Photo by Andreea Juganaru on Unsplash

Denim Day was a few days ago, but I can’t just move on like the rest of the world seems to. Because what we’re talking about on Denim Day—sexual violence, harassment, trauma, and the ongoing failure of institutions to protect survivors—doesn’t go away when the hashtags fade or the jeans come off.

Denim Day began after an outrageous ruling by the Italian Supreme Court in the 1990s. A rape conviction was overturned because the justices felt the survivor’s jeans were “too tight” and that she must have helped remove them, implying consent. In response, women in the Italian Parliament wore jeans to protest victim blaming, and the movement went global.

Denim Day is about saying: “What I was wearing is not an excuse.”
It’s about saying: “I believe survivors.”
It’s about saying: “This is still happening, and we will not be silent.”

This year, I wore denim for others and for myself.

I wore denim to show those around me that I am a safe space.
I wore denim to remind myself that I am not how I have been treated.
I wore denim because I am a survivor, and I refuse to be erased.

Let me tell you what survival looks like.

In elementary school, I was sexually harassed. Adults responded with seriousness: the police got involved, my school intervened, and I was sent to counseling. They affirmed that what happened to me mattered. That I mattered.

Fast forward to last year, when I was sexually harassed again—this time at Canisius University. I reported it through the “proper” channels. I went to the Title IX office. I explained what happened. A man had harassed me, threatened me, and filmed up my skirt without my consent.

Their response?
He’d be spoken to.
But nothing could be done.
Because, and I quote, “nothing can happen unless he actually touches you.”

Let me say that again:
A man violated my privacy and my safety, and I was told nothing could be done.

What kind of message is that sending to survivors?
What kind of protection is that offering to students?
What kind of institution claims to stand for justice, and then turns away when injustice walks in the room?

Make it make sense.

Here’s what does make sense:

• 1 in 3 women and 1 in 4 men have experienced some form of contact sexual violence in their lifetime.
• More than 50% of female survivors experience their first rape before age 18.
• LGBTQIA+ people, especially trans women of color, face disproportionately high rates of sexual violence.
• And yet, only 25 out of every 1,000 perpetrators will end up in prison.

(Source: RAINN – the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network)

This is not about individual bad actors. This is about systemic failure.
It’s about schools, workplaces, and governments refusing to take action until the trauma is physical, visible, or fatal.

But what about the invisible wounds?
What about the anxiety, the PTSD, the isolation, the shame?
What about being told that unless you were physically touched, your experience doesn’t count?

Writer and activist bell hooks once said:

“There can be no love without justice.”

And she was right.
If we want to build a community based on love, on support, on real care—then we have to talk about justice for survivors. Not just once a year. Not just when it’s trending. But every damn day.

I’m still angry. I’m still healing. But I’m also still here.
I refuse to stay silent.

To every survivor reading this: You matter.
You are not what was done to you.
You deserve safety, healing, and justice.

And I’m standing with you. Always.

If you’re looking for more information on Denim Day or how to get involved, visit https://denimday.org/.

We are not alone.
We are not broken.
We are powerful.

Let’s keep speaking up. Let’s keep fighting back.
Because what we were wearing has never been the issue—but silence? That’s exactly what they want. And we won’t give it to them.