Ana Angeles pours their heart into everything they do, from cultivating the Women’s+ division of New York City’s Pride Basketball League to leading graduate students and advocating for affinity graduations at Columbia University’s School of Social Work. Born in the Philippines, three principles were instilled in them from a young age: show up for people, create joy together, and don’t be afraid to make sacrifices for the community.
Can you describe your style in a few words? What makes you feel most confident in what you wear?
My style is masculine and androgynous; I blend athletic streetwear with editorial fashion. I gravitate toward minimalist pieces, clean basics, and subtle or no-logo looks. I love mixing sporty elements with elevated styling to create outfits that feel effortless and impactful.
What I find the greatest joy in is when people have to ask themselves (or me!) if I’m a boy or a girl.
Basketball has clearly been a meaningful thread in your life. What first drew you to the game, and what has kept you connected to it?
I’m from the Philippines, where basketball culture is huge! When I moved to the United States, basketball was something familiar and grounding for me. I was a really shy kid (hard to believe now!), and basketball was one of the few activities where I could fully lose myself.
I started playing organized basketball in high school, and it ended up shaping so much of who I became. It brought me some of my closest friendships (they are still my best friends to this day), helped me grow into a leader, and gave me confidence at a time when I was still figuring myself out.
It also gave me a lot of peace in my gender expression. Being an athlete gave me space to dress more masculine without having to explain myself to anyone. I could exist under the guise of “athlete” before I fully had the language for my identity.
What has kept me connected to basketball is that it’s never just been a sport for me. It’s always been community, confidence, identity, and belonging.
What was the turning point between loving basketball and deciding to build something bigger as the League Commissioner of the Pride Basketball League? How has working with the Pride League redefined your relationship to the sport?
I decided not to pursue basketball after high school, and it left a huge hole in my life because so much of my identity and community had been tied to it. But somehow, I kept finding my way back to basketball—or it kept finding its way back to me.
I played intramural basketball in college and met one of my dearest friends through it. Later, while studying abroad in London, I played basketball for Kingston University for a year. As an international student, it can be difficult to make friends, but basketball immediately gave me a sense of community again. Even writing this now, I’m reminded of how much connection the sport has brought into my life.
When I moved to New York City for graduate school in 2013, I found the Pride Basketball League (formerly the NYC Gay Basketball League) through a Google search. I remember telling myself that once I finished grad school, I would finally join… and I did! It felt like a space made just for me. For the first time, I experienced basketball in an environment where queer people could show up fully as themselves.
Joining the league in my early 20s also gave me something I didn’t realize I needed at the time: a vision of queer adulthood and queer futures. I met older queer people who were thriving—building careers, relationships, chosen families, and community. Seeing that expanded my understanding of what my own life could look like. It made me feel less alone and more hopeful about the future.
About a year after joining, I became so invested in the league that I was recruited to run for Vice Commissioner. Then in 2018, I was elected League Commissioner of the Women’s+ Division. Under my leadership, the league has grown from around 100 players to 240 players, while also expanding partnerships, sponsorships, and community-building programming.
But more than the numbers, becoming League Commissioner made me realize how powerful and necessary this community is. It means a lot to me to lead a queer basketball organization in New York City, a place with so much queer and basketball history. I’ve become really intentional about building something sustainable and creating the structure the organization needs to continue and thrive long after my tenure.
Basketball gave me confidence growing up, and helping build this community gave me purpose. It transformed basketball from something personal into something collective, affirming, and bigger than myself. I always say in our Tip-Off Parties that the biggest wins happen off the court.
As Columbia University’s Associate Director of Student Leadership and Engagement at the School of Social Work, what kind of conversations are you having with students as threats to affinity graduations, which honor cultural, racial, ethnic, or identity-based communities, are underway?
Bonus: What’s it like planning the affinity graduations at the School of Social Work, and what’s the impact you see on students?
When conversations around defunding DEI initiatives began gaining real traction, it raised immediate concerns for a lot of higher ed institutions across the country—we even saw universities completely dismantle their DEI offices. At the same time, affinity graduations have been politicized and targeted for years, so these are conversations we’ve unfortunately had to have.
What I can say is that affinity celebrations continue to be some of our most meaningful and impactful events. They create space for students to share and celebrate deeply personal, cultural, and identity-based stories that often don’t have a place elsewhere in institutional settings. Especially at an Ivy League institution, these moments of visibility, storytelling, and affirmation matter.
Planning these celebrations is also personal for me. In 2013, I led the planning of the inaugural Asian Pacific Islander Graduation at Cal State Monterey Bay. At that time, only 6% of our student body identified as AAPI. Being part of that experience made me feel more connected to my own accomplishments, history, and community.
In social work, our students constantly talk about identity, positionality, power, privilege, and oppression. Affinity celebrations are an extension of those conversations, and they’re also opportunities to celebrate culture, resilience, and joy!
As a leader, how do you help students navigate a world where their educational institution doesn’t always align with their beliefs and values?
I work with graduate students pursuing their Master of Science in Social Work. Many already have experience navigating institutions that may not fully align with their values. My role is to co-create a student experience where students can build community, be celebrated, and develop as leaders.
I work closely with all of our student leaders (orientation leaders, student government officers, and student club leaders), and I try to lead with authenticity and transparency. I want students to understand the realities of institutional processes and limitations (I like to remind them that these dynamics exist beyond Columbia) while also recognizing the power they have to build community, combine or create resources, and advocate for others.
What I’ve learned is that even when institutions are rigid, the way we move through them still matters. Leadership is about continuing to show up thoughtfully, ethically, and in community, even when the work is challenging.
As we celebrate AAPI Heritage Month, how has your cultural identity shaped the way you move through leadership, community, or self-expression?
Being Filipino (and Filipino American) has shaped so much of how I understand community, care, and resilience. I was raised in a culture that values showing up for people, creating joy together, and making sacrifices for the community. I carry those values into every leadership space I’m in.
At the same time, growing up, I didn’t always see people who looked like me reflected in leadership or in conversations around identity and self-expression. Because of that, I think I lead with a strong awareness of representation and belonging. I want people to feel seen in the spaces I help create.
What does feeling at home in yourself look like today?
Feeling at home in myself looks like now. I know myself, and I’m at peace and very confident in what I bring to the world, to my communities, and to my work. It looks like being someone my younger self would look up to and be proud to become!