Cultivating Home

June 24, 2021

Though many of us have spent the last year in our homes itching for a sense of belonging to the outside world, the notion of home has always extended beyond the confinements of the spaces we inhabit. For black and brown members of the queer community, embracing home often means rejecting confinements, and cultivating space within yourself and your chosen “home.”

As Pride Month surges, Demíyah and Michael recall the genesis of their entry into queer environments. Demíyah Vanessa Pérez establishes safe spaces for people to come together and express their authentic selves through her career as a DJ and yoga instructor. Perez grew up in Kitchener, Ontario, finding community and agency with her mother’s side of the family.

Text by Kenna McCafferty
Interview by Micaih Thomas
Photos by Fernando Manuel Osorio

Demi and Michael met briefly at Demi’s first New York DJ gig with Telfar in 2019, and their bond was palpable. Following a successful Valentine’s Day event they hosted together and a transcendent tarot reading, Perez and Andres felt that they were destined to share space with each other and curate environments for queer people to feel nurtured, uplifted and celebrated in the same way. The two parted in tears, with plans to host parties and mutual aid events in the city, until the pandemic hit. After feeling alienated from their senses of belonging and purpose, their mission became more vital, and Angelito Collective was born.

You and Michael have a magical friendship. How did you two create the Angelito Collective?

Demiyah— After our first successful party, ‘Tentación,’ on Valentine’s Day of 2020, Michael and I knew we were destined to hold space for our community to come together and tell our story through our talents. The euphoria of this night truly inspired us into the next chapter of our lives. When the lockdown began, we recalled this evening as a means to hold onto hope and remind ourselves of our innate ability to foster community through radical acts of love and connection.

You both have created space for other queer people to feel community and warmth. How have you cultivated a home for yourself?

D— Growing up in Canada, going to a Catholic High School, being the only trans woman, there was a lot of ignorance projected onto me. My biggest strength was transmuting all of the negativity of those projections by stepping into my light and responding through love and compassion as well as embracing my role as a pioneer.

I began my public transition in high school, where I developed a strong bond with my vice principal who was an advocate for queer youth. Without her, I wouldn't have believed in my worthiness to exist and take up space. She held space for me to embody leadership in a way that I always aspired to. Her impact inspired me to want to be that change for others. I am a product of her legacy and I want to be able to show up for trans women and let them know they’re worthy of everything this world has to offer because we are the world.

What has been your process with unlearning ignorance?

D— My process of dismantling ignorance has also been affected throughout the early phases of my transition when I had to detach completely from my dad's side of the family who are Jamaican, Jehovah's Witnesses, and were never accepting of my truth. There was a lot of ignorance that came from them that I think I've had to do a lot of deep shadow work, especially in moving back home, of really confronting those experiences of not feeling like I was loved, and not feeling good enough. But in moving to Toronto, the pace of life was just so different. I was transitioning throughout University [and] everything was happening so fast. I didn't really have a moment to process my life and really understanding my life independently from all the things that have influenced me. So now returning back home during the pandemic, to a loving family, that is my mom's side of the family, everyone is extremely accepting. I get to now exist in a communal space with people that have been on this journey with me and that showed me, unconditional love. But because of the negative experience of my dad's side of the family, I refuse myself from accepting their love. It’s something I'm still working through- being open.

Michael, tell me about the time you stepped into your queer identity?

Michael — When I was 18, I moved to Florence, Italy to study abroad. After arriving at my residence, I was introduced to my roommate Mars, who was the first non-binary person I met. Although this was new to me, I recognized how important it was to them that we respect their pronouns.

Sharing space with Mars allowed me to step into my queerness. We would discuss gender all the time [and] share makeup and nail polish- forms of expression I didn’t allow myself to experience when I lived in the states. Back home, I was lucky enough to have the support of my family, but I saw this as an opportunity to experiment with my look and get in touch with my femininity.

How did you get into the Ballroom world?

M — I was introduced to Ballroom By Jason Rodriguez, who plays Lamar on the FX series Pose. Jason invited me to my first ever ball, OTA weekly, produced By Leggoh JoVera at 3 Dollar Bill in Brooklyn, New York. Jason ended up missing the ball due to work, but I was already there and I thought I might as well have a ki'. But luckily I was there with my friends and the next category was face. I was like, ‘I should walk,’ and my friends were really supportive. So I ended up stepping into the light, walking the category, and getting 10s by some of the panel, but also getting chopped by some of them because I wasn’t smiling. They ended up cutting the music and saying, ‘If you did not do your research coming to the ball, make sure you do your research before you come to the ball.’ They were telling me to smile and that was the reason why I didn’t get my 10s. Luckily they let me walk again. I had my second chance and I ended up getting Grand Prize that night. After that night, I was just like, ‘I have to be back.’ Then I went back every single Monday.

Tell me about some of the members of the Collective

M— Last June of 2020, when the Angelito Collective came into conception, we were introduced to Alfonso Estrada. At the time, they were organizing their first-ever birthday fundraiser to support the community in Corona, Queens during the pandemic. Alfonso helped Demi and I curate our first, digital fundraiser in support of La Red Comuntaria Trans in the Red Light District of Colombia.

D— With this fundraiser, we were able to raise 17,000 dollars that provided on-the-ground resources as well as supported costs towards housing for trans women.

M — Sinn had painted my face a couple of times before she officially joined our team. We knew Sinn’s innovative makeup style would be perfect in the development of the ‘Toxic’ characters, a short film we shot in the fall of 2020, inspired by Michael Jackson’s Thriller. After her exceptional work on set, and her commitment to help us create space for members in the community, we knew we needed a star like her in our team.

M— Cheyenne and I go way back- we met in high school. Early on in our relationship, we enjoyed imagining all that our lives could be and how excited we were to attain those things for ourselves and others. One of the things we dreamt about was making a short film. Her background in screenwriting and her excitement to direct made her the perfect fit to help us bring ‘Toxic’ to fruition.

D— When we finalized the script for ‘Toxic’ we were in search of a videographer that could execute our vision. By the divine synchronicity of the universe, we were guided to have Jordan Shelwood, who shot and edited ‘Toxic.’ Jordan’s interpretation of our story was perfectly translated to telling the story of a black trans woman struggling to navigate the social barriers and challenges of a heteronormative world.

Any future projects from the Angelito Collective?

D— During the pandemic, I was able to do my 200hrs Yoga Teachers certification and this journey has inspired me to set renewed intentions for how I can create spaces of healing in the community. As I return to New York this Pride weekend, I will be leading the Angelito Collective’s first Heal In community yoga class.

M— As for creative projects, the Angelito Collective is working on a fashion film campaign with an NYC Femme footwear brand. We are also in the process of planning our first in-person community gathering and other mutual aid programming. This year we are also being highlighted in the We The Collective documentary, centered on NYC’s nightlife economy and the black and brown LGBTQIA+.

Culture

Mowalola x Miss Sixty Launch with H. Lorenzo

I swing my legs over the ropes that guard the VIP entrance. Always over (I’m 5’10), never under. I’m late to the H. Lorenzo x Mowalola event, and the line wraps around the block. I don’t want to be an asshole, but I hate waiting in lines; it just ruins everything.

“Hey, my friend is DJing right now. My name should be down,” I say.

The youngish security guard looks me up and down. I have made an adventurous choice for this type of crowd. Neon pink hoodie, bright orange vest, my Raimundo jeans, and Jeremy Scott animal print sneakers. I let him take me in and look over his shoulder. Hmmm… I will be swathed in darkness when he lets me in. Dark night, dark clothes, dark makeup, furs, hoods, leather accessories, and sunglasses. I don’t recognize anyone, but it’s hard to tell who anyone is because I can’t see after 8 pm without my glasses. Night blindness. I can still catch a vibe though.

“She’s in the bathroom,” Mr. Guard says, interrupting my squinting.

“Who?” I ask.

“The woman in charge of the list.”

That’s a drag. I want to dance. Lately, I’m going out in the name of music.

“So…can I go in?” I ask.

“Just wait for her to get back.”

That sounds fine. I wait. The outdoor smoking area is packed. I hope the inside mirrors this, maybe with people dancing instead of blowing smoke in each other’s eyes.

“You got instagram?” The guard asks me after about ten minutes of flirting.

“Can I go in?” I said.

He laughs. He lets me in the event without a wristband.

Inside, I understand why the other guard was gone for so long. I make a mental note to not drink too much liquid; the bathroom line is almost as long as the line to get in. The party is popping, far from a flop.

I push through the crowd solo, following the speakers to the DJ booth. The immersive visuals provide me with enough light to make out Mowalola in a gold bikini and her low rise denim. My pulse races like the horse printed on the front of her coochie. That’s the point of the collection, obviously.

I spend a good thirty minutes grinding my hips before swaying to the open bar. I smile to myself, noting that it’s a mezcal forward menu. I see a drink that disgusts me, so I order it without hesitation. It’s a mezcal coffee concoction. My heart ’s ran through already, why not go all in? I hear Shigecki’s set start so I head back to dance. I’m jumping around, sweating, and I yelp when I pause for a beat. Strippers have materialized and are working poles opposite and behind the DJ booth. Good. Events should be sexy.

I end the night smoking my friend’s Korean strawberry cigarettes taking in the air of cool- when a man comes up to me wild-eyed exclaiming that we look just like one another. I look at him- no, not at all. I turn slowly, remembering what I should be doing: listening to DJ G2G’s set. Back inside, she is playing reggaeton type beats with lasers beaming out of her headphones (I want these). A rave in it of herself.

Too bad all the events end at 2 am in LA.

Culture

Vans Pipe Masters 2024

On the first night, Steve Van Doren and the Vans team hosted the heat draw for the competitors at a casual backyard barbecue. The son of Vans’ co-founder Paul Van Doren, Steve has worked in the family business for decades, and is now known as the Ambassador of Fun. Wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a cowboy hat made out of old shoes, he was definitely dressed for the part. The surfers, along with family and friends gathered in a relaxed setting as 40 men’s and 20 women’s names were drawn from a shoebox. The competition would run in 3 rounds, the top 4 men and 4 women with the highest scores moving onto the finals. When asked about their strategies, most gave answers along the lines of “get waves.” Refreshingly simple.

After waiting a few days for favorable conditions, the first day of competition kicked off with Women’s Round 1. It was finally time to see Pipeline in action. Banzai Pipeline is known as one of the most dangerous places to surf due to the powerful waves breaking over shallow and sharp reefs. With the potential to crash into the rocky edges or have leashes caught in caves, it takes a ton of skill–-and even more courage–to surf here. No stranger to these risks, the first heat included favorites Caity Simmers and “Queen of Pipeline” Moana Jones Wong, who showed off exactly why they’d been successful here in the past. Midway through the heats, Mother Nature decided to throw in another element as a light drizzle turned into a proper downpour. Rain or shine, the athletes went out unfazed, focused on getting their first points on the board.

After another short day’s break, the competition continued with the women’s second round and the men’s first. The beach was filled with spectators, locals and tourists alike, as the competition was free for all to attend. While fans rooted equally for the women and men, the most popular were the local Hawaiian athletes, which made up about half the competition. The women started off the day again, hyping up the crowd with incredible rides. One ride by Bettylou Sakura Johnson earned the first Bag of Cash of the day– a cash prize (of undisclosed amount) awarded in a brown paper bag to any surfer that pulls off a wow moment, excites the crowd, and pulls off something spectacular regardless of what the conditions might look like.

Winds picked up as the men’s competition began and two strategies quickly emerged: an aggressive approach, targeting any decent waves to build small scores; and a patient approach, waiting for the perfect wave to chase a high single score. Even the waves that were unrideable were a spectacle in itself. The sheer size, illustrated by the length of surfboards riding up and over, and the following crash of white water spray was hypnotizing. Then imagining having to experience it out on the water, duck diving under or being lifted over, brought a renewed respect for the surfers.

After watching these early rounds, it was time for office to head back to the cold. With the competition officially spanning from December 8-20, it seemed the forecast was gearing up for some massive waves— and it didn’t disappoint. Following from afar through Vans’ Instagram and live updates, we saw the full extent of what it means to surf at Pipeline. After a series of electrifying and daring surfs, the 2024 winners were crowned: Erin Brooks and Nathan Florence.

The thrill of watching top athletes compete at the highest level of their sport, even remotely, never fails to inspire. Few sports surrender so completely to the forces of nature as surfing does. And at its core, surfing is all about having a deep respect for the ocean—its unpredictable whims, its immense power, and its ever-changing moods.

Culture

The Cost of Queendom

December 17, 2024

One summer afternoon in New York, a few days after their New York premiere of the acclaimed documentary Queendom, office met up with documentary filmmaker Agniia Galdanova and producer Igor Myakotin at a tattoo parlor on the west side of Manhattan. While Agniia received a tattoo of the portmanteau “DOCU CUNT” across her fists, she — unfazed by the needle on her knuckles — answered our questions alongside Igor about the making of the stirring story that has traveled around the world.

One of the opening scenes of Queendom depicts a ritual many of us are all too familiar with in the 21st century. Jenna Marvin, the documentary film’s central subject, takes her friend along with her to take photos for Instagram. When she finds a suitable backdrop, she poses, poses, poses, and then reviews the photos. Dissatisfied, she gives her notes, and then returns to pose, pose, pose again.

By Brook Aster
Photos by Liv Solomon

The ritual may be familiar, but nothing else about the scene — from its setting to its stakes — is ordinary. The backdrop behind Jenna is a sweeping expanse of ice and snow in a small Russian port town called Magadan. Jenna is dressed in drag, but not drag of the Rupaul’s Drag Race variety; her drag has been referred to as “creature drag.” Her signature white face paint, platform heels and surrealist costumes, with their exaggerated sculptural proportions and use of duct tape and repurposed items, catches the ire of her neighbors and the love of online admirers alike. Jenna eventually accrued a following on social media for her public and technically illegal drag performances, which often involved little more than her walking or being in public spaces but nevertheless were often met with abuse and threats of imprisonment.

But when Agniia first encountered Jenna, she hadn’t yet reached the level of virality that would eventually come in the years to follow. The filmmaker was researching different drag performers in Russia for her sophomore project, which she thought would be a docuseries, when she heard from a friend about a young drag queen from Magadan. “I was like, this is impossible. I have to meet this person,” Agniia remembers. “And I could not actually go meet her because I was in Moscow and she was in Saint Petersburg, so I sent a friend of mine with whom I’d been studying with in film school, and she went and filmed the sample.” The simple video, showing Jenna and her friend getting dressed up for a party, struck something in Agniia. The drag was an earlier, more prototypical version of the style Jenna is now known for; less duct tape and ornamentation, but still that signature striking makeup. “Something sparked. I knew I just had to stick to this feeling,” Agniia says. She decided to turn the docuseries into a documentary solely focused on Jenna.

Around that time, the entire world came to a grinding halt: the onset of COVID-19 pandemic had just led to lockdowns around the globe. With only a couple thousand followers on social media at that point in time, Jenna had tried to branch out and connect with other drag artists in Moscow and Saint Petersburg, but faced rejection; her drag was extremely unconventional, and not even other drag artists quite understood it. “I think we found each other at the right moment, because nobody knew what to do, how to cope with all this,” Agniia says. “Jenna was saying that she was lost, and she also didn't know how to develop her art next.”

Unlike some of the other artists Agniia had initially researched, Jenna didn’t need much convincing to allow the camera into her life. “[Especially] after COVID came, there wasn't really [any] drag in my life,” Jenna recounts when I speak to her later over Zoom. “I realized that what drag is for me is not just a costume, a dress, something that you leave, that you take off and then in the dead of the night you put back on. Later, I understood that this is who I am, that I am art and I am drag, and that this is way bigger and more important than just clothing or costume.”

[LEFT TO RIGHT: Agniia Galdanova, Jenna Marvin, Igor Myakotin]

When it came time to move into production stages, Agniia sent a clip to Igor, who had been referred to her by a past colleague. When Igor saw the footage, he was similarly struck by Jenna — and even more struck to find out she shared his small hometown of Magadan. “It was just so fateful to know that I also come from this town, and I've never seen it through this cinematic lens, through the vision that Agniia has,” he says. “I was mesmerized by the footage, mesmerized by Jenna. I thought to myself, I have to do everything I can [for us] to work together, whatever the collaboration is gonna be.”

The two followed Jenna for over three years; Agniia first relocated to St. Petersburg, where Jenna had taken up residence after leaving her grandparents’ home in Magadan, and later Jenna moved in with Agniia in her home in Moscow. All the while, Igor and his team worked remotely from the United States to meet Agniia’s production needs. Inevitably, with all their time spent together, Agniia and Jenna became close.

“There is an unspoken rule in documentary filmmaking that you have to keep this line, and you can’t overcome certain boundaries,” Agniia explains. “In my first film, it was not an easy subject [to do this with] as well. I was following a family for seven months, and [we became] close, but I always was trying to keep my distance, and was constantly thinking about it. How much should I say? How much should I give?” But as she got to know Jenna, it became clear that this time, that distance wouldn’t be possible. “With Jenna almost from the very beginning, I was like, fuck it. That’s not going to work with this one. I'm going to break this rule 100%. I never regretted it, because that's actually what built up the trust that is there.”

As Jenna's public performances continued and began to garner more public attention, her online audience multiplied. Among her virtual admirers was French fashion maven Michèle Lamy, who would eventually sign onto Queendom as an executive producer. Lamy's discovery of Jenna led to an invitation to walk in the Rick Owens show in Paris — her first time modeling, and her first time leaving Russia in her life. Of course, Agniia and her camera followed. But most of their excursions were not so glamorous; many of Jenna's performances shown in the documentary were undertaken at a real risk to her physical safety, and by extension, to the safety of Agniia. But neither of them were daunted.

I remember who I am. And this is what carries me through this life.

After all, Jenna was used to both taking risks and documenting them well before she was the subject of a film; she and her friends long filmed the often impassioned, sometimes violent reactions of strangers and policemen to their mere existence in public spaces in drag. And after a protest performance in which she wrapped herself in the Russian flag, Jenna was kicked out of beauty school, her last attempt at a practical route before pursuing her drag as a full time venture.

The only time Agniia tried to dissuade her was on Paratrooper’s Day, a Russian military holiday often characterized by the drunk soldiers roaming the streets. The risk for violence was especially high. “On Paratroopers Day, people say you can't come out in skinny jeans or with nail polish,” Jenna describes. “[I think] you should do the opposite. You should really make a statement and come out wearing what you want to wear. I think that clothes, what we wear, is really at some point beyond our psyche, our mind, our understanding. It is as if it's a certain kind of spice that is enticing you and you follow the scent of that spice and you don't see anything else except that scent and you follow it. That's how I see it.”

“I was like, ‘girl, maybe we should not do that,’” Agniia says. “Igor was stressing out and she told us, ‘well, you don't need to follow me. I'm gonna go and do it. I don't care if you're coming or not.’” In the end, Jenna ventured out for her performance anyway, protesting the then-recent invasion of Ukraine. Agniia followed. Not shown in the film is that the two were arrested, and managed to talk the police out of their arrest.

Not too long after, she would have to leave Russia again, this time moving for Paris for good; the film follows her struggles to get a visa in time to leave the country after the onset of the war. “It's already been three years that I've been in France, and it is important for me to understand and remember who I am, and to remember that pain, those moments when we were back in Russia doing drag, fighting with the police and law enforcement,” Jenna says. “It is important that this resistance continues and that those voices are not being silenced. Yes, here there’s much more freedom, there are pride parades and queer people can get married, but this is an illusion because there are also places where you cannot get married and you cannot enjoy the same freedoms. I cling to who I am, who I was from the very beginning. I remember who I am. And this is what carries me through this life.”

“Meeting Jenna gave me hope for the future of the country, because governments come and go, people in power come and go, but the generations change at the same time,” Igor says. “So it warms my heart to see that someone like her came from somewhere like that. If I saw her back then at a similar age, it would be even more personal. I think I would’ve accepted myself as gay quicker, and I wouldn't be nervous or closed and not open to the world or myself… Working with this project also meant that we were amplifying the voices of many, many people who couldn't speak like Jenna could.”

For Agniia, the honor of telling Jenna's story is only paralleled by the honor of having her in her life. “We found each other,” Agniia says. “And what I learned from Jenna is so precious; about life, about art, about surviving. And I appreciate it a lot. This film grew so much larger than just a documentary, because I have a family now, a working family.”

Queendom is now available to stream on Apple TV.