Roxy Bourdillon is an award-winning writer and editor-in-chief of DIVA Magazine, the world’s leading magazine for LGBTQIA+ women and non-binary people. Since joining DIVA in 2016, she has revitalised the publication, leading to multiple sell-out issues and accolades such as the Highly Commended New Editor of the Year at the 2023 British Society of Magazine Editors Awards and the Trans In The City Trans Inclusive Organisation Award.
Beyond her editorial accomplishments, Bourdillon is renowned for her vintage femme lesbian glamour, a style that exudes charisma and pays homage to classic queer icons like Marlene Dietrich and Tallulah Bankhead. For our interview, Roxy donned perfectly pin-curled hair and a bright red lip, this commitment to her aesthetic not only compliments her sparkly personality, but also her unique and pioneering presence within the media landscape.
This Lesbian Visibility Week, Bourdillon launches another pioneering piece of media – her debut book, What A Girl Wants: A (True) Story Of Sexuality And Self-Discovery. Here, she bares the details of honest and sensitive encounters on her journey from a closeted teen coming to accept her queer identity, to the out-and-proud pillar of her community that she has become.
Below, Bourdillon speaks to BRICKS about growing up queer in Leeds, delving into her teenage diaries and the power of community.
What A Girl Wants,your debut book,is a personal memoir. What made you realise this was the story you needed to tell?
I got this idea to write What A Girl Wants: A (True) Story of Sexuality and Self-discovery because I kept on thinking about these two important but very contrasting moments in my life. Firstly, I was thinking about myself as a 13 year old girl in Leeds who was secretly snogging my mate at every opportunity – but was also terrified to look at what that meant. Growing up at school under Section 28, which made it illegal for teachers to say anything positive about queer people, I was growing up in a world with very little queer representation, and certainly barely any positive representation, and so I was kind of drenched in shame when I was 13.
Secondly, I thought about myself now. I’m an out woman in my 30s, with a lovely, long time partner of 10 years, but also the editor-in-chief of DIVA Magazine – the world’s leading magazine for LGBTQIA+ women and non-binary people. It’s not just like I came out, I came out on a really big scale. Hey world, look at me: I’m a lesbian! I thought that was really interesting, that you can go from one extreme to another. In writing my book, I wanted to explore the reality of what it looks like navigating your journey as a woman who happens to really love women in a world that can make you feel terrible about both of those things. Also, despite the fact that I’ve spent a good chunk of my career in the world of queer stories, I’ve never actually found one that spoke to the specific nuances of my own experience as a femme, as a woman who grew up in the 90s and noughties as a lesbian. I thought, “hang on, I haven’t actually seen my own story be told.” Now, instead of sharing other people’s stories – which is so important – I’ve decided it’s time to open up and share my own.
In writing my book, I wanted to explore the reality of what it looks like navigating your journey as a woman who happens to really love women in a world that can make you feel terrible about both of those things.
In the book, you explore fluidity, shame, and self-acceptance. Was there a chapter or moment that was particularly difficult to write – or particularly liberating?
There were several points in the book that were particularly confronting, because when you go back through your own personal history, you’re going to find things that make you feel sad to look back on. When I was structuring the story, and getting into the later chapters – chapter 19, chapter 22 – and I’m thinking, “God Rox, we’re still steeped in shame this far into the story.” Aside from that, going through my teenage diaries was really funny, but also quite confronting, because you see very starkly the pain that you’ve been in at points in your life.
There’s a chapter called ‘Yes, it counts!’ and it’s about this particularly wild, hilarious night that me and my mate Bessie spent in a queer sex club in Berlin. It was a wonderful, gorgeous night, a real celebration of our friendship. Bessie really wanted to go to this queer sex club in Berlin that she’d read about online, and it was her birthday, and I was like, gotta make your birthday dream come true. Me and Bessie stuck out like a pair of sore thumbs – we didn’t get the message that you were supposed to wear leather, lace and not much else. I stood at the door in my vintage 1950’s dress with my gorgeous Bessie, trying to convince the stern bouncer that we’re actually very kinky. It was fascinating and fabulous. We had a great, great night. During that experience – it sounds funny to say, because it’s a wild queer sex club – but I had quite a powerful epiphany about the fact that we’ve all been encouraged to believe that there’s a hierarchy of sex, and that heterosexual sex is at the top of some imaginary chart of what counts as real sex. Actually, real people of all different identities have all different kinds of sexual expression, and as long as it’s consensual and safe, it’s all gorgeous and valid. It was a really funny night out that celebrated female friendship, and it was hilarious, but it was such a moment of liberation, because I realised that, hang on, it all counts. So that was a really fun, liberating memory to revisit.
You’ve written about LGBTQIA+ culture for years, how did writing a memoir change your relationship with storytelling?
Through my work at Diva Magazine and as a journalist, I’ve really learnt the power of inclusive queer storytelling and the power of sharing our own stories. I remember finding my first copy of Diva Magazine at the WHSmith in Leeds – I saw it there on the shelf, and I bought it, but I was so self conscious. I also bought a Cosmopolitan and hid Diva inside of it – I had this exciting contraband, this secret portal to a new world. I went home and I read it, and I couldn’t believe it, because I read all these different stories of other women and other queer people, and realised I wasn’t alone. It showed me that there’s a way to have a life where you embrace who you are, whilst also having friendships, adventures, and experiences. There’s going to be challenges, but there is a way through that. When I finally got the job at Diva, it was a real full circle moment. Because I’ve had that personal experience as a reader, it means that I really am aware of the power of these stories that we tell, because I’ve been on the other side of it. I think that that was a really powerful lesson, and I’ve been able to bring a lot of that into writing my book.
Actually, real people of all different identities have all different kinds of sexual expression, and as long as it’s consensual and safe, it’s all gorgeous and valid.
There’s something really specific about being queer in the North. What did queerness look like to you growing up in Leeds?
When I was in the closet, I felt very isolated, if I’m completely honest. I really felt like I was the only one. It felt like quite an othering, marginalising thing to be a queer person. When I finally did come out, and when I finally went out on the scene, I discovered that Leeds had been a hotbed of homosexual activity, so I’d almost been trapped in my own perception that I was alone, thinking I’m just up here in in the North, and there’s no one else like me. I discovered this thriving, gorgeous, vibrant queer scene, and I also found out that there’s a gay bar in Leeds called The New Penny. Not only is The New Penny one of the oldest gay bars in Leeds, it’s one of the oldest in the country. I was shown in a really clear way that there is community out there, and there is community up North. This gorgeous queer world had been waiting for me the whole time in Leeds, and I didn’t even know which was really special.
How did your work at DIVA Magazine influence your personal journey while writing the book?
Of course, being the editor-in-chief at DIVA is an exciting, gorgeous job, and there’s so much that I find really fulfilling, and it’s work that means a lot to me, but it’s also quite consuming. There’s so much going on and so many queer stories we want to tell and queer rights we want to champion, so it’s quite a big job. The reality is that this book was written in the margins of my life because there was no other time to write it. It was written with all nighters. It was written on weekends. My gorgeous partner, Naomi, unfortunately got ill whilst I was writing, so parts of this book were written in hospital waiting rooms. Luckily, Naomi’s getting much better now. It’s almost like a fantasy, you picture yourself with a beautiful view – I’m probably wearing a fabulous kimono – and I’m having a great time with my words. I’m very happy for anyone that’s true for. I say good for you, darling. Sadly not my experience. The reality is, when you’ve got a busy job and busy life and things are happening, it doesn’t all get put on pause for you to write your memoir. So it was really a case of balancing the two, as well as balancing all the other things that life throws at you. I’m really, really glad that I figured out a way to do that, even if it did look like just finding those pockets of time to really do the work.
When I finally did come out, and when I finally went out on the scene, I discovered that Leeds had been a hotbed of homosexual activity, so I’d almost been trapped in my own perception that I was alone, thinking I’m just up here in in the North, and there’s no one else like me.
You write with such honesty about internalised shame and the complicated process of unlearning heteronormativity. For those still in the midst of that unlearning, what have you found to be the most powerful or healing practices?
This is such a beautiful question. I think that the most powerful and healing thing has been finding a way to connect with the people and things that make me feel good about my identity as a lesbian and as a woman in a world that wants to shame me for both of those things. For me – that’s about my friendships. I talk a lot in the book about the power of beautiful friendships and the way that your friends can get you through the toughest times, but they can also be a mirror, showing you who you are and who you want to be. The power of friendship is a really big one for me, and also the power of community. As queer people, we know that feeling of being isolated and alone; the world we’re living in at the moment is a scary one. The way that rights are being rolled back, the attacks we’re seeing on our trans siblings, Trump and his anti-queer/trans agenda. There’s so much going on that is frightening. In times like this, it’s really important to connect with community and to remind ourselves that we’re not alone. Just the other day, I was at a protest for trans rights against the United kingdom’s Supreme Court ruling. It was a really powerful, moving, important gathering. We were standing up for trans rights, and we were standing up for the rights of our community, which is so important to do. We were a gathering of people, not everybody was queer, not everybody was trans, not everybody was a woman, but we’re a gathering of people who all want to fight for the same cause and want to stand up for the same things.
Another way to engage in community is through events – I recently went to The Pink Pony Club Cabaret put on by Sad Girl Shows. It was basically a Chappell Roan worship party. People were dressed up like pop stars, there were feather boas, and rhinestones, cowgirls, and lesbian flags. I was there with Naomi – often, when we walk through the streets, we won’t feel that we’re safe to hold hands or be physical because we’re concerned about safety, as so many of us are. But in that environment, where we felt gorgeous and so uplifted, we were just snogging.
I also find that reading, and watching beautiful shows like The Buccaneers, or Harlots, or Tipping the Velvet – seek out whatever it is for you that makes you feel good about who you are, and that reminds you that you’re not the only one. I think that is really helpful and powerful in unlearning some of that heteronormative shame stuff.
There’s so much going on that is frightening. In times like this, it’s really important to connect with community and to remind ourselves that we’re not alone.
Queer joy is radical. How do you cultivate joy in your everyday life?
The thing about queer joy is you’re taking something that we’ve all been conditioned to believe is shameful and secretive, and reframing it as something to be celebrated. It might be listening to a ‘This is Chappell Roan’ playlist on Spotify. For me, I find a lot of queer joy in finding out about queer history. I love embracing all of the exciting queer culture that we’ve got going on right now, and there’s so much of it, and I love, love, love to see it, but I also, on a personal level, love doing a deep dive into our collective histories and community. So yes, I’m listening to Chappell, and Cat Burns, and these incredible modern artists. I also listen to people like Billie Holiday, who was this incredible blues singer from the mid century – and she was a bisexual woman with the most extraordinarily moving voice. It’s about being in touch with all the gorgeous stuff that’s going on right now. I think that’s powerful. But for me also, it’s about connecting with the artists and activists and our queer ancestors and the amazing women and queer people who have come before us, it almost feels like they’ve left these gems for us to find. Despite what we’re told, we have always been here, and not only that, we’ve been doing awesome things, being gorgeous, being artists, being activists. I love places like Queer Britain, you get to really celebrate and understand and learn about our history. So, in terms of queer joy, I think a lot of it is seeking out those stories that I love. There’s nothing new about queer people. We’ve always been here and we’ve always been fabulous, but I think that reminding ourselves of that is actually really powerful and fun.
Finally, what do you hope that readers, especially queer women and non-binary people, take away from the book?
I hope that people read What A Girl Wants and I hope that they feel comforted and entertained. I hope they feel uplifted. I hope that they feel seen and celebrated. And the biggest thing I’d want a queer woman or non-binary person reading What A Girl Wants to feel is, I’d want them to understand that you are not broken. The people trying to make you feel that way, they are the ones who are broken. There is nothing wrong with you. Whoever you are is gorgeous and glorious and valid, and it’s all going to be okay, my darling.