Culture

Studying his face in a mirror, Micah Winters is in the middle of a transformation into his other self — an elegant drag queen named Goldie Dee Collins. “I’m applying some foundation to my face, and things seem to be going according to plan so far,” Winters dryly cracks to Billboard over the phone, focused on making sure his beat looks right.
Winters is preparing for his appearance at the Stonewall Inn’s Pride Kick-off Celebration later that day, where he will appear in his capacity as a board member at Friends of George’s, the Memphis-based theater company that came to national attention for successfully suing the state of Tennessee over their “drag ban.”

With such a groundbreaking lawsuit came plenty of attention for Winters and his compatriots at Friends of George’s, a fact he isn’t entirely thrilled about. “We’re not a group that wants to be in the political fray — we’re a comedic, drag-centric theater troupe,” he says. “We would have preferred never to get involved in something like this. But it was an obstacle that we couldn’t get past if we wanted to keep doing what we love to do.”

Protecting the space that Friends of George’s built over the last decade was of the utmost importance for Winters and his fellow board members. With the number of LGBTQ+ bars and event spaces around the country rapidly dwindling over the last two decades, it’s become harder than ever for members of the queer community to find spaces that feel safe from the outside world — especially when that world is openly hostile toward them.

But it’s not stopping purveyors of queer joy from helping the community have a good time. Trey Stewart, the owner of Mr. Misster in Dallas, knows firsthand what it takes to create intentional space for the LGBTQ+ community. Opening the bar in 2019 on Dallas’ famous Cedar Springs strip, Stewart says the aim was to create “your introductory gay bar — a gay bar that you can bring your mom to.”

Then, COVID-19 hit, and six months into its run, Mr. Misster was forced to shut down. Finding himself forced into a corner, Stewart began looking for ways to get the bar safely operating again. The answer? Drag queens.

“We could sell tickets to a drag show and open up for it — that was when we started our Saturday drag brunch,” he says. “A lot of the city started taking in drag queens on a on a regular basis, because they were able to pay these performers and give them some sort of livelihood as well as keep their doors open.”

Post-pandemic, as Mr. Misster’s drag shows grew in popularity, Stewart and his team decided to throw an event last June called “Drag the Kids to Pride” — a family-friendly drag show intended on celebrating the queer community in a safe environment. Yet what it ultimately sparked was outrage — protestors appeared outside of the event, while photos and videos quickly went viral, leading right-wing lawmakers to use them as pseudo-evidence of prurient drag shows taking place in front of children. Suddenly, Stewart’s safe space was a battleground.

It’s understandable why Stewart observes that in 2023, his bar and a number of others on the Cedar Springs strip are playing it safe. “It’s a little more low-key… just because there is so much crazy going on the world. The last thing we want to do is put ourselves in harm’s way,” he says, recalling the intense response in 2022. “We don’t want to see what we saw last year, where we had automatic rifles outside of our front door.”

For Kae Burke, the co-founder of Brooklyn’s iconic nightlife/circus collective House of Yes, welcoming in members of disparate communities was largely the point. While the organization may not advertise itself as explicitly queer, Burke found that sticking to their core principles of “collaboration, creativity and community” made the space inherently more inclusive.

“By really holding space for community to create together and celebrate in a place that feels good, that just inherently made it more welcoming to our queer community,” she says. “Just being welcoming is somehow a radical act.”

On any given night at House of Yes, partygoers can see anything from a DJ set, to burlesque performances, to an aerialist circus act. Costumes and themed outfits are heavily encouraged, and attendees are asked to “turn off your phone, turn on your heart,” according to their website.

In the 15 years since House of Yes was first founded, Burke and co-founder Anya Sapozhnikova have amade it their expressed mission to not only make nightlife more fun, but also more secure. Whether that was accomplished through a well-expressed consent policy, or even the introduction of dance floor monitors called “consenticorns,” House of Yes proves that fun can be had with boundaries intact.

Burke makes it clear that, even with a well-established track record of keeping the vibe positive, pure protection from unwanted attention and prejudice is impossible. “There’s really no such thing as a safe space,” she explains. “I’ve reframed it as ‘healthy hedonism.’ It’s about having this container for celebration that does the least amount of harm possible, whether it’s to yourself or to other people. It’s about asking, ‘How are you holding yourself accountable and bringing your best onto the dance floor?’”

Creating that atmosphere is central to Winters’ approach to creating live shows at Friends of George’s. “I think it is a kindness to tell people what the boundaries are,” he explains. “You explain to them where the boundary begins, and where it definitely stops.”

At Friends of George’s, those boundaries are well established. As a board member and performer, Winters helps write and perform in shows that are “a healthy portion of Saturday Night Live, The Mary Tyler Moore Show and RuPaul’s Drag Race.” Establishing themselves as a community-focused theater troupe since their founding in 2010, Friends of George’s aims to create entertaining performances in a space outside of the nightlife scene. “We’ve made something accessible out of something that used to be a little inaccessible,” he explains.

Another key factor in making more inclusive environments, as Stewart points out, is having staff that understand the mission. “I’m not going to hire a–holes,” Stewart says. “When you start that at the door, we want to have kind people that are checking your ID. We want to have kind bartenders that remember your face, know your name and know your drink.”

Burke agrees, adding that if you want members of the queer community to feel safe, then having a staff that reflects those identities is vital. “If you’re having an event, and you want queer people to feel welcome, hire queer people to work that event,” she says. “Put people in positions of power where they can affect change.”

It boils down to a simple concept that Stewart reminds himself on a regular basis: “You won’t remember what someone said to you, but you’ll always remember the way they made you feel,” he says. “And people want to feel good.”