Curatorial Ethics

The Exhibits Are Not Fashion Shows

The exhibits are not fashion shows. Through the exhibits, we use art to shift the focus away from the clothing and onto the lived realities of violence. Because the truth is that the violence was never about the clothing.

"What were you wearing?" is not a question about clothing. It is an accusation disguised as curiosity. It redirects scrutiny from the perpetrator to the body of the person harmed. It asks the victim to explain the violence.

That is why the clothing is in the room. A nurse's uniform, a child's sunsuit, a pair of jail pants—these are presented alongside survivors' words, 911 calls, interviews, case records, and the witness of the family left behind. Most of the clothing and other items in our exhibits are representative. The originals are often unavailable because they remain in custody as evidence or have been lost long ago. We bring the representative items together with survivors’ and surviving families’ testimony, case records, and other documentation to make visible the violence that happened to us and to our loved ones.

The clothing is not the problem, and it is not the answer. It is what survivors surrender as evidence. It is what mothers of murdered daughters are left holding. The clothing is not a prop. It is not presented as fashion. It is presented in relation to the record of what happened. It is that record that makes the question collapse.

To present the What Were You Wearing? exhibits as fashion shows is to invert their purpose. The work was and remains about exposing those accusations and reclaiming our stories—not about celebrating what we were wearing.

When clothing, brands, or institutions become the focus, attention shifts away from the violence and the people harmed. Our responsibility is to keep the record of what happened—and the people whose lives it concerns—at the centre of the work.

The Wrong Questions Project holds to the exhibit's original purpose. We use the clothing to take the question apart, not to give it a stage. We place the record beside the disbelief so the inversion cannot hide. We do not ask you to admire anything. We ask you to see what the question did: who was doubted, who was protected, and what happened next.

Preserving the specificity of an account does not require public identification. Survivors’ and surviving families’ choices about naming and privacy remain theirs.

Why We Work This Way

The exhibits make visible how easily anyone could end up on one of these storyboards. Going to the doctor. Going home. Going camping. Riding a bike with an older brother. Being a child. Sleeping. These are ordinary parts of people's lives—not explanations for the violence committed against them.

Some boards document individual experiences; others document patterns of violence committed against many individuals. The exhibits draw on survivors’ and surviving families’ testimony, case records, and other documentation. Taken together in one room, the boards demonstrate the scale and magnitude of that violence.

We are documenting the violence that happened to us and to our loved ones. Being an ally matters, but standing with us is not the same as having survived that violence or having lost someone to it. Our testimony is not interchangeable with an expression of solidarity. Respecting survivors and surviving families requires preserving—not erasing—that distinction.

This is what the work exposes about blame: it turns the ordinary circumstances of a person's life into accusations. What they wore. Where they went. What they did or did not do. Our work is not about proving that someone behaved well enough not to be harmed. It is about refusing the premise that they were responsible for someone else's violence.

It was never about the clothing. It was never about what we did or didn't do. It was always about the violence, and about who was made to answer for it.