Ten years ago, Jordan Lewis found himself in a dark place. Leaving an unhealthy relationship, he was left without many people he could confide in. At 24 years old, he contemplated taking his own life.
Then he found leather.
It started with a pair of cuffs in a small shop. They reminded him of Wonder Woman, and ultimately his grandmother – his real life heroine.
Lewis, who was very close with his grandmother, often reflects on their old conversations.
“My favorite thing from my grandma was that the smell of the leather gave her a headache, so she always told me to keep the door closed. And yet, she was by far the most supportive.”
Leather kink is the expression of masculinity and individuality through the adoption of leather attire. And today, Lewis is one of the Connecticut leather community’s most visible representatives. He was named “Mr. Connecticut Leather 2024,” by Connecticut Leather Inc., a kink group that celebrates unconventional, safe and consensual sex — and the LGBTQ+ community.
The group’s members don’t only dress in leather outfits, they’re also LGBTQ+ advocates who play an active role locally, hosting fundraisers at soup kitchens and charity events.
“It's a good way to get together for good causes other than just going to a bar and being social,” Lewis said. “By doing these small things that have a big impact, it allows everyone who doesn't know who we are to recognize that these people are interesting.”
Finding a community
Leather subculture started during and after World War II when military men started to be given “blue discharges.” The discharges, named for the color of paper they were printed on, were given to service members who had “undesirable traits,” meaning they may have been women, Black or homosexual.
Out of the nearly 50,000 blue discharges that were given during World War II, 9,000 of them were under the speculation of homosexuality, according to the National Park Service.
Many of the dismissed men who were gay moved to more major cities; including San Francisco, Los Angeles and Chicago, which has hosted leather competitions dating back to the 1970s.
Lewis said he felt called to the leather community after a difficult childhood where he often felt ignored by his family and struggled to fit in at school.
“When I finally started to come out of the closet, one of my closest friends and I started a relationship together. There were difficulties in the relationship, and when it ended, I felt that my reasons [for] wanting to continue to live were close to zero at that point.”
It was during this challenging time Lewis decided to carve a path where he could be his authentic self without worrying about the judgment of others.
Fast forward to today and his leather collection has expanded well beyond that initial purchase of cuffs. His home is filled with leather pieces including a yellow and black outfit – complete with a motorcycle cap, gloves and boots.
“Every piece reminds me of why I got it and where it came from,” he said. “It represents my journey and how I'm representing myself while wearing them.”
In 2021, Lewis decided to go to a “Mr. Connecticut Leather” competition (there is a “Ms. Connecticut Leather,” too). He said he wanted to get out after being stuck inside due to COVID-19 restrictions.
Through leather, he said, he finally felt seen. He spent the entire weekend among others dressed in leather outfits – and remembered being happy for the first time in a while.
“I said to myself, what if I could do this? What if my desire to continue existing past my trauma would allow me to reach this point and show people that this person could rise above?” he said.
It was also where he met Trell Walters, the previous “Mr. Connecticut Leather,” and Lewis’ current partner. Walters encouraged Lewis to compete and supported him throughout his year of holding the title, which ends this September.
As the face of the leather community, Lewis has been spending a lot of time at pride festivals around the state – including a recent gathering in Middletown. But, he’d like to see more representation when it comes to the kink.
“I see a few people that I recognize in that entire parade, but I only actually see two leather flags flying in that Parade, which hurt a little bit,” he said.
While the visual aspects of the leather community often capture public attention, Lewis said they can also lead to the misconception that it’s all about the look. “They don't see the community of people who finally have a family that welcomes them in whatever skin they choose to be in.”
“[Leather] reminds me of why I step out of the door every day, go out, and maintain a smile on my face. I’m reminded that there's always something worthwhile at the end of the journey.”
Note: This story includes discussion of suicide. If you or someone you know needs help, the national suicide and crisis lifeline in the U.S. is available by calling or texting 988. There is also an online chat at 988lifeline.org.
