Transcending Conversation: Tom Cat

Before we get started, what name do you currently go by?

My name is Tom Cat.

Has your name changed throughout your life?

Yeah, from Thomas to Tom around high school. I stopped wanting to sound like a dead white guy. I had to change my name – it just doesn’t fit me. People see me and they don’t think my name is Thomas.

What are your pronouns?

She/they.

How do you identify?

I identify as an androgynous trans-feminine person.

Could you speak to what was your transition process was like?

It’s fucking annoying. It’s really inaccessible. I have to redefine what transitioning means to me, so that way I can be okay with saying that I transitioned because on a financial level—it’s just like the small things, like laser hair removal or wanting to get my sperm frozen before I start taking hormones. All these things that people don’t talk about is a lot of money and work. For me, transitioning has become more about accepting myself and presenting myself the way that I feel comfortable with, rather than worrying about the medical aspects. And I’m privileged because I get to live in a world and time where people are also encouraging that.

That’s why I identify as trans-fem because I don’t feel like I’m transitioning into manhood or womanhood—I’m just transitioning into myself. I started doing hormone therapy, and had to stop because it requires a lot of disciple and a lot stability that I just don’t have right now. I definitely had to redefine transitioning for myself.

I identify as trans-fem because I don’t feel like I’m transitioning into manhood or womanhood—I’m just transitioning into myself.

What’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to you in the past month?

I took my younger brother to Homecoming. That would be it. I don’t go home often; my parents are both pastors so it’s very weird, but I had to go home recently and I got to take my little brother to his first Homecoming. He’s a freshman—the light of my life! Me and my parents have issues, but my younger brothers are my support systems for me still.

Who or what influences your writing?

Toni Morrison is the only author for me—her and James Baldwin. I come from D.C. where they’re really hardcore about black literary excellence. I want to write things that prove that we were all here and that I was here and people like me were here. Right now, the real goal and inspiration is making sure that queer narratives are not [only] validated, but respected and understood in the publication world. The publication world is so elitist and there isn’t space being made for these queer narratives and that’s why I want to write.

When I’m Go-Go dancing I have a notepad and I’ll just write. People always make fun of me for going back and forth between the bar and writing stuff, but I just want to prove that we were all here.

How has performance become apart of your practice as a poet?

It has always been a thing because I was on the D.C. Slam team, so as a kid it was kind of required. I didn’t know a separation. And when I came to New York, I said I wasn’t going to do poetry for the first two years of school, but I had a mentor who blew my mind when they were like everything you write has to be performed. So I spent my first two years without going to any performances or open mics, and now I’m able to blend the lifestyle that I have created for myself here in New York with the tools of classic spoken word. There’s a great picture of [my friend] Brandon pouring wax on me while I’m on a rooftop; he's pouring wax on my ass and I’m doing poetry about white men bloodying me. It’s become more performance-art based.

A lot of my work now is formed by real life experiences rather than slam poetry culture which gives kids three minutes, has a lot of rules and sociopolitics behind it—not to mention that it also boxes artist in. As of recently I’ve been like, fuck this it’s all performative, and not profitable for the most part. But it makes me feel really good.

On your Instagram we noticed you’ve rocked so many looks, how has your style changed over time?

I stopped giving a fuck. I started wanting to please myself and the amount of confidence I’ve had from being in a community of people who are like–minded and who will also support me has been amazing.

Truth is there are a lot of people who look different in the daytime then they do in the nighttime. And I got the privilege to live in queer housing where I could just be myself 24/7. To be able to know that I am in a room full of people where I can dance with my eyes closed and my ass out and I’m still safe, that means the world to me! I’m not going to get objectified by some random dude. Being able to find a community that I feel comfortable with changed my style so much. The expression of being to able to be ‘you’ and not having to worry or fear is something that I have never really known and something that I’m very grateful for.

What scares you the most?

Not getting ‘it’ done... whatever the ‘it’ is. There’s a bottom line for me. I feel like I’m moving towards something. There’s so much heavy lifting and work to do within this community. I want to document the fact that we were here. I want to create the first hardcore black queer publication house, so other queer writers can get their stuff published without it being as difficult as it is for me. Just not getting it done scares me. I’m really happy with the way I live my life. That’s one thing my mentor has driven into me—I live a life I’m proud of, uncompromisingly. My greatest fear is not death—it’s being inept at what I want to succeed in.

At this point, equivalency is not what I’m looking for. I need more than that. My sisters are dying!

Any parting words for any younger people who are embarking on a similar journey/struggle to understand their identity and where they fit in their lives or in specific industries?

Write. Write about yourself, so that you can know yourself better. All that matters is being yourself, that really is the bottom line. Life is like your movie and everybody else has to be, at some point, outtakes or extras.

If you don’t think that way as a trans person, it’s dangerous. If you don’t love yourself the right way and you go looking for that love and validation in other ways, you can put yourself in dangerous situations. Getting to know yourself, preferably through writing and art would be great, and then moving through that with confidence.

How can everyone do their part in helping the trans community?

See us. People see what they want to see and that doesn’t necessarily mean visibility. I really want to abolish the idea of "passing," and androgynous people are doing a lot to dismiss the notion of passing. There’s trans people everywhere all around and in all different class sets. Just making space for us to have equal opportunities or better opportunities! At this point, equivalency is not what I’m looking for. I need more than that. My sisters are dying! I come from a place where, Baltimore has had three black trans women die this year! People need to just see us and acknowledge that we're here and make space. So much space.

In one word, what does the future look like?

Exciting. I think so even if it's bad, I’m still excited to see what happens. I guess not exciting when I say it out loud. No, I feel apprehensive about the future.

Culture

Alain Levitt’s Time Capsule of Early Aughts NYC (2000-2005)

Amanda Lepore, Alain Levitt

Beyond the exhibition, Alain’s book of the same name, available May 1st, acts as a time capsule, a snapshot of what he and his friends were getting into back then — figuring their lives out, meeting people, making memories and now, reminiscing on what was. Today, walking through Dimes Square where his and his wife’s restaurant, Bacaro, has become a premiere meeting hub for the neighborhood's youth, Alain recognizes that while “it’s such a different world,” youth is still the same.

“Young people are young people, man. It’s different being older and not really understanding what’s going on. I don’t fully feel like I’m part of it in the same way… but I love it and it seems the same, but one thing I see is it’s more colorful, it’s animated, and everything seems kind of to an extreme that I really love.”

When Bacaro first opened in 2007, there was no Dimes Square. He likens the emergence of the neighborhood to “the beginning of Williamsburg when that kind of popped off and all of a sudden, if you went down Bedford, it was just young people everywhere and everybody was dressing outrageous.” Back then, congregating in Bedford symbolized a communal rejection of Manhattan. What Levitt witnesses in Dimes, a neighborhood that’s become a bit polarizing amongst New Yorkers, is “more or less the same thing” — though the object of its rejection seems yet to be defined.

Perhaps it’s more of an acceptance — of indulgence, of being part of something, of embracing the past, keeping alive this idealized perception of NYC.

left to right - Ryan McGinley, Dan Colen, Kenji Ukigaya, Dash Snow

When Alain moved out here in the ‘90s, his older sister Danielle gave him a camera. At that time, he didn’t consider himself a photographer. He was just a younger brother emulating his older sister, who was shooting street photography and fashion parties for the Post. Alain recalls “showing up to Max Fish and being gently made fun of for his oversized paparazzi rig.” For his second job, Alain was working as a bar-back at The Cock and The Fat Cock (now known as The Hole), giving him “a front row seat to a wild NY that was quickly being choked out by Mayor Giuliani.”

On one of his first nights, he was assigned to the back room at The Cock, where patrons would do whatever drunk people do in the dark. As a kid “brand new to New York” flashing a light on people, he realized that suddenly, his life was completely different. And it was exciting. “I made more money than I could have ever imagined. I was working minimum wage jobs coming from LA, at movie theaters and all this other shit. In NY, I was able to live off two days a week which gave me room to do everything.”

Eventually, Alain started shooting for Nylon, PAPER, V Magazine, and other publications on his days off. Though they didn’t fully feel like a part of that world, he and his friends (skaters, graffiti artists, ravers, the trifecta of '90s subcultures) disrupted the fabric of the fashion scene. Reminiscing on some of those moments, he tells us, “Our group would show up at the fashion parties and make our presence known, even though they probably didn’t think we belonged there, that maybe we hadn’t earned it yet.”

left to right - Ryan McGinley, Chloë Sevigny

Then, Alain found his community on the Lower East Side, “Alife by day, Max Fish at night,” and “after starting a bi-weekly party, with Spencer Sweeny, at The Hole, planted his seed in the downtown scene.” The world that Levitt found himself navigating in his early years in New York City wasn’t new, it was itself a continuation of the pseudo-renaissance that emerged downtown in the ‘60s and again in the '70s and again in the subsequent decades. “It’s almost like a 10-year cycle and one good thing about New York is that it lets you be young a little longer. We were coming out here thinking about the CBGB’s era.”

And when looking through Alain’s photos, while humming with an inherent sense of nostalgia, it feels as if these images could’ve been taken yesterday. Skateboarding, bands playing one-off shows in dingy music venues, gallery openings that pour out onto the block, it’s all still here, just slightly different. While the internet has made us more connected, and distractions more frequent, much of what was, still is. And for Alain, there’s an innate resilience to this culture of “youth”, a culture somehow driven by a shared dysfunction. “Living in New York is so hard, rents are high, the weather is hard. It can be amazing but you have to put up with all this other bullshit to get the best out of it. You have to be willing to suffer. The people that I knew and the people that I connected to and was around — there was always a certain amount of fucked-up-ness we all shared.”

The people that I knew and the people that I connected to and was around — there was always a certain amount of fucked-up-ness we all shared.

left to right, Dash Snow, Kunle Martins (Earsnot)

Whether seeking self-discovery in New York City, escaping a toxic family, or generally curious to explore the city’s burgeoning underbelly, people here find their own, often forming surrogate families along the way. Levitt’s book, and the photographs on display at WHAAM! exemplify that family isn’t always clean-cut and you might bond with a person you’d least expect to: on the train, at a bar, laying on the grass at Seward Park, skating at Tompkins, or having a plate of squid ink pasta at Bacaro before heading to Le Dive for some overpriced house wine.

In the most ordinary moments, the greatest ideas and connections can spring to life and this was true even then. “I imagine creativity drives a lot of this,” Levitt says. “There’s a thread that we saw and maybe even idealized New York City to be.” It’s a thread that this generation hasn’t seemed to let go of: “I feel like my book shows our moment of coming into ourselves and now the kids today are doing it themselves. In 20 years, there’ll be a record of their time that the next group of kids will be looking at. It might not be the same, but the roots are.”

From Tim Barber, a former photo editor at Vice who edited the book, to Jesse Pearson, former EIC at Vice, Su Barber (Tim’s sister), Mike Piscitelli from Fucking Awesome and skateboarder Jason Dill, everyone involved in the book “from the editors down to the publisher was there in our circle, and pretty much all in the book too.” To Alain, everyone in the book was of equal significance, whether celebrity Chloe Sevigny or Marc Razo of Max Fish, who Alain recognizes as “a loving, wonderful person who’s been in the downtown scene forever.”

“Some of those people have definitely become legendary, which is awesome,” says Levitt. “But with them, it’s like me, I felt special to be there. I wanted to be with these people and we all had all of these lofty ideas of ourselves that were shattered over time. I think it’s good to break through those delusions of grandeur and get a real sense of what the world is. But at that moment, it was pure. We all thought we were special.” And maybe we still do.

NYC 2000-2005 is on view April 18 - May 25, 2024 at WHAAM! at 15 Elizabeth St # 113, New York, NY 10013.

Culture

At Planned Parenthood's Annual Gala, Megan Thee Stallion Shines Bright

April 18, 2024

Under one of the first truly warm evenings of New York’s spring season, guests, organizational supporters, and a grab-bag of celebrities (who saw Molly Ringwald?) gathered at Cipriani’s South Street outpost to ring in another year of action and advocacy.

In a regressive landscape that has recently seen the rollback of the right to protest in three states, as well as the upholding of arcane abortion legislation in Arizona, Planned Parenthood’s call to action is eerily more apt than ever.

At an interactive exhibit during the cocktail hour, Judy Chicago’s interactive work, produced in partnership with DMINTI, invited guests to share their voices during an urgent time in the fight for free bodies. Participants in the videos will become a permanent piece of the historic artwork as it travels worldwide on tour.

By Sam Falb
Photography by Nikki Burnett

After guests settled into their seats, the night’s honorees Patricia Arquette and Megan Thee Stallion lauded the organization’s work and the manifold ways it has affected their lives for the better. Overcome with emotion, Megan accepted the Catalyst for Change Award, in recognition of her choice to advocate for bodily freedom and sexual liberation through her platform, and inimitable tracks like Plan B.

“Planned Parenthood has been a leader while abortion rights are under attack. Y’all are the true heroes,” Megan shared in her acceptance speech. “I’ve always known that I have a bigger purpose than just being a musician, and to speak up when people need our help.”

The second of its kind, the gala celebrates the work of the organization while honoring particularly devoted advocates, hosting an auction to raise funds for annual operating costs, and rounding out with an afterparty featuring host Patia of Patia’s Fantasy World, and DJs including Boston Chery and river moon.

“They’ve been there for me and a lot of my friends, especially when I first came to this country and needed healthcare,” Moon said. When the lights went down and guests trickled out onto the street, the event’s urgent appeal was in clear and energizing focus, primed for a productive year ahead.

Culture

“This is the most cracked-out shit I’ve ever been to”: Inside Harmony Korine's EDGLRD Party at Elsewhere

April 17, 2024

When do Travis Scott fanboys hang out with BDSM gear-wearing leather heads? At Harmony Korine’s Tuesday night party at Elsewhere, where EDGLRD, Korine’s multimedia design collective, screened their latest film, AGGRO DR1FT. It’s an acid-bath wet dream of luxury cars, gore, and strippers in chain mail — a Miami take on the classic Korine narrative. The film says it best: “There is magic in this brutality. I am mesmerized by it. Right in front of my eyes, we are turning into animals.” With the film’s minute-long beheading scene and a confused Travis Scott asking, “Julius Caesar wrote the Bible?” we were primed to party with that same “magic brutality.”

Between the bored strippers, fashion fanatics, and the guy in the booth with AraabMuzik conspicuously rubbing his nose, not an ass was left unshaken. Everyone wanted to be “the belle of the EDGLRD ball” — evident through the girls trying to be the next Korine muse, fancying him a sort of new-age Warhol. Amidst airborne dollar bills and monster masks, all were pleasantly surprised when Korine’s DJ set had that same animalistic feel as AGGRO DR1FT. A guest's sprained ankle serves as a testament to the fact that Korine’s DJing goes as hard as his filmmaking.

By Izzy Capulong
Photography by Liv Solomon

We got some input from partygoers — some anonymous, some less so.

Anonymous — The film was like a three-hour-long trailer for GTA 6.

Anonymous 2 — We’ll call tonight, “Harmony Korine’s goon cave.”

Aidan — I came here kind of old-new to New York, and I haven’t lived here in eight years, but I’m here again and this is the most cracked-out shit I’ve ever been to.

office — In a good way or a bad way?

Aidan — Always good.

Claire — It’s a rare evening that you find yourself the perfect amount of drunk to be in the space that you’re in, but I happened to experience that tonight, so for me, it’s pure Nirvana. But they stopped playing All Star mid-song. That was upsetting. But at one point in the evening, a rogue, brave woman got herself on stage and took her titties out.

Girl with her tits out — This is the future of cinema.

Tyler — The last time I partied at Elsewhere was 2018. Harmony Korine brought New York back.