Sadie Switchblade found punk rock in the ‘90s, while growing up in the South Shore of Boston. “New England is often thought of as a bastion of liberalism, which maybe it is on paper, but socially, it’s one of the most repressive cultures I can imagine a queer kid growing up in,” she recalls. Much of her time was spent in record stores, where “older punks would clock little me in my plaid wool pants from Savers, two-row studded belt, fresh acne, and shitty month-old Manic Panic hair and hand me flyers. That’s how I started going to shows. I don’t want to romanticize that era, because for me, it was one of extreme isolation, alienation, and loneliness, but being handed flyers by strangers is something that I miss. The way you dressed back then was a code: it was loud, but it held clandestine meaning, it signified to other freaks that you shared some thread of understanding, that there was potential for a ‘we.’ ‘Dressing punk’ mattered, because it meant something very tangible. It still does, but in that time period, it was a line in the sand. There were repercussions for being punk, which was a reality that heightened the intensity of the bonds we were able to form and increased their payoff.”

Now, Switchblade is on her way to becoming a prominent figure in the scene, helping to extend that trademark punk unity to those who may not always feel completely welcome, safe, or validated in the community. When asked how “little Sadie” would feel if she could meet herself now, she replies, “I think her mind would be fucking blown! I’m doing everything I ever wanted to do, and more. Look at that! I’m still surprised, amused, and humbled by it all.”