Mascarade: Reimagining What Queer Night Life Could Be
Written by Leah (Bunny) Overstreet
All images courtesy of Josh Pacheco
At a cocktail bar located in my very own backyard— no, literally, I can see the glow of the smoking area from my bedroom window— the most delectable mascs this side of Bushwick put on the show of a lifetime. Gyrating and smirking their way through a litany of impressively explicit songs, they held us captive and with no choice but to empty our wallets of their singles. A sexy someone shimmies their wrestling singlet to their hips, revealing rippling abs and a well-defined chest, their top-surgery scars acting as the icing on the cake. They twerk onto one of the raucous audience members, and their singular earring—a literal bottle of poppers—bounces with their movements. It’s delightfully raunchy and joyful, undeniably entertaining, and one hell of a way to kick off Pride.
A dread-head who I recognize as the host of a lesbian oil wrestling night from the previous weekend is up next. They’ve got on the sluttiest outfit imaginable: a bandana, baggy pants, and binding tape. They approach my friend, a broad-shouldered masc covered in tattoos and piercings, with a slicked-down double mohawk. The dancer pulls a lollipop out of their pocket and the whole of us watch with barely concealed glee as they slowly unwrap the lollipop before lowering it to crotch level. My friend drops to their knees to help the blowpop earn its name, and the crowd, along with the Masc4Masc gods, goes wild!
One of my friends leans towards me, eyes still on the performance, and says,“ God, I needed this. I haven’t been in a truly queer space in too long.” Sure, we’d been around other gay people, but it dawned on me then that, even in a room full of girl-kissers, the vibes lately have felt distinctly gay yet not QUEER. We’ve mainly encountered rooms full of sapphics that are primarily cisgender, white, and non-alternative— all of which is like totally allowed, just not necessarily where I feel the most at home.
Don’t get me wrong, I have been caught red-handed singing along to Chappell Roan at all the massive, celesbian-infested dance parties around New York. I will answer the tiny-mic questions and flirt with the TikTok thirst trappers, and I’ll even wear my little white-lie party tank to work the next day. But I can’t deny that I caught myself yearning for a truly queer scene that celebrates the people of my community who feel oh-so integral to my life.
I’m reminded of that need when I’m at events like this that are explicitly Black, trans, and sex-worker forward. Mascarade,“ an all-masc pop-up strip club” produced by and for trans masc sex-workers, is the exact sort of event the room seems to have been craving this Pride. With vendors selling edibles, packers, jockstraps, and queer jewelry, and with performers being showered with our hard-earned cash, it feels good to see our money going back into our community. And even beyond this, it was just a genuinely wonderful time!
My favorite Pride events seem, more and more often, to be the performances and activities: Butch Hooters, lesbian oil wrestling, cigarette smoking competitions, Twinks vs Dolls mud wrestling, etc. As a girl who is chronically out on the town, the lez dance parties have gotten a liiiitle repetitive. And maybe I’m just out too much, maybe I’M the drama, maybe I need to sit my ass down. But it’s Pride! And there is way too much happening to miss out, and I think there is something underexplored (for me at least) about an actual honest to God ACTIVITY! The usual dyke party vibes seem to be club night after club night, entirely dependent on who all gonna be there. The most excruciating end of the spectrum are those“ See And Be Seen” parties where all the relevant lesbians in Brooklyn make an appearance to stare at one another from across the room and maybe MAYBE receive an introduction to one (1) internet crush that they are a degree removed from.
The next tier is the“ Meet And Greet”, where all of your favorite dykes are in the same designated smoking area milling about, shaking hands, kissing babies, and occasionally breaking out into the squeals and clumsy hugs of“ Oh my God, babe, I knew you’d be here!” And these are so fun, and some of my favorite nights to be honest, but this kiddie pool starts to feel small after a while. The opposite end of the spectrum, however, is full of characters you’ve never encountered, and yet they all seem to be sexy and interesting and worth kissing, but this is like soooo rare to the point that I honestly can't remember the last one I encountered. And then there is the bottom of the barrel, where it feels like you’ve been transported to an alternate universe’s L Word, where it gets cancelled after one season, and you feel like you would have been better off watching it at home.
All of this hard-earned data has led me to argue that we need to continue supporting and seeking out activities in nightlife beyond the dancefloor. I’ve already been tapped into the queer hobby scene, but I think that even a good night out can benefit tremendously from a focal point and a common interest. Not only do they help us actually interact with people we don’t already know, but it’s just a good ass time. Events like Mascarade remind me of the ways to connect with my community beyond sultry eye contact and the occasional dancefloor makeouts. I also love how unabashedly specific Mascarade is; it doesn’t attempt general appeal, it knows exactly who it’s for and who it hopes to attract. I love the specific and strange events that come into existence because someone recognized that a group of queers would thinkthat event sounds sick as fuck!
I’m charging y’all with going to something down right BESPOKE. Look beyond your massive lesbian parties (like, still go to those obviously), but also try finding something that looks genuinely fun and that is maybe run by BIPOC and trans people. Support and party with the people that make our community like, so totally hot and cool. Attend something that would make a Republican roll their eyes… as a treat.
