Are you ready to experience Full disclosure?

          As Iris reaches the end of its second year, I am reflecting on how the final edition of this academic year represents the goals and feats of the magazine; the collaged elements and the patchwork nature of discovering and trusting a community, the intricate intimacy of personally-motivated narratives, the bright colors and their correspondence to the creative risks we’ve taken this year. Each of these themes means something in the context of Iris, and it means something to me, as well.

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          As Iris reaches the end of its second year, I am graduating and handing off the baton to the dearly beloved and talented Mia Donaldson (editor-in-chief) and Ella Pearcy (managing editor). This is, as all Iris moves have been, a move that happens with love—I have so much faith in and excitement for next year’s e-board and all that I know they will accomplish. That being said, there is so much I am mourning with this next move, and fabulously enough, this final edition is a culmination of the elements of Iris that I am proudest of and most eager to see grow in future iterations of the mag.

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          The range of both creativity and content alone in this edition showcases the multiplicity of Iris and its members—a feature that we have found to be most prominent in developing the magazine. Iris means something different to me than it does to you, or to a random Geneseo student, or to the person sitting in the other room, and this is purposeful; our themes, too, have always followed suit in making space for numerous interpretations and experiences. This is the beauty of queer community—that so many people with so many different experiences can come together to honor and hold space for a part of themselves that is so often neglected and looked-down upon in the broader world. Iris is meant to be (and is, indeed, to me and many others,) a microcosm of that—a space that invites as it creates, that grows and learns just as we do.

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          In this edition, there is fashion in many meanings of the word; to me, there is fashion in the bold choices design editor Olive Niccoli made with the color palette, in the consistent slay of Juslannie Rosso Brito’s selfies, and in the differing brush strokes of Abigail Wendler’s pieces. What’s more, this edition features disclosure in its fullest form. While it’s my opinion that there is emotion and intimacy in the mere act of creation, from playlist-making to pottery, the writing in this edition of Iris truly goes above and beyond in delivering confessional and breathtaking prose and meaning. The sheer, unabashed truth seen in pieces like Kendall Cruise’s “candy-coded” is inspiring and authentic in its own right. Pieces like those written by Aimee Maduro, Matthew Keller, and Carly Burgio, too, explore the intersections between fashion and full disclosure—another thematic intention, emblematic of both Iris and the greater queer community.

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          As I leave this space, I find fragments of Sparrow Potter’s piece echoing through my life—I’m asking, “when my inner child cries / remind me how to soothe her mind,” because “Dad, I’m only a kid in the end.” In this way, even in moving forward, Iris is the community that I lean on to heal, love, and learn. I will never be able to aptly explain all that this magazine, this experience, and this community have meant to me. Thank you so much to everyone who’s come along on the journey, and thank you to everyone who’s carrying the torch on in the coming years. Most of all, thank you to our beloved Lady Iris. You will always have my heart.

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          - Frances Sharples