Entering the World of All Things Dykemint: An Interview
Conducted by Elizabeth Weiss
Image courtesy of Studio Couture/NYFW @theinterstellarstudio
Q1: We 100% need to start with one of my all-time fave interview starters. Who are you and what do you do? Abstract, I know.
Who am I? Fi Black, the chaos engine behind Dykemint—a slow, sustainable, anime/fandom-inspired fashion brand that refuses to fit in a box. I take forgotten fabrics, salvaged thrift finds, and secondhand materials and remix them into one-of-a-kind, never-duplicated garments for the nerdy, the niche, the cryptids, and the daywalkers. I started out as a crafty glue-gun kid (so many hand burns), hand-sewing felt wallets and making cosplays, and I never stopped loving the act of putting things together. In college, while pursuing a degree in art with a focus on sculpture and installation, the pandemic hit. Everyone else was baking bread, but I’m celiac, so instead, I made kooky lesbian earrings—which quickly snowballed into making clothes. And once I got into clothes? That was it. Dykemint isn’t about microtrends. One day it’s goth, the next it’s kidcore, then Y2K, then scene, then boho chic—but it’s always Dykemint. It’s nostalgia and future fashion smashed together, a constant remix. Because everything I make starts with preloved materials, every piece is transformed by hand—screen printing, sewing, heat transfer, dyeing, patching, and airbrushing. It’s all highly individual, a composition, a statement, a wearable anomaly that will never exist the same way twice. I create for people who want something singular—something that makes them feel confident, cool, and completely themselves. My work is a rebellion against fast fashion, a love letter to fandom and subcultures (and the passionate people who live in them). So yeah, that’s me. That’s what I do.
Q2: Your style is anything but boring. What draws you to bright colors and unique embellishments?
DOPAMINE! That’s the best way to put it. I love patterns, prints, colors—anything that makes a piece feel alive. It’s funny because I get easily overstimulated in crowds or with too much noise, and I can’t handle chaotic visuals in media. But when it comes to clothes? It’s different. There’s a sculptural quality to it—a kind of stillness in the chaos. Wearing something loud, like a plushy jumpsuit, means you don’t have to do the talking—it speaks for you. It’s the same with my hair. I’ve done smiley faces, flowers, shooting stars, split-dyed cheetah print, and every color imaginable. And people respond to it—like a real-life Lisa Frank sticker. There’s a playfulness in collaging color and texture, in layering different techniques. Screen printing a shirt, adding patches, mixing processes—it makes a piece feel more personal, more loved. Maximalism, to me, is about wearing your insides on the outside. Every color you love, every pattern, every influence—letting it all coexist in one place. It’s storytelling, it’s personality, it’s joy.
Q3: As you know, the fashion industry is stereotypically dominated by cis white men. How have you carved out a space for your personal identity?
THIS. The fashion industry—especially in upcycling, sustainable fashion, and nerdwear—is overwhelmingly dominated by cis white men. And not just the industry itself, but the fandoms that inspire it. Traditional sci-fi, comics, and nerd spaces were built by and for men, and they still hold much of that power. So when you step into this space as a nonbinary butch, creating fashion that exists outside of the male gaze, it’s already a radical act. Fashion is a language, and I’m speaking in a dialect that doesn’t always exist in mainstream menswear or even unisex fashion. I take traditionally masculine silhouettes and flood them with chaotic maximalism, bright colors, bold textures—the kind of visual noise that says, “Yes, you’re being perceived, and that’s the point.” It’s a direct challenge to the idea that masculinity should be restrained, neutral, or pared down.
“…when you step into this space as a nonbinary butch, creating fashion that exists outside of the male gaze, it’s already a radical act. Fashion is a language, and I’m speaking in a dialect that doesn’t always exist in mainstream menswear or even unisex fashion.”
I love when men wear my clothes because it means they fuck with the dykes. They’re comfortable letting a butch shape their aesthetic, trusting in a vision that isn’t centered on traditional masculinity but something queerer, looser, and more expansive. It’s a quiet shift in power—reshaping what masculinity, androgyny, and gender expression can look like. Judith Butler talks about gender as performance, but it’s also a construction—a set of materials we piece together, remix, and wear on our bodies. Fashion is one of the clearest ways to explore that. When I create, I’m not just making clothes; I’m building a world where masculinity isn’t just cis men’s property, where androgyny isn’t just skinny white twinks in a crop top, where dykes set the standard.
Image courtesy of @chezphoto
Q4: Many creators have an“ I made it moment.” Have you ever felt that way? If so, what prompted it?
I’ve had so many. A great “I made it” moment was probably when Jessica Nigri—my all-time favorite cosplayer—bought one of my pieces. I nearly died. Literally. I went to the ER two days later. Or maybe it was back when I was just making earrings, and I reached out to Sir Babygirl, practically begging them to take a bag full of earrings for free. They said yes. Fast forward four years, and they lent their voice to my custom track for my NYFW debut collection. So yeah, if we’re talking big moments—the kind that make you step back and say, oh shit, I really did something—then it has to be The Pop Couture NYFW show produced by My Studio Couture / Plus Ultra Entertainment. Last August, I pulled off a 25-look collection for Otakon’s fashion show in just 30 days—“ Time Capsule,” a project that mapped 25 years of anime onto 25 years of fashion trends. That was already an insane undertaking. So when I got invited to Pop Couture just a few months later, I knew I was ready to take on an even bigger challenge. And I did. My partner Lita Bacus (Lead Fabricator and Chief Executive Design Consultant for this show) and I worked tirelessly to make something that felt even stronger, more refined, more Dykemint. The reception was incredible. The feedback was overwhelming in the best way. Seeing people really get what we were doing, seeing them respond to it—that was one of those moments where I felt like I had really made something special. And I couldn’t be more grateful or more proud.
Q5: Your art is easily accessible to purchase and interact with. Do you find it important for art to be easily attainable?
Yes! Absolutely. Accessibility is a huge part of my work—not just in terms of price or availability, but in the way people interact with the clothes themselves. When I vend at markets or conventions, I use a bright, colorful shag fabric as a tablecloth on purpose—it’s an open invitation for people to touch everything. To flip through the racks, feel the textures, try things on. Clothing should be experienced, not just looked at.
Working with thrifted and upcycled materials means sizing is fluid. A garment labeled as a large might fit like a small, or an XXL might be perfect for someone who usually wears a medium. On top of that, personal preference plays a huge role—some people love oversized, some love a snug fit. That’s why I create pieces ranging from XXS to 6XL and encourage people to experiment with what feels good on their body. And I get it personally. I’ve lived in a plus-size body. I’ve also lived (and currently live) in a XS/S body after a drastic change due to health issues. But even now, I prefer M/L fits because comfort and expression aren’t dictated by size tags. Beyond that, I want me to be as accessible as my clothes. These are handmade, upcycled garments, which means sometimes, wear and tear happens—maybe a bleach-processed piece weakens, or a seam gives out, or someone discovers a hole in the crotch after a few wears. I always offer free repairs—people can send their pieces back, and I’ll fix them and ship them back with extra goodies. Because fashion shouldn’t just be about buying something—it should be about investing in something you love, something that evolves with you, something that lasts.
Q6: If your style was a playlist, what would some songs on it be?
Oh, this question got me so good that I went ahead and made a whole playlist. My style is eclectic, and so is my music taste. Each track reflects a different facet of my brand and personal style. The diversity in genres and moods mirrors the chaotic maximalism I embrace in my designs. Just like my wearable art, this playlist is a patchwork of influences, stitched together to create something uniquely Dykemint. I love wailing vocals from AFAB singers, kawaii club beats, and soul-crushing acoustic folk music. Take what you will from that. Here’s the link to the playlist: DYKEMINT - playlist by Fi | Spotify
Q7: After stalking your Instagram account I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m utterly obsessed with your pieces. Do you have a favorite creation you’ve made? Or any dream projects you want to make?
The Nana 40-inch pink suede coat is definitely a fan favorite—and one of mine, too. It’s just so clean. The level of precision it took to get all the screen-printed details right was a challenge in itself, especially because, at the time, I was exclusively using vinyl rather than emulsion. Lining up a repeated print with crisp, sharp edges was already a battle, and then—of course—the cat I lived with decided to walk all over it while it was drying. Little black ink paw prints everywhere. I had to fix it with rubbing alcohol, a lot of stress, and some desperate bargaining with every god imaginable. But in the end? No paw prints. A miracle. Another standout is the patchwork overalls. That was my first very long-term project—six months of making individual patches, one by one, before finally sewing them all on. It was a slow, meticulous process, but that’s what made it special. Right now, my favorite piece is the plushy 80s coveralls. Every single plush was thrifted or secondhand sourced, collected over months from different shops and sites, just to have enough to fully cover the garment. And the best part? All hand-sewn. Not a single plush has fallen off, and those coveralls have been all over NYC, all around Chinatown. Seeing them hold up after all that is a real accomplishment. As for dream projects, I’ve made pieces inspired by a lot of media I love, but nothing is as near and dear to my heart as Steven Universe. I mean, I’m from Delaware. The show is set in Delaware. It’s super gay, colorful, healing, therapeutic—just perfect. And because it means so much to me, I feel this weight of responsibility when thinking about making something inspired by it. Some things are so sacred that you have to wait for the right wave of inspiration to hit. When I finally do it, I want it to be just right—something that truly reflects how stunning and important that show is.
Image courtesy of Studio Couture/NYFW @theinterstellarstudio
Q8: Do you have any advice for any creators starting out?
BUY A CRICUT (Kidding. Ish.). A vinyl cutter is incredibly versatile for a relatively low-cost setup. When I started out, I used mine for screen printing—a total hack that let me avoid investing in a big learning curve and a lot of expensive gear. But if you have no money, just a smartphone? Buy the Pocket Procreate app. I use Procreate every single day. It’s my go-to for mapping out designs, editing photos, creating graphics, making business cards, and even putting together full branding assets—all on my phone. And yes, I do have the Adobe Suite, but Procreate is just that convenient. You’re already doomscrolling—why not have a tool in your hand that lets you act on inspiration the second it hits? I actually introduced Procreate to an entire beginning New Genre Media class (I was a visiting guest artist at my alma mater), and after I left, the students told me they used it every day and that it was their favorite program they learned from the whole semester. Beyond tools, the best advice I can give is: study artist practices. Which is just a fancy way of saying, look at what other people are doing and emulate it. The best way to start is to just start. No money? No problem. If you can draw, grab a paintbrush and some bleach for $7 and start bleach painting. Use Sharpies. Find a secondhand sewing machine (BROTHER MACHINES FTW!) and rip up your old clothes. The gear isn’t what’s holding you back—if you’re serious about learning a process, research everything. Dig into Reddit threads, deep-dive into YouTube (the land of 1 million tutorials), and look for community workshops and resources. Everything is a remix. Copy, deconstruct, upcycle, rework, experiment, make what makes you happy.
Q9: Is there anything else you would like us to know?
The theme and title of my NYFW collection: HAND-ME-DOWNLOADED: RECOVERED AUTO-SAVES FROM A DIGITAL LANDFILL. This collection is what happens when a mothballed wardrobe glitches mid-update. Every piece is a hand-me-downloaded anomaly, stitched, airbrushed, printed, embroidered, and salvaged from timelines that never synced properly. It’s a maximalist layering of forgotten aesthetics, a wearable rebellion of reworked, one-of-one garments that will never exist the same way twice. This is character creation: hit randomize. And if it doesn’t make sense? Try licking a graphics card.
