New Graphic Novel Gives Life to Genderqueer Prince

A gorgeous, beautifully written new graphic novel about a genderqueer prince breathes new life into old tropes. Learn more and take a sneak peek at some of the pages.

At first glance, The Prince and the Dressmaker, by Jen Wang, might seem like a story we’ve heard before. A boy who wants to wear dresses and faces social scorn? Think of the novel The Boy in the Dress, by David Walliams. Or, for even younger children, 10,000 Dresses, by Marcus Ewert; Jacob’s New Dress, by Sarah and Ian Hoffman; Morris Micklewhite and the Tangerine Dress, by Christine Baldacchino; or One of a Kind, Like Me/ Ú nico Como Yo, by Laurin Mayeno. And a queer prince resisting a string of princesses brought for betrothal? Think King & King, by Linda de Haan. Wang, however, gives us a tale as textured, delightful, and fresh as the fabrics of the dresses in it.

The story begins in Paris at the dawn of the modern age. Wang keeps the dialog lively and modern, however—this is more a fairy tale than historical fiction. Sixteen-year-old Prince Sebastian’s parents are hoping to find him a suitable bride, but he isn’t interested, and knows his love of wearing dresses will make him an unsuitable match. He finds support in one loyal servant and in Frances, a dressmaker with dreams of her own. She helps Sebastian become Lady Crystallia, who goes out on the town and is soon a fashion trendsetter. Will keeping Sebastian’s secret mean her own dreams must be put aside, though? Will Sebastian bow to family pressure? I won’t spoil Wang’s denouement except to say it is both positive and unexpected. (Well, sort of unexpected. Spoiler (click and drag over the blank space to reveal): Readers of Walliam’s The Boy in the Dress will recognize a similarity in how the people around Sebastian respond at the end, donning dresses themselves to support their friend. It’s a great response, to be sure, and Wang’s historical and fashion-forward take on things gives her book a different flavor, but it isn’t, strictly speaking, the first example of such a plot twist.)

Sebastian, as portrayed in the book, feels genderqueer or genderfluid, but is never labeled, which feels right for his self-conception and era. “Some days I look at myself in the mirror and think, ‘That’s me, Prince Sebastian! I wear boy clothes and look like my father.’ Other days it doesn’t feel right at all,” he says.

The relationship between Sebastian and Frances is enchanting, even through ups and downs, as these two young people navigate the shoals of family, friendship, social expectations, societal change, and being true to themselves. Frances is fully realized in her own right, and not just a foil to Sebastian. Their interactions are what give the story life and elevate this above the many other tales of boys in dresses and queer princes. Wang’s illustrations capture the emotions of her characters and do justice to the exuberant fashions with which they clothe themselves.

Despite the graphic format, this is probably not a book for very young children—but not because of the queer content. The language and storyline (particularly the unspoken things that happen in some frames) will just likely make some parts hard for them to follow, and because it does deal with family rejection, it could introduce fears where none existed before. For older children, however, it feels like a perfect read—a coming-of-age fairy tale with universal themes as well as a queer thread, sprightly dialogue, and enough twists to feel original. Adults, particularly queer ones, will also find it charming, and perhaps even wonder how our lives might have been different if we had tales like this to inspire us in our youth.