ifwewereallowed

[ifwewereallowed]

Em and Lytcia

Visibility is rarely simple, especially when the world only sees what it wants to see.

Em and Lytcia are both Black, queer, lesbian women living in Brussels. They are partners, lovers, and individuals engaged in polyamorous relationships. Their identities are open, unapologetic, and nuanced, but that doesn’t mean society meets them with understanding.

Despite living out loud, they are constantly misread. Reduced. Simplified. To many, they are seen merely as Black cis women, their queerness flattened, their complexities erased. For Em, this erasure is amplified by her personal story. Adopted and raised by an entirely white family, she is sometimes labeled a "bounty," a hurtful term that questions her authenticity based on proximity to whiteness.

This discomfort with fixed definitions, this constant othering, is something Lytcia responds to through style. Fashion becomes language, a quiet but sharp articulation of her non-binary identity. Through her clothing, she rejects society’s narrow gaze and reclaims her own visibility on her own terms.

Even as they move through the world visibly queer, Em and Lytcia face a more subtle invisibility within their own circles. Their relationship exists, but it’s rarely named. There’s no hostility, but no real dialogue either. No confrontation, but also no recognition. In both their families, silence hovers. The lack of conversation leaves space for questions, distance, and the weight of the unspoken.

How are they perceived by those closest to them? They’re not entirely sure.

Still, Em and Lytcia continue to choose each other with softness, with intention, with courage. Their love is not waiting for permission. But their story is a reminder of how much work still remains, not just in society at large but within the intimate spaces where silence can speak just as loud as rejection.

They are here. Loving. Existing. Becoming.

And one day, perhaps, that will be enough.

Brussels, 2022

[ifwewereallowed]

Claire and Sarah

Brussels, 2022

[ifwewereallowed]

Milka and Katoucha

Brussels, 2022

[ifwewereallowed]

Joelle and Aurelie

Joelle walks through the world fully aware of who she is — and she refuses to apologize for it.

A Black Belgo-Congolese woman, a lesbian, an Afrofeminist activist — her identity is complex, powerful, and often misunderstood. Society is quick to reduce her to labels, sometimes violent ones. “Black dyke” — a slur she’s heard far too often. But Joelle knows that visibility comes with a cost. And still, she shows up. Loudly. Freely. Unafraid.

She is in love with Aurélie, a white woman born and raised in France. Their relationship doesn’t seek validation; it breathes on its own terms. There is joy, laughter, learning. There is mutual care — a kind of tenderness that’s both radical and grounded. Aurélie knows what it means to stand beside Joelle, not in front of her. She understands the privilege her whiteness affords her and chooses, actively, to be an ally — not just in words, but in the everyday actions that matter.

For Joelle, loving out loud is not a performance. It’s resistance. It’s healing. It’s survival.

She doesn’t measure her love against the discomfort of others — not of her family, not of strangers, not of a society that still struggles to accept her existence. Instead, she wears her love like she wears her convictions: firmly, with pride.

But Joelle’s vision stretches beyond borders. Deeply attached to Congo, to Kinshasa, she knows that queer love in Africa often faces harsher realities. She believes in action. In creating space for dialogue. In pushing the needle forward — not just here, but back home, where voices like hers are needed, urgently.

“To love, and to be loved, while Black, queer, and Congolese — that’s not just personal. That’s political.”

Joelle reminds us that living truthfully is already a form of resistance. And that sometimes, love is the most revolutionary act of all.

Brussels, 2022

[ifwewereallowed]

Godwin and Tommy

Some stories begin in the margins. Others begin in quiet towns and end up in cities that offer the promise of breath.

Godwin and Tommy met in the west of France. Two tall men, different backgrounds, same rhythm. The connection was immediate — tender, real, unforced. Not long after, they packed up their lives and moved to Brussels. A fresh start. A shared beginning.

In a city that often mirrors the contradictions of Europe itself, they found space. Not always comfort — but space. They moved in lightly, without fanfare, without pretending. Fully aware that their very presence — as two gay men, tall, proud, interracial — unsettles some and challenges many.

But Godwin and Tommy aren’t here for approval.

They’re here for joy. For intimacy. For the simple freedom of building something together in a world that often tells them they shouldn't.

Their love is unbothered by stereotypes, untouched by projections. It's rooted in laughter, in shared mornings, in glances that speak fluently without words. It’s in the way they’ve chosen to explore life as a team — not just despite the labels society assigns, but beyond them.

“We didn’t choose each other to make a point,” says Tommy. “We chose each other because it felt right. Everything else is just noise.”

And in that quiet defiance, they are radiant.

What if all love stories like theirs were allowed to just be — seen, respected, held?

Brussels, 2022

[ifwewereallowed]

Alain and Quentin

In the heart of Brussels, Alain and Quentin walk side by side — not hidden, not quiet, not ashamed.

Both of Congolese origin, they’ve been together for several years. What sets them apart isn’t just their commitment, but the radical freedom with which they choose to love. In a world that often expects Black queer couples to shrink or disappear, Alain and Quentin have chosen visibility.

They are proud of the image they reflect — two men, deeply in love, fully themselves. Independent, confident, and present. Their relationship isn’t defined by fear or concealment, but by openness. They don’t hide who they are on the streets, in the metro, at family gatherings, or online. They exist fully — in love and in public.

This visibility is not without cost. Discrimination still lurks in daily life — in looks, in assumptions, in the occasional sting of a word. But the strength of their bond allows them to face it head on. Together, they transform judgment into resilience. Love becomes their armor, their protest, their truth.

“We’ve created something solid,” says Quentin. “And that’s what gives us the strength to be seen.”

They are supported by their families and closest friends — a rare and beautiful form of affirmation that adds even more light to their story. And in being so fully themselves, Alain and Quentin have quietly become a beacon. For others who are still hiding. For those still dreaming of freedom.

Their love, just as it is, is enough. It’s powerful. And above all, it’s allowed.

Brussels, 2022

[ifwewereallowed]

Betel and Dean

Brussels, 2022

[ifwewereallowed]

Arnaud and Sheiman

Brussels, 2022

[ifwewereallowed]

Axelle and Yacine

Yacine and Axelle live and love unapologetically. As a queer, mixed-race couple — Yacine from the Maghreb, Axelle from sub-Saharan Africa — their love story unfolds against a backdrop of layered identities and intersecting struggles.

In a world where simply being is already political, their relationship becomes a site of resistance, tenderness, and quiet courage. But it’s not without pain.

While queerphobia is still pervasive across many communities, what hits Yacine and Axelle hardest is the rejection that comes from within. Within their own cultures. Within families that taught them to love, yet fail to embrace the fullness of who they are. North African communities, in particular, have made them feel like they don’t belong — not because they are strangers, but because they chose each other. Because their love doesn’t conform. Because it crosses racial, gendered, and cultural boundaries that are still taboo.

They’re met with silence, side-eyes, sometimes outright contempt. Whispers in the street. Cold stares at family gatherings. The type of quiet violence that builds over time and begins to weigh on your shoulders like a second skin.

“It’s like we’re too much for everyone,” Axelle says. “Too Black. Too queer. Too different.”

Their love — soft, loud, beautiful — is often reduced to a symbol, or worse, a threat. But to them, it’s just home. A space where they get to exist as their full selves. No apologies. No justifications.

What they want is simple: to be seen. To be accepted. To be allowed to just be.

And maybe one day, they will be.

Brussels, 2022

[ifwewereallowed]

Claudy and Audrey

Paris, 2021

[ifwewereallowed]

Matthieu and Adrien

Paris, 2021

[ifwewereallowed]

Quidal and Nam

Paris, 2021

[ifwewereallowed]

Coco and Bakel

Paris, 2021