[trans]forming space zine by ActsofUrbanism

Zay Wilder, member of Kiki ballroom, walks in the Blackout Ball, November 2015. source: theatlantic.com

table of contents letter from the editor

drag + ball culture: ephemeral bodies + spaces

Zenobia, Drag Princess of Brooklyn

Theydy Bedbug

creating exuberance by resisting perfection

zine playlist

shares her drag journey, influences, and insights on performing IRL vs virtual talks about their roles as a multi-media drag performer and educator

pump-up songs feat. favs from Zenobia and Theydy!

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why this zine? - editorial Hello reader. Before diving into this zine, I’d like to introduce myself: I am a queer, non-binary architecture grad student. Drag and music have always interesested me as forms of self-expression (see right), and I thoroughly enjoy meeting other trans/ gender-nonconforming people who share that sentiment. With my thesis endeavors, I would selfishly love to promote “the gay agenda” any way that I can. All jokes aside, I want to bring queer voices and value of queer spaces, especially ones that are based on immaterial and social relationships, to the forefront of the architectural discourse. I ultimately want to share the research as a critical work of love for the queer communities this may reach. I’m grateful to be alive during this time and to get to pursue a topic that allows me to more deeply understand the roots of queer culture and speculate on the future. My objective over the past semester has been to learn the history of ballroom spaces and explore the branching social structures that emerged in North American cities as a result. As a person who is white and not a member of the ballroom subculture, it is important to approach the subject with respect for the context. In the realm of drag, there is more room for exploration and curiosity from my individual perspective, and within the many new digital formats there are opportunities for design that would benefit communities of drag and ballroom. This zine has a collection of ballroom and drag-themed media, including interviews of two drag performers whom I admire, Zenobia and Theydy Bedbug. I really value the insight of drag performers to talk about their identities, performance, community engagement, and visions for the future, and it would be a dream to continue an interview series with future issues. A few of the primary questions I have while making this zine issueWhat is unique about ballroom subculture and the spaces with which these communities interact? Queer spaces, such as ballrooms and drag scenographies, originated as ephemeral - why do they still remain that way? What makes certain venues desirable for transformation? How can exuberant performance spaces be achieved with minimal resources? What is the role of architects in the future of ballroom and drag? How can an outsider (a designer) deploy a subcultural event without curatorial dictation?

Can you give me a break Can you give me a minute I feel like I’m suffocating in this bodysuit I feel like my ribs will break in this corset My hair is blooming like The weeds in my backyard They really seem to flourish when they’re free of your regard Untie the knots I never wanted to be bound I am round and I am square I take no shape, I fill the air “Corset,” Háptica

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drag + ball culture: ephemeral bodies + spaces Ballroom is a queer social subculture that defies rigid boundaries, binaries, and structures. Ballroom emerged in the last three decades of the twentieth century to subvert the socio-economic hardships and violence that disproportionately affected Queer People of Color. Ballroom’s solid social structure provides inclusivity, solidarity, and safe space for young QPOC, while the physical aspect of balls is more temporal, occupying various venues throughout major North American cities. Performing in ballroom relies on the vulnerability of identity, a play of gender expression, and a joyous liberation of Black and Latine performers from white, cisheteronormative oppression. The spatial qualities of ballroom and drag are equally as ephemeral as the identities of the performers. Ballroom and drag communities reappropriate available material and immaterial resources from dominant society to suit specific spatial and social needs. Balls occupy a wide variety of existing venues with temporary structures and deployable scenographies. The nomadic essence of balls is indicative of the necessity for queer communities to co-opt the venues for exuberant performances and quickly restore them to their ordinary state. Given that there is a methodology at work, how can architects analyze and evaluate ideal spatial conditions for reappropriation and determine how to minimize material costs. What can architects learn from this process? Can authorship and design of queer spaces be a result of co-creation and participation between architects and the community? The resourceful, queer use of space to create an environment for performance and community translates from physical to digital space with ease (as seen during the COVID pandemic when many queer and trans drag performers used live streaming platforms to raise money for mutual aid.) Digital platforms enable more accessibility and connectivity than their physical counterparts within the urban environment. Within this transitional period is an opportunity for architecture to introduce new technological ways to augment the qualities of ballroom and drag performance and new methods of representation in the digital space. What happens when the physical and digital worlds collide? What are some new opportunities for expression and new modes of transformation for future drag and ballroom spaces?

Excerpt from “Architecture is Burning: An Urbanism of Queer Kinship in Ballroom Culture,” Malcolm J. Rio, Thresholds 48

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prominent ballroom spaces in 1970s-80s era New York [1] Harlem the Imperial Elks Lodge No. 127, the Harlem YMCA, the Roller Rock Skating Rink, the Crystal Ballroom, the Uptown Social Club, [2] Midtown/Times Square area the Golden Terrace Ballroom Club Constellation, the Red Zone nightclub, Hotel Diplomat/Club Sweatz [3] Greenwich Village Tracks NYC nightclub, the Paradise Garage nightclub, the Marc Ballroom, Lesbian and Gay Community Services Center

map created from list compiled by Kevin (Ultra Omni) Burrus’s “Harlem Ballroom Historic Timeline” http://harlemballroomhistorictimeline.blogspot.com/ Images: Top: 1980s Ball, Venue unknown Bottom: Drag Ball, Webster Hall 1920

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The Imperial Elks Lodge before and after “ballroomification”. An exploration in Virtual Reality in which a frequented site for balls becomes visible to the street outside. Media: Physical model + VR . Text excerpts from Malcolm J. Rio and Marlon M. Bailey.

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IN CONVERSATION WITH

ZENOBIA

Zenobia (she/they) is a mononymous drag performer, model, and DJ, known as “The Drag Princess of Brooklyn.” She sat down to talk with Gina about their evolution and influences as a performer, how the pandemic has affected drag, and the ingredients of a great performance venue. GINA: Can you describe Zenobia as a drag performer? How has your personal brand evolved to its current form? ZENOBIA: I would say there has been a lot of consistency, to be honest, since I started performing. I have always been a dancer, I always love to dance. I had always lip-synced my whole life and learned lyrics. And, you know, I was born in ‘93, so I grew up on VH1 video countdowns and TRL. And MTV News, and the era of the music video influenced and raised me as a drag baby, before I was even doing drag. [Then], I started performing. You know, I had learned to make wigs by that point, and I had started dabbling in makeup. I definitely started on that gender journey of just starting to question and starting to push back on those norms that had been enforced and pushed upon me for so long. I had just moved back to New York City, and shortly after I started performing, I got fired from my day job. And it was very much this perfect storm. I felt ready. I felt obviously scared, obviously nervous, and all that stuff. But I felt like, “I can’t imagine being anywhere else right now... this is where I’m supposed to be.” When you have that feeling, that sort of, divine moment of clarity with all of these weird things that everyone’s always made fun of me for, things I’ve always been ostracized for, and that have been quirks or things I’ve been taught to be ashamed of.... They all culminated and Zenobia was born. I happened upon an incredible community, a community that I’m still a part of: the Brooklyn drag community. It was just, like I said, divine intervention. I just felt seen; I felt supported, and I’ve always had a very clear vision of how I want to look, how I want to express myself, and how I’ve always been very particular. I had found a space that facilitated that, essentially. That’s why I say that my style and a lot of my brand developed really early on, and a lot of those pieces that were there at the very beginning are still very relevant to my style of performance, my look, my brand, I guess you could

say. And a lot of that, again, is influenced by music videos, and by the divas and just absolute icons of the late 90s and early 2000s. Rihanna, Beyonce, Destiny’s Child, Eve, Kelly Rowland. I mean the list just goes on and on. Missy Elliott- these were femme forces that I had idolized for so long, and I finally found a medium where I felt like I could channel them into myself, which was such a powerful experience. I think, you know, f*ck RuPaul, but I quote something along the lines of, “One of the most powerful feelings in the world is to become the image of your own imagination.” And I really felt like, at that time, you know, looking back, she was busted (laughs), but I felt like I had become the image of mine. G: Yeah, you can feel when it clicks. Z: You can feel when it clicks. And that was a big click for me at that point in my life. Drag and my particular drag style helped me with my self confidence, with exploring gender, with social skills and interactions, with stagefright, and it helped me to be better at dancing in heels (but that was also something that I always gravitated towards.) It just helped me so much. But yeah, I don’t know, my brand is very, like, authentic, I want to say. Yeah, when I changed my name, I changed it to the name that I had chosen in drag, because that’s what all my friends had called me. When I first started drag, characters were still kind of a thing and people were like, “Oh, what’s your drag persona?” And, like, it’s just me. I guess a lot of that did come from idolizing these sorts of celebrities [whose] brand is very much, you know, as calculated as it sometimes can be very authentic. They’re selling likability, they’re selling being pleasant to work with, and that has kind of modeled how I operate through this industry.

G: I was gonna ask, and you started to touch on your influences. So you’re more influenced by people who are outside of the drag scene, like celebrities and figures and musicians, more than other drag performers? Z: Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Especially in my community, I’m very blessed and so grateful to be surrounded by, uplifted by, and, you know, sometimes in competition with some incredible performers: incredible, incredible seamstresses, designers, makeup artists, dancers, lip-syncers, and just actors. There’s some incredible talent here, and I am continually inspired by them. I’ve definitely had some ruts throughout the years where I’ve been less inspired and less confident, and I’ve been exhausted by drag and thought about stopping [or taking a break]. And it really is by looking around my community and going to shows, because I think that’s super, super important as a performer to support people in your community. It’s those talented performers who have inspired me, kept me going, and challenged me to push myself further. So, I would say like the birth of Zenobia the drag performer, the Drag Princess of Brooklyn, if you will, was not modeled on a drag performer, but I’m very much inspired by the people I work with. G: Do you feel like the identity of being in New York City, do you feel like the roots of ballroom culture, like voguing and the language that is used, comes through into the present day drag community?

Image from Zenobia’s instagram.

Z: Absolutely, yeah. I can only speak from my own experience because I’ve only been doing this since 2016, so six years. But as long as I’ve been around, there has always been crossover. Now, they’re very different worlds at this point- I’m not sure that that was always the case back in the day- but in my experience, they have been very different worlds. However, there is a crossover, and there are icons in ballroom who also perform in drag, and vice versa: people who blew up in the drag scene who have actually gone back to the ballroom scene. They’re definitely different, and when I look around the world and around the country, there is definitely vogue and ballroom influence across the board. But yeah, you definitely see it and you feel it, in New York moreso than the other places that I have traveled around the country. G: Well, I think maybe some of the similarities, between drag and ballroom are like, using different props and costumes to play with different expressions of gender. And, I mean, maybe drag is more like, you’re fitting a certain theme what that person is, versus ballroom, where you’re trying to just fit the category? Z: Again, in my limited experience, I would say, ballroom is typically more authentic because you’re not dealing with a character. Like icons in ballroom and kids who come up in the

IG- whoiszenobia Content- https://www.patreon.com/whoiszenobia

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ballroom scene, it’s them, it’s them 100%, and they might branch off into every category, or a particular ball, or a variety of looks, but it’s them, whereas, there tends to be a little bit more of a delineation between, even just someone’s name. Typically, your name is your name. There tends to be a lot more of a separation where people have their daytime life and and gig and then they have their drag sort of “monster in their closet,” you know what I mean? It’s not across the board, there are varying degrees of people who feel less of that separation or even more of that separation, but you know, that’s like that’s like my hot take. G: Oh, yeah. Going back to what you said about you as a drag performer, do you feel like there’s a hard line between you onstage versus just you living your life? Z: Well, the line has changed and evolved a lot over the years. When I first started, there was a line that felt definite, but also I was as close to it as possible at all times. I was finding myself living for the night, living for the club, living to get back on stage, living to get ready and kiki with my friends and my fellow performers. And turn out a look, come up with a new number, come up with a new performance, like my mind when I was walking around at work or when I was walking around the city running errands, etc. My mind was always turning, and that’s what I was ready for. [...] I was living to be Zenobia: Drag Princess of Brooklyn, and I really noticed that separation. Then, as time went on, I was really able to fully explore my limits and needs and style and expression in nightlife and through performing. Then eventually, as that coincided with me coming out as trans, the line kind of disappeared. It very much was blurred to where I would wear so much of my heart on my sleeve in those spaces. There is still something that clicks on stage when I’m performing, but I guess the line was very blurred. As time went on, [I realized] I was too vulnerable in those spaces, and I needed to invest more in my life. In the daytime, so to speak, I needed to not be out as late. I need to not be drinking as much. I needed to pour more effort and time into the friendships that existed out in the daylight and during the daytime. There was some overlap with folks that I had met through nightlife, but it’s important to have genuine relationships and friendships and romantic relationships. For your soul, or at least for mine. So, at that point, there started to develop a line again, and I think there was almost more distance between my daytime life and my night life experience. I was feeding other parts of my soul because I felt like I got what I needed for my heart and my soul and myself out of being a performer in those nightlife spaces. I got it, I got it. [Nightlife] was enough

to a certain point and then you know, your situation changes, and it isn’t enough anymore. I needed to pivot and that line. Like I said, the line came up, and it felt less like a daytime persona and the nighttime persona and more like boundaries. You know, I need to have my drag clean and contained, I need to have a clean and calm station to get ready, and I need to be able to put it away when I’m not working because I have a life outside of that. And that is part of my life. And I love it and I still get so much out of it and appreciate it so much. It has nothing to do with that. It’s just... G: ...and it’s just career boundaries. Yeah, it sounds like you were able to just reserve some of your energy for the rest of your life, and distribute it more evenly. Z: Yeah, because that was my whole life at a certain point. I was like, “I got nothing else going on, this is it for me. This is where I feel the most alive.” I’m meeting people who look like me and have a shared experience. As you move through that, the shiny facade wears off, and you get to see, you know, the true value of those spaces. And then you also get to see where it’s lacking and where it’s not fulfilling all of your needs- at least it wasn’t fulfilling all my needs. G: Yeah, so that was your journey. It seems like you always knew who you were as a performer, but you were just figuring out your career. Z: I would say we’re rolling with the evolution of being willing to change and adapt my relationship to drag into performing as I change, you know... it’s so hard to do that. And when you find a medium that really clicks with you, and that you love and you make so many friendships and hit so many milestones and career goals that you never thought you’d ever be able to do. It’s hard to, to feel the change and to or to initiate change. G: I’m also interested in the venues and how those transform, according to the kind of performances that are happening. So, if you could describe your dream performance venue, how would you make it fit your vision? Z: Yeah, I mean, I cannot tell you how many venues, God love em, how many venues are absolute disasters. I mean, a literal bathroom. A bathroom being a dressing room for multiple performers in a night. If I had to guess, I don’t think I could lay down in there. I’m six feet, so five and a half foot room by four and a half feet. G: That’s a closet. Z: You know like when you’re walking on the street

“I happened upon an incredible community, a community that I’m still a part of- the Brooklyn drag community. It was just, like I said, divine intervention. I just felt seen. I felt supported, and I’ve always had a very clear vision of how I want to look, how I want to express myself, and how I’ve always been very particular. I had found a space that facilitated that, essentially. “

Images from Zenobia’s instagram.

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and there’s like a basement that opens up into the sidewalk? Okay, so we’re talking about dressing rooms where the venue is upstairs, and you have to leave the venue to go down these stoney stairs. Poorly lit, there are pipes everywhere, the stairs are uneven, they’re all busted. No bathroom down here. It is smoky. It is small. There is usually a light, and in the summer there’s no fan. Like it’s crazy. If we had a union, things would be a lot different. Let me tell you that much. Honestly like the most important thing to me, and I think to most performers and it drives me f*cking nuts when people do not accommodate this or do not even think of this, for folks who manage their own venues or even just people who run shows, is LIGHTING. I can lip sync every single syllable, I can have you just gagging at my emotive face, I can be hitting count, but if you can’t see it, it doesn’t matter. We need light, baby. Come on! G: We need to see you! Z: Yes, yes. Yeah, so definitely, good lighting would be great. And it doesn’t even have to be anything fancy honestly; if you have a spotlight that follows, it’s good enough. Obviously, I would love more than that; my dream venue would have to have a lot more lighting and have lighting cues, which I’ve done at some shows like that. And we love a nice background, right? We don’t want an ugly background, because when people are taking videos and photos of you, when people are suspending their disbelief and trying to get on board that you wrote this song and telling people a story through this performance. It’s a lot easier to do that when there’s a beautiful curtain or backdrop behind you. I love the fog machines, although they’re not necessarythey add drama. I’ve been really into hair fans; it makes a big difference in terms of production value, it also keeps you cooler, longer. Drag is a very sweaty sport. [Fans] keep your makeup from cracking longer, your hair moving and off your neck. So we love a hair fan. I think the last thing that makes a great venue is the audience… for drag or any sort of live performance. It’s an energetic exchange, right? If I’m not here, you have nothing to cheer for and to be entertained by, and if you’re not here, I’m performing for an empty room. We need each other. So I give you the shows, and I need you to give me your energy and your love and your attention, at the very least...If you’re not gonna scream and holler, which should be doing because, again, it’s an energetic exchange. Attention. I don’t wanna see you on your phone. I don’t see you turning around, talking to your friend. I just need three minutes of your time. I deserve that. And I doubt that whatever you have to say to your friend right now or on your phone is that much more important than what is going on on this stage right now. G: That’s a fair request. Definitely. All of those sound like fair requests. Z: Yeah, exactly. You’d be surprised at how much of a tall

order some people might think that is. G: Okay, when you mentioned like, feeding off of the crowds, energy and stuff, whenever the pandemic began, and you started to transition to a video format and pre-recording stuff... How was that different for you? How did that feel? Did you like having agency over how it all turned out? Z: I mean, obviously just life was really, really challenging for everybody. That was a very difficult shift, because it’s not just an energetic exchange that keeps the show going. It’s also just boosting someone’s confidence, right? It’s a very vulnerable thing to perform in any capacity and to get up on a stage and to show what you’ve got to give. Leaving your heart on the stage, giving your all; whatever medium you’re exploring or using, it’s vulnerable. It’s [also] so affirming, and really can bring out some incredible moments when you have a room full of people cheering you on and encouraging you. That room has to be there, not to critique or be nasty and be shady, but to support and encourage them and show them that we’re here for them and we want to see them succeed. We want to see them eat this number, this, this song, this performance, like, whatever it is. [A lot of the shows I was on] started on Instagram Live, and that was really difficult because you can’t turn on and off the mute button, like you can on Zoom, and give everybody a moment to cheer. I mean, it’s crickets- you’re commenting or tapping that little heart a million times, and that was it… so it was really, really difficult. I think it really required a sense of confidence and security in my ability, because I was not going to hear that cheer. You know, I was not getting that roar of support from my audience. I would have to go back and read and scroll through all the comments and hope we didn’t get disconnected before that happened. Once we moved to Zoom, it definitely was a little bit easier to read through the chat when people were boosting you up. And we would like to turn off the mute so everybody could cheer after a number. When we started pre-filming videos, it was really great. I think it also really lended itself to that sort of dynamic where you’re not getting that immediate praise, because it was almost less vulnerable. It was still vulnerable, but we edited it. In a live performance, you don’t get to edit your live performance; it happens as it’s going to happen. When you’re pre-recording something, you’re going through and choosing your favorite moments, your best moments. You’re not going to flub the lips,

Images from Zenobia’s instagram.

and you’re not going to put in the moments where you were dripping sweat, you know? You’re gonna put in the moments where you had just blotted and re-powdered, you’re gonna put in the moments where you knew the choreography, and you’re gonna line up the lip sync with the track. When we started pre recording, there was a level of safety in that, but it was really difficult because I was not a video editor at the time. I taught myself Premiere Pro, and just f-cking went for it because I was like, “Uh, I don’t really know what else to do right now” and basically just rose to the challenge. G: I mean, it seemed like you transitioned to the video format really flawlessly. Z: Yeah! I think we filmed the first one after a couple of weeks of doing the IG Lives, in like, April, probably. So it was definitely a big transition. But I really did appreciate it and I feel like I said that a lot of the shows I really appreciated for myself and to see other performers have essentially another medium to express themselves through their drag. Like, obviously, we’re still limited by not being able to be around people and money and and time and skill set and just knowledge of how to edit a video or a video or light a video, you know, we’re not f*cking videographers, like, we’re drag performers. We’re the talent. We’re not the like, you know, genius crew behind the machine, or we’re not the you know, I’m saying Yeah. And, and it was really, really beautiful to be able to see a little bit more into someone’s vision of how they see themselves and how they see their drag, you know, persona or or a certain performance or a just to, to get a little bit more of a peek behind a Someone’s someone’s point of view. Because when you’re at a live show, you know, you suspend your disbelief as much as you can to immerse yourself in the performance. But at the end of the day, like, everybody’s gonna be on that same stage, right? But when you have recorded videos, everyone is not on the same stage, everyone is not in the seat. G: Lastly, what message do you think your drag conveys? Z: Honestly, again, it’s changed throughout the years, but I think my manifesto nowadays is that black trans femmes can do anything. We are beautiful, sexy, talented, and tough. We don’t owe anybody any more masculinity than we do femininity, and vice versa. Yeah, and I think that has become what pushes me forward and what gives me the courage and the confidence to continue performing and to continue doing what I do.

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DRAG + BALLROOM IN THE DIGITAL REALM

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IN CONVERSATION WITH

THEYDY BEDBUG Theydy Bedbug (Kelindah- they/them) “the bug bite you beg for,” is a drag performer, educator, and facilitator based in New York. Theydy joins the zine to talk about their visions for drag, gender expression, and how they engage with other artists in the greater community. GINA: Describe “Theydy Bedbug” and how your personal brand/ drag persona evolved to its current form. THEYDY: I started doing drag in 2016, and I had two other drag personas before Theydy came. I first went by Miss Cuntstrude, and then Lady Bedbug, and as I came into my gender and switched my pronouns, I started going by Theydy. And I see Theydy as both like a “daddy” kind of like caretaker, a masc-femme flamboyant character, and also part creature-grotesque-animal, hence the Bedbug. In terms of aesthetic, a lot of, like, dapper-dandy-femme-gentleman inspiration. [There’s] lots of glitter, lots of peacock-esque qualities and also jewel tones like iridescent beetles. So I’m very inspired by insects and the glamour and glitz and glitterocity of like a lot of “male” animals and how they flag. G: How did you start performing? Who influences you inside or outside of the drag scene? T: I used to be a theater kid, I went to school for theater, and I became disheartened at the lack of roles that felt more than just like “pretty-girl ingenue.” I wanted to express a range of identities, and I also wanted nuanced characters, and I felt really not eager to stand in equity lines and audition for things. So I was a little bit lost when I first moved to New York about my art form, because I also had many different passions, and I didn’t want to just pursue acting. I wanted to be able to create my own work. So, I had a roommate, who was a drag queen, and she took me to this show called Lady Queen, and it was run by Crimson Kitty. And it was all afab (assigned female at birth) performers. At the time, the word “nonbinary,” was still very nascent and not really in the cultural lexicon, but there were a lot of drag kings and a lot of hyper queens, who were using hyper femininity. That was my introduction to

drag, and I felt like there was a place for me because it was using politics but also glamour, sexuality, fun and entertainment, and launching us to make a point or a political message. For me, that felt really empowering. So I took Crimson Kitty’s Lady Queen University workshop for that, and from then on, I started performing. G: How did you meet your community of fellow drag artists? What is the range of artistry and drag that you interact with in your “Wannabe; between genders and genres” showcase? T: I think it wasn’t until a couple of years ago, when I started competing in the Mx. Nobody Pageant with the Nobodies that I developed a drag community because more and more afab performers were doing drag and taking up more space. And now there’s this collective in Brooklyn called the Cake Boys. When I started, it was quite isolating, and there were very few of us. So, it took me several years before I felt like I found family. Then, I won what was called the Mr. /Ms. Griffin pageant, which, in the year that I won, shifted into the Mx. Brooklyn title in 2019. I feel like that was somewhat of a height of my career. I was producing the show “Wannabe; between genders and genres,” and that’s like a trans-centered showcase. It’s also for performers who don’t just do drag; it’s drag + burlesque or drag + music or drag + poetry. I mean, I was really interested in gender nonconformity and also genre nonconformity. That [show] stopped during the pandemic, and while I have an interest to bring it back, I’m currently doing a class through my day job at the Brooklyn Arts Exchange (BAX), and it’s called “Drag Performance: Between and Beyond Gender.” We have a showcase for that happening at BAX in December. The path

has been going on throughout the pandemic, and it’s really for folks who want to use drag to express, not just like, king drag, or queen drag, but really character or identity beyond the binaries of gender and just explore, pantomime, playfulness, or identity exploration. It’s less about how to be a drag king or a drag queen, and more like how to use drag as a forum to explore your identity and express the range of what is possible and who you are. That’s how I feel like “Wannabe” has evolved right now. G: Do the roots of ballroom culture, especially in New York City, influence any of your choreography, style, and gender performance? T: While I very much respect and honor and pay homage to ballroom culture, I don’t consider myself to be part of that lineage. I see that as a black and brown space, and I am a white drag performer. I am so grateful for the roots of ballroom and the way that the balls have paved the way for many different kinds of drag, and thereby like gender expression and conformity. Also, it’s not my community, so I can’t really speak to anything regarding ballroom culture, and I’ll speak to specifically gender non-conforming jobs, because that’s what I can speak about with agency.

Theydy Bedbug demonstrating their namesake and creature inspiration through the use of iridescent beetlelike fabrics and jewel tones.

IG- theydy.bedbug website- https://www.kelindahbee.art/abouttheydy

G: What does the term “realness” mean to you? How does your gender identity come through your performances? In what ways do you use props and costumes to play with different expressions of gender? T: The term [realness] as a category and the role that it plays in the ball scene doesn’t have particular resonance for me, because that’s not my community, although it’s one I respect from afar. I’m not really interested in “realness” in the sense of passing as any particular gender or necessarily fitting into norms. I’m interested in expanding what masculinity and femininity can be. The way that shows up in my performance are, I mean, my character almost always has a mustache and a cock. I do burlesque, and I have boy tits and I reveal my chest and package and my mustache. I also have my very glittery makeup and high feminine wig, and it also changes- I consider the way I express myself to be in flux. It’s more important to me to be authentic to how I want to express myself in that show, on that day, in that specific performance, in that specific number than it is for me to have a consistent brand, or be perceived or readable in terms of any sort of realness. One other way that that shows

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up in my performances is I am really interested in transformation and change. Sometimes that means transformation in terms of gender expression but also just in terms of affecting change in transformation in myself, in the space, in my costume, and in the perceptions of others. I’m also really interested in confusing the audience about my gender expression. I’m interested in confusing people’s attraction and what they think they’re attracted to by being many different things at once. G: Describe your dream performance venue. How would you transform an existing space or build a new scenography to fit your vision? T: I think that drag should be performed on an elevated platform, like a stage, and not like a bar floor where everyone’s on the same level (which is different from ball but from ballroom but as I said, I’m going to stick to talking about drag, because that’s my expertise). I think either the audience’s seating should be elevated or the stage itself should be elevated, so that it’s fully visible, especially if the performers want to use the floor. Oftentimes, when we perform in bars, what is being done is just not visible, because it’s like being in a crowd. Also, it needs to have a really good sound system, because especially with lip sync, songs have to be really loud. Oftentimes, venues who aren’t used to producing drag don’t have the volume high enough. Also [it needs] good lighting, especially with lip sync to see if performers like lips moving, there needs to be some sort of spotlight on the performer. Those are the basics, but you’d be surprised how many drag venues don’t have these things. [The venue] also needs a private space for performers to change and to have privacy from the audience. It’s a very vulnerable thing we’re doing so you know, it also kind of ruins the illusion if there’s not a private place to get in or out of drag. Again, something that seems obvious, but having a green room, or even just like a kitchen that the performers can change in is something that many venues in Brooklyn don’t have. That’s like the bare minimum, but I definitely want to see big stages and fancy LED lights and levels and large audiences. I want drag to be in like weird, queer DIY venues as much as I want to be seen on large platforms... not just what is seen on TV, in the form of Drag Race, but like weird drag, nonbinary drag, queer drag, drag that also incorporates burlesque. I want it to be seen, you know, in ways that are normalized and not just tokenized, or exoticized into this quirky thing that we’re using to get, you know, “pink points”

or to get queer consumers the way that capitalism loves to exploit our identities for consumption. In order to humanize and build empathy and offer more examples to viewers, I want drag to be seen on all platforms. G: Digital Drag, such as the “Honey, I’m Homo” fundraiser shows you co-produced, has emerged within the past few years as a new format for performing. What do you think is the future of drag / ballroom culture? T: You know, those [digital drag performances] started to wane after bars and venues started to reopen. Mostly, I think people were really eager for in-person connection and eager to get off of their screens. But I think what was really special about that was how it really created access for people who wouldn’t normally be able to come to a drag venue because of accessibility. Many venues are not accessible; they don’t have an elevator or they have stairs and no ramp, or the doorways are not big enough for a wheelchair or for accessibility modifications. So I think that that was really exciting, and it also encouraged drag performers to create music videos. I really appreciated that, and I am grateful for the archive I now have when it comes to my work. In terms of the future, I really want to see respect and resources. As I said before, I want to see it in movies, in music videos, on TV shows, and in commercials. I want to see drag performance in visual art. Basically, like all forms of art and media. I want to see drag performance in a way that it’s not exploitative but in a way that’s really humanizing. Not just drag queens, I want to see all kinds of drag things, kings, and in betweens on all platforms. G: What message do you think your drag conveys? T: I definitely don’t think there’s one message. I think it really depends on the performance, on the number, and also on the context in which it is being received. I hope that all of my performances, in some ways, demonstrate transformation, and also offer more examples of how people can expand their understanding of what masculinity and femininity can be. Also, [I hope to] be really clear and really gay and have that be sexy to everyone of all genders and sexualities, and have that be confusing to folks who typically understood themselves to be monosexual, meaning like, only attracted to one gender. So that is present, I think, in a lot of my work. [My work] blurs the lines of what is drag versus burlesque versus poetry versus performance art versus dance versus theatre. I’m interested in blending art forms and not being confined to one genre, just like I’m not interested in being confined to one gender or sexuality. I’m really interested in

using drag and other art forms (like poetry, spoken word, theatre and storytelling). So that is the message. I’m also interested in making people feel something, like entertaining them and making them laugh in this campy way, turning them on in a seductive and arousing way, but also making them feel deeper emotions as well. I think oftentimes, people don’t expect to feel something, when they go to a drag show. They’re expecting entertainment or to “get their life,” or see somebody really shine and glow. I think drag can also tap into deeper emotionality and just make people think and question what they believe, [question] what they think they can be, or how they think they can express themselves. I’m an educator and facilitator, and I teach drag performance classes to adults and kids. I think that the point of those classes is to show that everyone can do drag and that it actually should be for everyone. The more people who have the opportunity to express the full range of who they are and experiment with gender and sexuality, the more options there will be in the world, and the ability to create new worlds and imagine what is possible, I think, is a pathway to liberation. And so that’s the message: drag is for everyone, and I think everyone should have access to it as a form of healing, self expression, and empathy to better understand people who are different from you… as a way to meet across differences.

Theydy Bedbug playing with gender identity through costume, makeup, acting, and choreography.

“I hope that all of my performances, in some ways, demonstrate transformation, and also offer more examples of how people can expand their understanding of what masculinity and femininity can be... I’m interested in blending art forms and not being confined to one genre, just like I’m not interested in being confined to one gender or sexuality.”

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Analyzing the improvisational choreography of Voguing, featuring the five elements: hands, duckwalk, catwalk, spins and dips, and floorwork,(bottom) in juxtaposition with the precise, step-by-step movements of Tai Chi (top)

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creating exuberance by resisting perfection Black and Latino trans people created ballroom for the interests of their safety and sanity among social environments that ostracize them. The concept of “realness” in ballroom culture is associated with presentation according to social, gender, and sexual norms. Ballroom and drag are ever-expanding fields that have always held space for a matrix of gender expressions on stage, and they are increasing in inclusivity for performers who choose to express multiple genders at once. Ballroom and drag communities are a patchwork of identities connected through networks of care and solidarity. Queer spaces, therefore, do not adhere to or benefit from, capitalist notions of efficiency, replicability, and consumerism. These spaces are not dictated or curated by an institution or overarching organization; the people use the found space how they want.

Voguing is one way in which queer people of color resist dominant society through joy, movement, and freedom of expression. Although it almost always consists of five main choreographic elements, the art of voguing is improvisational and cannot be calculated or measured with ease between various performers. The nature of voguing reflects the nature of the queer performance spaces: unpredictable, unlimited, and imperfect. As Theydy Bedbug expresses, “In terms of the future, I really want to see respect and resources,” queer spaces do not need to be designed; they need to be funded and made visible. Can architecture provide the resources to make drag and ballroom spaces more accessible, affordable, and sustainable?

photo (left): 29th Annual Latex Ball, 2019, logotv.com, text excerpt (right) from “Architecture is Burning: An Urbanism of Queer Kinship in Ballroom Culture,” Malcolm J. Rio, Thresholds 48

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1. Quiet on Set - Remi Wolf 2. Freedom - Christine and the Queens 3. Runway - For Club Play Only, Pt. 5 - Duke Dumont 4. Young and Gay - Austra 5. Demon Chaser - Pixel Grip, Monae 6. Police State- Pussy Riot 7. A Message for the DJ- Delano Smith Feat. Diamondancer 8. Sugar Honey Iced Tea (S.H.I.T) - Princess Nokia 9. Starstruck - Sorry 10. Take Over Control (feat. Eva Simons) - Afrojack (Zenobia’s pick)

11. Listen (From the Motion Picture “Dreamgirls”)- Beyoncé (Zenobia’s pick) 12. 5 out of 6 - Dessa (Theydy Bedbug’s pick) 13. Shrimp - Dessa (Theydy Bedbug’s pick) 14. Strut - Elohim, Big Freeda 15. Face Meets Glass - ACTORS 16. Nonbinary - Arca 17. Wash & Set - Leikeli47 18. Did Dat - Abdu Ali 19. Red Light Green Light - For Club Play Only, Pt. 6Duke Dumont, Shaun Ross 20. ROSES- ABRA

SCAN TO LISTEN

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