Notes on Women: Maya Moore
Talking with Maya about personal style, disability, and jewelry
Navigating life and fashion with one arm after a cancer diagnosis at fourteen, she’s transformed adaptation into artistry. Her background in photography, journalism, and marketing gives her a sharp eye for detail, while her openness about mental health and identity as a Black, queer, disabled woman adds rare depth to her perspective.
We first connected through DMs, in the kind of conversation that unfolds more openly than you expect with someone you haven’t met in person. But Maya has that effect. There is a sincerity to her, a transparency that feels grounding. At the same time, she carries an unmistakable strength, a steady positivity that feels deeply inspiring.
What makes you feel most like yourself when you get dressed, do you have any wardrobe staples?
I feel most like myself whenever I pick a core piece, something that brings interest by either being tied to a memory or is a thrift find, and center the rest of my outfit around that piece. I’ve been really drawn to using jewelry or brooches in fun ways to either compliment or alter staples in my closet like tunics and structured jackets.
What role does jewelry play in your everyday life?
Jewelry plays such a defining and grounding role in my everyday life. Most of the pieces I wear are silver and either sourced from vintage shops, passed down through family, or gifted or purchased from women-owned businesses, so they each carry a sense of memory and intention. As a queer woman, jewelry is deeply connected to how I express and navigate gender through fashion. I’ll reach for pieces like the Hollow Necklace to bring a touch of masculinity to softer, more feminine looks like a draped top, while pieces like the Sculpted Drop Earrings add a sense of femininity to more tailored or masculine outfits like a suit. Jewelry is like a language I use to shape how I move through the world.
What does a “good day” feel like in your body?
What a “good day” in my body feels like is constantly evolving and becoming more radical as I age in a disabled body. Radical acceptance, a practice that removes morality from my assessment of how my body feels, allows me to be present in it more. A good day in my body involves movement, no matter how big or small, nourishment in the form of a home cooked meal, and full body laughter.
What inspires you most right now — visually, emotionally, or intellectually?
Disability inspires me visually, emotionally, and intellectually. I love that I get to experience the world through the lens of my disability. My amputation has pushed me to become more imaginative—not only in the way I approach fashion, but even in the way I hold my camera and take photos. I’m constantly inspired by my disabled peers and the ways they create beauty, meaning, and purpose in a world that doesn’t always see us fully. This year’s Met exhibition was especially inspiring because it highlighted how disabled bodies have long influenced fashion and art—from designers like Alexander McQueen to artists like Lucy Jones, whose work captures disability in such profound and intentional ways. Living in constant negotiation with an inaccessible world has also taught me to feel my feelings fully, speak about them openly, and let go of what no longer serves me or my work. Intellectually, I’m deeply drawn to disabled writers, artists, and thinkers. Disability theory has given me the language to better understand myself, articulate my experiences, and advocate for greater inclusion.
What do you hope your style communicates without words?
I hope my style communicates confidence, experience and grace.
