind we must refuse to let it steal from us.
Love, to me, has always been known by many names: ishq (عشق), muhabbat (محبت), pyaar (پیار), junoon (جنون), wafaa (وفاء). There is no singular expression of love. Love continues to exist in the most precarious of conditions: across borders and checkpoints, in bodies marked as deviant, under exile and occupation.
Much like mycelia, love is fugitive and relational; it spreads beneath the surface, weaving together networks of care and resistance. It knows how to survive in places where it was never meant to bloom, how to tend to wounds and transform them into dwellings. Thus, survival in itself is a prophecy, longing to be heard and witnessed.
I come from a tapestry of cultures that embody and practice love as an act of rebellion, that understand loving ourselves requires us to love the earth because all bodies of nature are interconnected. This is how love becomes contagious.
What if love is not a destination to arrive at, but an emergent state—something that unfolds and shapeshifts? What if love is a practice of be(com)ing kin?
To practice love in this way is a form of anarchy because it threatens the very foundations of empire built on stealing our dignity and right to love. It is a refusal of the dominant social order imposed by binaries and borders. To love in this way that the state cannot control or regulate is to resist; it is an act of insurgency.
The Mary Nardini Gang (A Gang of Criminal Queers) capture the essence of what it means to love as opposition to the state’s death-making infrastructure: “We queers and other insurgents have developed what good folks might call a criminal intimacy. We are exploring the material and affective solidarity fostered between outlaws and rebels. In our obstruction of law, we’ve illegally discovered the beauty in one another. In revealing our desire to our partners in crime, we’ve come to know each other more intimately than legality could ever allow.”
To love fugitively is not to run away but to move toward something freer than we can imagine. In a world that has taught us that not all bodies are worthy enough to be loved, we must reclaim our capacity to love, unapologetically and without fear.
When we choose to love fiercely, we are not just surviving empire. We are actively building what comes after its demise, what will grow in the aftermath of violence. Indeed, love is a form of worldmaking.
It is how we imagine and practice the otherwise. Every time we choose each other, we are in fact rehearsing liberation.
The empire thrives by conjuring amnesia and washing away its crimes. The places it plundered, the languages it erased, the cultures it destroyed, the types of love it criminalized. Dismembrance is a necessary part of its violent architecture. But love remembers what was never forgotten, only taken from us, outlawed, sidelined, and buried.
In this sense, you could say love is an archive. Holding onto the rituals of our ancestors. Preserving the stories of joy and pleasure. Knowing the rhythms of a place so deeply that it becomes part of how we breathe and move. Love itself is an act of resistance and, in the words of Palestinian visual artist Areej Kaoud, “Resistance is the deepest form of love.”
Our love is not waiting to be recognized.
It does not need to conform.
It does not need to be bound.
It is already here.
Alive.
Present.
Free.
{
"article":
{
"title" : "The State Cannot Hold this Kind of Love",
"author" : "Sahibzada Mayed",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/the-state-cannot-hold-this-kind-of-love",
"date" : "2025-07-20 17:35:46 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/state-cannot-hold-this-kind-of-love.png",
"excerpt" : "Love takes many forms: grief, resistance, rage, intimacy, pleasure. Far beyond what we’re conditioned to chase after—the illusion of false realities and perfect utopias.",
"content" : "Love takes many forms: grief, resistance, rage, intimacy, pleasure. Far beyond what we’re conditioned to chase after—the illusion of false realities and perfect utopias.There are many kinds of love the state cannot legitimize, let alone protect. The love preserved in the prayers of our ancestors. The love held in how we care for and protect the earth. The love carried in queer entanglements. The love found in the dreams of our future kin. This is a meditation on that kind of love. The kind of love the state was never meant to hold and the kind we must refuse to let it steal from us.Love, to me, has always been known by many names: ishq (عشق), muhabbat (محبت), pyaar (پیار), junoon (جنون), wafaa (وفاء). There is no singular expression of love. Love continues to exist in the most precarious of conditions: across borders and checkpoints, in bodies marked as deviant, under exile and occupation.Much like mycelia, love is fugitive and relational; it spreads beneath the surface, weaving together networks of care and resistance. It knows how to survive in places where it was never meant to bloom, how to tend to wounds and transform them into dwellings. Thus, survival in itself is a prophecy, longing to be heard and witnessed.I come from a tapestry of cultures that embody and practice love as an act of rebellion, that understand loving ourselves requires us to love the earth because all bodies of nature are interconnected. This is how love becomes contagious.What if love is not a destination to arrive at, but an emergent state—something that unfolds and shapeshifts? What if love is a practice of be(com)ing kin?To practice love in this way is a form of anarchy because it threatens the very foundations of empire built on stealing our dignity and right to love. It is a refusal of the dominant social order imposed by binaries and borders. To love in this way that the state cannot control or regulate is to resist; it is an act of insurgency.The Mary Nardini Gang (A Gang of Criminal Queers) capture the essence of what it means to love as opposition to the state’s death-making infrastructure: “We queers and other insurgents have developed what good folks might call a criminal intimacy. We are exploring the material and affective solidarity fostered between outlaws and rebels. In our obstruction of law, we’ve illegally discovered the beauty in one another. In revealing our desire to our partners in crime, we’ve come to know each other more intimately than legality could ever allow.”To love fugitively is not to run away but to move toward something freer than we can imagine. In a world that has taught us that not all bodies are worthy enough to be loved, we must reclaim our capacity to love, unapologetically and without fear. When we choose to love fiercely, we are not just surviving empire. We are actively building what comes after its demise, what will grow in the aftermath of violence. Indeed, love is a form of worldmaking.It is how we imagine and practice the otherwise. Every time we choose each other, we are in fact rehearsing liberation.The empire thrives by conjuring amnesia and washing away its crimes. The places it plundered, the languages it erased, the cultures it destroyed, the types of love it criminalized. Dismembrance is a necessary part of its violent architecture. But love remembers what was never forgotten, only taken from us, outlawed, sidelined, and buried.In this sense, you could say love is an archive. Holding onto the rituals of our ancestors. Preserving the stories of joy and pleasure. Knowing the rhythms of a place so deeply that it becomes part of how we breathe and move. Love itself is an act of resistance and, in the words of Palestinian visual artist Areej Kaoud, “Resistance is the deepest form of love.”Our love is not waiting to be recognized.It does not need to conform.It does not need to be bound.It is already here.Alive.Present.Free."
}
,
"relatedposts": [
{
"title" : "Black Liberation Views on Palestine",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/black-liberation-on-palestine",
"date" : "2025-10-17 09:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/mandela-keffiyeh.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "In understanding global politics, it is important to look at Black liberation struggles as one important source of moral perspective. So, when looking at Palestine, we look to Black leaders to see how they perceived the Palestinian struggle in relation to theirs, from the 1960’s to today.Why must we understand where the injustice lies? Because, as Desmond Tutu famously said, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”{% for person in site.data.quotes-black-liberation-palestine %}{{ person.name }}{% for quote in person.quotes %}“{{ quote.text }}”{% if quote.source %}— {{ quote.source }}{% endif %}{% endfor %}{% endfor %}"
}
,
{
"title" : "First Anniversary Celebration of EIP",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "events",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/1st-anniversary-of-eip",
"date" : "2025-10-14 18:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/WSA_EIP_Launch_Cover.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Celebrating One Year of Independent Publishing",
"content" : "Celebrating One Year of Independent PublishingJoin Everything is Political on November 21st for the launch of our End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine.This members-only evening will feature a benefit dinner, cocktails, and live performances in celebration of a year of independent media, critical voices, and collective resistance.The EventNovember 21, 2025, 7-11pmLower Manhattan, New YorkLaunching our End-of-Year Special Edition MagazineSpecial appearances and performancesFood & Drink includedTickets are extremely limited, reserve yours now!Become an annual print member: get x back issues of EIP, receive the End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine, and come to the Anniversary Celebration.$470Already a member? Sign in to get your special offer. Buy Ticket $150 Just $50 ! and get the End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine Buy ticket $150 and get the End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine "
}
,
{
"title" : "Miu Miu Transforms the Apron From Trad Wife to Boss Lady: The sexiest thing in Paris was a work garment",
"author" : "Khaoula Ghanem",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/miu-miu-transforms-the-apron-from-trad-wife-to-boss-lady",
"date" : "2025-10-14 13:05:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Cover_EIP_MiuMiu_Apron.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Miuccia Prada has a habit of taking the least “fashion” thing in the room and making it the argument. For Spring 2026 at Miu Miu, the argument is the apron; staged not as a coy retro flourish but as a total system. The show’s mise-en-scène read like a canteen or factory floor with melamine-like tables, rationalist severity, a whiff of cleaning fluid. In other words, a runway designed to force a conversation about labor before any sparkle could distract us.",
"content" : "Miuccia Prada has a habit of taking the least “fashion” thing in the room and making it the argument. For Spring 2026 at Miu Miu, the argument is the apron; staged not as a coy retro flourish but as a total system. The show’s mise-en-scène read like a canteen or factory floor with melamine-like tables, rationalist severity, a whiff of cleaning fluid. In other words, a runway designed to force a conversation about labor before any sparkle could distract us.From the opening look—German actress Sandra Hüller in a utilitarian deep-blue apron layered over a barn jacket and neat blue shirting—the thesis was loud: the “cover” becomes the thing itself. As silhouettes marched on, aprons multiplied and mutated—industrial drill cotton with front pockets, raw canvas, taffeta and cloqué silk, lace-edged versions that flirted with lingerie, even black leather and crystal-studded incarnations that reframed function as ornament. What the apron traditionally shields (clothes, bodies, “the good dress”) was inverted; the protection became the prized surface. Prada herself spelled it out: “The apron is my favorite piece of clothing… it symbolizes women, from factories through to serving to the home.”Miu Miu Spring 2026 Ready-to-Wear. SuppliedThis inversion matters historically. The apron’s earliest fashion-adjacent life was industrial. It served as a barrier against grease, heat, stain. It was a token of paid and unpaid care. Miu Miu tapped that lineage directly (canvas, work belts, D-ring hardware), then sliced it against domestic codes (florals, ruffles, crochet), and finally pushed into nightlife with bejeweled and leather bibs. The garment’s migration across materials made its social migrations visible. It is a kitchen apron, yes, but also one for labs, hospitals, and factories; the set and styling insisted on that plurality.What makes the apron such a loaded emblem is not just what it covers, but what it reveals about who has always been working. Before industrialization formalized labor into factory shifts and wages, women were already performing invisible labour, the kind that doesn’t exist on payrolls but sits at the foundation of every functioning society. They were cooking, cleaning, raising children, nursing the ill. These tasks were foundational to every economy and yet absent from every ledger. Even when women entered the industrial workforce, from textile plants to wartime assembly lines, their domestic responsibilities did not disappear, they doubled. In that context, the apron here is a quiet manifesto for the strength that goes unrecorded, unthanked, and yet keeps civilization running.The algorithmic rise of the “tradwife,” the influencer economy that packages domesticity as soft power, is the contemporary cultural shadow here. Miu Miu’s apron refuses that rehearsal. In fact, it’s intentionally awkward—oversized, undone, worn over bikinis or with sturdy shoes—so the viewer can’t flatten it into Pinterest-ready nostalgia. Critics noted the collection as a reclamation, a rebuttal to the flattening forces of the feed: the apron as a uniform for endurance rather than submission. The show notes framed it simply as “a consideration of the work of women,” a reminder that the invisible economies of effort—paid, unpaid, emotional—still structure daily life.If that sounds unusually explicit for a luxury runway, consider the designer. Prada trained as a mime at Milan’s Piccolo Teatro, earned a PhD in political science, joined the Italian Communist Party, and was active in the women’s rights movement in 1970s Milan. Those facts are not trivia; they are the grammar of her clothes. Decades of “ugly chic” were, essentially, a slow campaign against easy consumption and default beauty. In 2026, the apron becomes the newest dialect. An emblem drawn from leftist feminist history, recoded into a product that still has to sell. That tension—belief versus business—is the Miuccia paradox, and it’s precisely why these aprons read as statements, not trends.The runway narrative traced a journey from function to fetish. Early looks were squarely utilitarian—thick cottons, pocketed bibs—before migrating toward fragility and sparkle. Lace aprons laid transparently over swimmers; crystal-studded aprons slipped across cocktail territory; leather apron-dresses stiffened posture into armor. The sequencing proposed the same silhouette can encode labor, intimacy, and spectacle depending on fabrication. If most brands smuggle “workwear” in as set dressing, Miu Miu forced it onto the body as the central garment and an unmissable reminder that the feminine is often asked to be both shield and display at once.It’s instructive to read this collection against the house’s last mega-viral object: the micro-mini of Spring 2022, a pleated, raw-hem wafer that colonized timelines and magazine covers. That skirt’s thesis was exposure—hip bones and hemlines as post-lockdown spectacle, Y2K nostalgia framed as liberation-lite. The apron, ironically, covers. Where the micro-mini trafficked in the optics of freedom (and the speed of virality), the apron asks about the conditions that make freedom possible: who launders, who cooks, who cares? To move from “look at me” to “who is working here?” is a pivot from optics to ethics, without abandoning desire. (The aprons are, after all, deeply covetable.) In a platform economy that still rewards the shortest hemline with the biggest click-through, this is a sophisticated counter-program.Yet the designer is not romanticizing toil. There’s wit in the ruffles and perversity in the crystals; neither negate labor, they metabolize it. The most striking image is the apron treated as couture-adjacent. Traditionally, an apron protects the precious thing beneath; here, the apron is the precious thing. You could call that hypocrisy—luxurizing the uniform of workers. Or, strategy, insisting that the symbols of care and effort deserve visibility and investment.Of course, none of this exists in a vacuum. The “tradwife” script thrives because it is aesthetically legible and commercially scalable. It packages gender ideology as moodboard. Miu Miu counters with garments whose legibility flickers. The collection’s best looks ask viewers to reconcile tenderness with toughness, convenience with care, which is exactly the mental choreography demanded of women in every context from office to home to online.If you wanted a season-defining “It” item, you’ll still find it. The apron is poised to proliferate across fast-fashion and luxury alike. But the deeper success is structural: Miu Miu re-centered labor as an aesthetic category. That’s rarer than a viral skirt. It’s a reminder that clothes don’t merely decorate life, they describe and negotiate it. In making the apron the subject rather than the prop, Prada turned a garment of service into a platform for agency. It’s precisely the kind of cultural recursion you’d expect from a designer shaped by feminist politics, who never stopped treating fashion as an instrument of thought as much as style.The last image to hold onto is deceptively simple: a woman in an apron, neither fetishized nor infantilized, striding, hands free. Not a costume for nostalgia, not a meme for the feed, but a working uniform reframed, respected, and suddenly, undeniably beautiful. That is Miu Miu’s provocation for Spring 2026: the work behind the work, made visible at last."
}
]
}
