No One Can See Me Cry on Zoom

May 06, 2020

“One of the main objectives was to create a space that during this time encourages people to have something that is benefiting their self-worth,” shares Bee Beardsworth of a personal project called TQD (The Quarantine Diary) which she recently launched with close friend Jessica Lawson.

Born from the psychological effects and challenges of self-isolation during the pandemic, the model/writer/mental health advocate built the digital platform to encourage art as a form of therapy and showcase the creative work of her peers around the world. TQD’s first posting was No One Can See Me Cry on Zoom, a candid essay by Beardsworth revealing her struggles with mental health in quarantine and how art helped to subside her anxiety and depression. From a shrine/collage inspired by Greta Gerwig to photo essays, poetry, and original music—the space is home to a varied collection of expression.

Interview by J.L. Sirisuk
Photos Courtesy of Bee Beardsworth

A myriad of emotions are being experienced during a time in history when norms are under reconstruction and every sensation feels heightened. It’s easy to become exhausted, and even depressed while in isolation, and TQD offers a mental sanctuary celebrating the recognition of self-worth. Recently, Beardsworth spoke to office from Cape Town, where she is currently with her family. She also shared exclusive images shot while in quarantine.

It’s quite late over there but then again I’ve been losing my sense of time. How was your day and how are you doing?

I was speaking with someone about this – the sense of time thing is so strange. I’ve been pretty good at structuring my days but I feel like the fact that it’s the first of May is so strange because the last six weeks of my life have been far from my normal way of structuring and measuring time. My day’s been good though. I’ve just been working on stuff and on pictures for this interview, which is very exciting.

You mention structuring your day. Do you have a certain routine?

Having a routine is really important for my mental health. It was what I struggled with when we first went into the quarantine phase. For the first two weeks, I was feeling out of sorts. I was like, “What am I doing?” I wake up and I always drink lemon water - I’ve been trying to work out or do some form of yoga or movement every morning, and that definitely has helped me because I’m not really going out. Where I am in Cape Town, they’ve only just made it so that you can go and exercise outside. The last four or five weeks, you haven’t been able to walk or run or anything outside your house. I do that and then I have a list of stuff I want to get done that day, projects I want to work on. Most of them are creative things.

You’ve traveled the world quite extensively and through those experiences have been able to flex your creative muscles through photography and other outlets – during quarantine has there been one form of expression that you find yourself drawn to the most?

It’s been quite varied. I’ve been painting a lot. I don’t particularly want to be a painter, I’m not very good at it – it’s not something that I’m gonna put on Instagram and people are gonna be like, “You’re so talented.” But I really enjoy the process - I like having the time at the moment to be able to sit and do something for three hours. It feels like a luxury, so I’ve really been enjoying that and it’s also quite an inner-child connecting kind of thing. Painting and not caring about what it looks like, and getting immersed in the activity is wonderful.

You wrote the very personal and honest essay No One Can See Me Cry on Zoom. Your sincerity is comforting. What can you share about your experience writing it and what prompted you share it with everyone?

I’ve been a really avid reader since I was a child. I’ve found that the most special thing about reading something, which goes for most art forms but that I find particularly pertains to literature, is when you read something and feel like you’re reading someone else’s experience that resonates with you and your own experience. That might be something that you haven’t even shared with somebody before – like a clicking moment in your head. I’ve always loved writing, I’ve had diaries since I was a child. I just wanted to write something about how I’ve been feeling and I hope it’s something that makes somebody else feel a connection – maybe they feel misunderstood, maybe they feel alone. I want to share things so that other people can see them and then can feel like they’re not alone.

There’s a particular line in the essay that really hit me. You wrote: “Depression fragments your reality in a way that can be uncontrollable, hypnotic, and sometimes beautiful.”’ During this time, has there been anything about yourself or even the world that you recently discovered that you find beautiful or have never noticed before?

For me it might not be noticing something new, but I’ve definitely had the experience the last few weeks of being able to really reconnect with myself and develop new parts of my relationship with myself that I haven’t had the chance to do before. Obviously, I’m extremely lucky to be in a safe space and not have to worry about a lot of things that many people are having to worry about right now – like having food to eat and having money to support my family right now – I’m not having to worry about those things, which is a blessing. I’ve found it a really valuable time to focus and reflect on the last years of my life and where I am with myself because at the moment we’re all in a space where we’re not being validated by other people around us. I’ve had a lot of personal growth, realizations, and conversations with myself about things which might not be very fun or comfortable. Being alone and having everything stripped away has been a really enriching experience.

And it’s so important to have an outlet to express these shifts in perception, bringing me to The Quarantine Diary, which you created with your friend Jessica [Lawson]. What can you share about it?

It’s actually special, me doing this with Jess [Lawson] because she’s the person I’ve been best friends with the longest in my life. My family are English but we moved to Cape Town when I was around 13 and Jess was in the same high school as me. We’ve always had a very open relationship with each other about our mental health – we both had a lot of mental health struggles when we were in high school. We became allies and bonded a lot. Despite living in different countries, we always speak a lot, voice note a lot and Skype. I had the idea for the project the first few weeks I came back to Cape Town because they were closing the borders and my parents wanted me to come back here. I didn’t really want to be by myself in London because I have no extended family there. I got here and was going through it with my mental health. I was so depressed, so anxious, my moods were so erratic. We all have goals we’re working towards and projects we’re working on and all these things have been fallen by the wayside, suddenly our whole world got turned around its head. I wanted to start a platform, something like a diary. At first, I thought “I’m just going to do it for me” and then I wrote the No One Can See Me Cry on Zoom piece. I woke up one morning and I was like, “Fuck. I really think it could be such an amazing thing to create a diary platform for everybody to use” - spoke to Jess about the idea and we developed it together. It was very much born from our love for platforms like Tumblr when we were younger, where you’d be a teenager sitting in your bedroom feeling like you had this connection with other people and a creative outlet where you could put anything you liked. That was where the idea came from and we spent two weeks hashing everything out and building the website. It’s been a really rewarding project so far. It’s so incredible to see people using the platform and we’ve had some really incredible messages from people.

How has it been to connect with people in a virtual space?

I don’t really like technology that much. I like doing things with my hands, I like seeing people in person. I say I’m quite an analog person generally, so I’ve actually found a new appreciation for the internet during this time. It’s really come into its own in a lot of ways, especially for creative people—there’s been such an incredible way that art has been shared with people. The project is just aimed for anyone that wants to use it. We’ve been getting people from all over the world who’ve written in their submissions, which is incredible. I expected it to be friends, and friends of friends and its people I’ve never met before sending these beautiful submissions from like Mongolia or all over America, just everything. I’ve really enjoyed it, it’s been uplifting.

People talk about entering a time of new norms. What do you hope some of these norms might be?

It’s difficult to tell with people because humans are a really interesting species; how we adapt and change and remember things and forget things is really fascinating. From what I can gauge from my own experience and from speaking to a lot of my friends is that I think people are going to live their lives in a more thoughtful and more holistic way—I don’t mean in a way of like using loads of crazy natural medicines and doing yoga every day but I think people have seen the benefits of having a slower lifestyle and I know for me that just incorporating small changes into my day, like being active or doing yoga more often or writing in my diary, these small changes have had a beneficial impact on my general well-being and health. There’s a lot of things we’ve taken for granted that we’re now going to appreciate so much more. I feel like we’re all going to appreciate spending time together. I really hope that this makes us all a lot more present.

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 is wrapped 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 am going out in the name of music.

“So…can I go in?” I ask.

“Just wait for her to get back.”

That sounded fine. I wait. The outdoor smoking area is packed. I imagine the inside to be a mirror of this, hopefully 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 made a mental note to not drink too much liquid, the bathroom line is almost as long as the line outside. The party is popping, far from a flop.

I push through the crowd solo, following the speakers to the DJ booth. The immersive visuals provided 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.

My hips swing around before I head towards 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 head back to dance when I hear Shigecki’s set start. I’m jumping around, sweating, and when I pause for a beat I let out a yelp. There are strippers 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.