Alan Amaya

Being queer fundamentally shapes how I approach design—both in terms of challenging dominant narratives and creating spaces that center diverse perspectives. As queer people, we often navigate systems that weren’t built with us in mind, which sharpens our ability to question defaults, imagine alternatives, and design with intentionality. This perspective informs my work in product design, where I prioritize accessibility, flexibility, and user autonomy—especially in emerging spaces like AI, where biases can be reinforced if left unchecked. While designing Superstudio, I thought a lot about how AI tools should empower creative expression for all kinds of users, not just those who fit within traditional design paradigms. Beyond product work, this ethos also translates into community-building. With Casa Jota, a queer Latinx salon I started, I’m focused on designing spaces that foster dialogue, resistance, and joy—a reminder that design isn’t just about interfaces but also about shaping experiences that bring people together. Ultimately, queerness informs my work by making me more attuned to who is included, who is excluded, and how design can be a tool for reimagining possibilities.

There’s so much incredible queer visual culture, but if I had to pick one, I’d say The Watermelon Woman (1996) by Cheryl Dunye—not just as a film but as a piece of visual culture that actively reclaims and reshapes queer history. Dunye’s use of docufiction to explore Black lesbian identity and the erasure of queer figures from the archive is such a powerful act of design in itself. The way she constructs a fictional film history while blending it with real-world documentary aesthetics makes you question what’s real, what’s missing, and who gets to be remembered. As someone who designs digital experiences, I find this approach deeply inspiring—especially in how it plays with truth, authorship, and representation in ways that feel just as relevant in the AI age. On a more visual level, I also love the work of artists like Juliana Huxtable, whose digital self-portraits feel like a rejection of static identity, or the hyper-stylized camp of Pierre et Gilles, where queerness is both mythic and hyper-aestheticized.

So many people! I’m constantly inspired by queer artists, designers, and thinkers who push boundaries, challenge norms, and build spaces for community and self-expression. A few that stand out: Freddie Mercury – for his unapologetic flamboyance and ability to redefine masculinity and performance. Cheryl Dunye – for reclaiming Black queer history in film and making archival absence a site of creativity. Felix Gonzalez-Torres – for turning deeply personal queer experiences into minimalist, poetic works about love, loss, and intimacy. Juliana Huxtable – for merging digital art, fashion, and performance in ways that expand what queer futurism looks like. Tourmaline – for her work in Black trans storytelling and radical joy as a political tool. Jeremy O. Harris – for making theater confrontational, luxurious, and undeniably queer. Xicanx artists like Laura Aguilar and Rafa Esparza – for documenting queer Latinx identity in ways that feel deeply intimate and powerful. My own community – queer friends, artists, and organizers who create spaces where we can exist fully and joyfully.