Franco Stevens is the founder of Curve magazine, one of the first publications in the world to center lesbian and queer women. Her nonprofit, The Curve Foundation, upholds Curve’s legacy through accessibility and community engagement.
Why did a magazine feel like the right medium for your mission to raise lesbian visibility?
In 1991, when the publication was founded, magazines were in their heyday. A glossy, full-color magazine felt like a declaration of our existence. It said, “We’re here, we matter, and we deserve to see ourselves represented!”
It wasn’t just about the stories inside, but about the validation that came with holding something professional, beautiful, and made just for us. Creating a magazine meant showing that lesbians and queer women were worthy of visibility, pride, and celebration. It told our community, and the world, that we had arrived.
In what ways have you seen the narrative around queer people change since Curve magazine’s inception 35 years ago?
When we first started, Curve was called Deneuve magazine. Back then, there were a few gay publications, but putting the word “lesbian” on the cover was considered bold, even risky. Since then, our identities have expanded far beyond “gay” or “lesbian.” As our language has evolved to better express gender identity and sexuality, the narrative has become more nuanced and, in my opinion, more comprehensive
We hired our first transgender employee in the mid-1990s and have continued to champion individuality and self-expression from an equitable standpoint. Times have changed, and so has public opinion. I like to think Curve played a small part in that shift by featuring voices, profiles, stories, and art rooted in queer women’s culture.
Another major change has been how we connect with one another. The internet completely transformed that landscape, but it also contributed to the loss of many lesbian spaces — bars, clubs, bookstores, and community centers that once served as lifelines and havens. In the early days, our small but mighty team would drive across the country in a van loaded with boxes of magazines, meeting readers where they lived and gathered. Back then, much of our audience was still closeted, especially at work. Seeing themselves represented in print meant everything.
What does leadership look like within the queer community?
To me, leadership in the queer community looks as complex as all the letters in our beautiful rainbow of alphabet people. It’s someone starting an LGBTQAI+ club at school, creating a blog, becoming an influencer, coming out to a friend, living an authentic life, or choosing to wear a suit instead of a skirt (or a skirt instead of a suit). It’s the entrepreneur opening a queer-owned business or one that serves our community’s needs. It’s the nonprofit leader fighting for our rights. It’s the person publishing a zine for their friends. It’s everyone who finds their own way with the mission of making a difference.
It’s also the people we celebrate every year through the Curve Power List. Each of them shows that leadership takes many forms, from storytelling and activism to innovation and representation.
In my opinion, leadership has always meant standing up, setting an example, and refusing to wait for someone else to fix what’s broken. I’ve always said, if you want something to change, get off your ass and do something about it. That’s how 22-year-old me started a lesbian magazine. I kept waiting for someone else to step up for queer women in our community, and then I realized, if I wanted to see change, I needed to stop waiting and make it happen.
At Kirrin Finch, clothing is key to understanding who we are. What role did clothing play as you discovered your sexuality?
Once I was old enough to pick out my own clothes, I gravitated toward what were considered “boys’” clothes. They were more comfortable, easier to move in, and let me play sports without worrying about how I looked. Like many girls, or tomboys, as we were often labeled, wearing boys’ clothing became a quiet act of defiance. Later, men’s clothing turned into something more, a way for other queer people to recognize me as one of their own.
I still remember the first time I wore a suit. It was at least two sizes too big, but I felt an incredible sense of confidence and power. I finally looked the way I felt inside. From then on, I never looked back. I went from shopping in the boys’ department to visiting tailors in Hong Kong and Vietnam to find clothes that actually fit my body. Over time, I discovered something even better: when I wear clothing made by people who understand the nuances of queer bodies, like the team at Kirrin Finch, I feel completely at home in my skin, confident in who I am, and proud of how I show up in the world.
You bought back Curve magazine from Avalon Media in 2021. What was the thought process behind your decision? How did you know it was the right time to do it?
During the filming of the documentary AHEAD OF THE CURVE, I received a call from Silke Bader at Avalon Media. She told me that she couldn’t make a print magazine work any longer and had decided to sell it to a larger publisher.
That courtesy call set a plan in motion. My wife, Jen Rainin, and I bought back the magazine and donated it to The Curve Foundation, a newly formed nonprofit created to carry on the magazine’s legacy. I knew that giving the magazine and all its assets back to the community was the right move. Now the magazine and its vast archive belong to the people, not to any one individual. We continue the original mission to uplift the stories and culture of queer women and nonbinary people. In fact, we might just be the only national nonprofit dedicated specifically to LGBTQ+ women and nonbinary people. Full stop.
How did you hone your personal style? Was there anyone you especially drew inspiration from?
My personal style evolved through a mix of watching others, asking questions, and a lot of trial and error. At my crossroads as a queer, butch, masc, and gender nonconforming disabled person in a wheelchair with small feet and a tiny head, it’s been an ongoing game of figuring out what works and what just feels awkward. Sitting all day means my pants have to be really comfortable. That’s definitely more important than what my butt looks like.
If I see someone wearing something I admire, I’ll ask them about it, whether it’s a shirt, a hat, or even their haircut. I love learning how people express themselves through style. When I saw the Kirrin Finch crew saunter into the Lesbian Visibility Week Kickoff Reception in New York City, I instantly knew where my next suit was coming from.
Over the years, I’ve realized that my style isn’t just about clothes. It’s about claiming space and feeling at home in my own skin.
What does queer joy look like to you?
To me, queer joy is defined by every person under our beautiful rainbow who lives their life without apology. It also looks like The Curve Foundation staff and volunteers are enthusiastically raising the lesbian flag over San Francisco City Hall. And, on a much quieter note, it looks like me, sipping a cold one under a palm tree in Hawaii while holding my wife’s hand as the sun sets.
What does inclusive LGBTQAI+ representation look like in media to you?
To me, inclusive LGBTQAI+ representation in media means we stop asking who’s “allowed” to be seen, and start asking who’s still missing? It looks like queer women of color leading newsrooms, trans creators shaping storylines, intersex voices being normalized, and elders sharing space with Gen Z visionaries.
It’s also queer women’s publications like Curve magazine, not just surviving, but thriving. It means uplifting the queer journalists who tell our stories, mentoring those just starting, and actively opening new doors for them in media leadership.
These are core priorities at The Curve Foundation, where we’re working to ensure our stories continue to be told. That’s why we launched the Queer Women’s Media Coalition (QWMC) to bring together publishers and editors serving our community. When we stand together, everyone wins.
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