HOUSE OF LATEX BALL 2001: YOU GET WHAT YOU PAY FOR
By Andrew McCarthy
(NOVEMBER 2001)


Gay Men's Health Crisis' House of Latex “The Battle Continues” ninth annual ball, held at Roseland, in New York City, was as free of a cover charge as it was free of excitement. The kids fell up into her not out of love for the Playtexes, but because she was free to those arriving dressed head to toe in white. There is no other institutionally-backed house that has the coins to rent such a big club on a Saturday night, so after years spent risking a Manolo Blahnik scratching out an eyeball during a femme queen vogueing battle at the cramped Clubhouse on a Wednesday night, few $5 queens found themselves spending their money to be elsewhere. Once it was over, I wished I had been elsewhere.

Security was unforgiving and arbitrary, confiscating metal afro picks and nail files but allowing in all retro punk spiked bracelets and giant metal heavy-weight boxing championship and Mexican accordion band belt buckles that recombined too many fashion faux pas of long ago. Most outfits were a nauseatingly 1980s mess of high-trash couture, consisting of sequins, spikes, fringe, and airbrushing hyper-kitsch, which still leaves me wondering what has fueled recent interests in Punk Rock imagery. Kids' superficial fashion politics are as loosely held together as their safety-pinned Joyce Leslie sham rocker shirts of punk bands whose music they don't even listen to. Auto-destructive aesthetics, once a threat to establishment fashion, have been curiously assimilated by the mainstream, but only after being depoliticized, sanitized, glamorized, and most importantly, deradicalized.

The categories at this ball were similarly sedated, with the only battles emanating from the judge's hypocrisy, which spoiled many categories. During the hot “Butch Queen [Vogue] Old Way,” ninja-clad Alverian Prestige turned it with his spinning parasol. It wasn't the diamonds covering his cranium that disqualified Andre Givenchy, but rather his brilliant sophistication that kept him from being pigeon-holed as “Old Way.” He took it like a lady and left quietly, but M.C. Selvin Movado threw a fit, and told the judges that they should have chopped everyone if his boy Andre got the boot.

Last year's drama between commentator and judges took place when Eric Bazaar was chopped three times during his Bazaar performance, despite his insistence for reconsideration out of respect for his legendary status. He preformed it four times in all, but does anyone remember what the results were? This time around, Eric straightened his hair, quietly serving Prince, leaving Selvin to start shit, which he did. Ms. Movado repeatedly addressed the audience and judge R.R. Chanel as “faggots,” but R.R. informed all that he is a “black gay man.” Learn it well, kiddies.

The last Latex ball featured no labels categories and its flyer featured a whole paragraph denouncing brand loyalty and craft as creativity killers. How then, did “Vintage Labels Spring/Summer 1982 Only” and “Butch Performance in '80s Gear” become categories? Crystal Carrington and Alexis Colby didn't wear Fava shoes and Alexander's dresses, so “Women's Runway: Dallas v. Knots Landing v. Dynasty” and “F.Q. Runway: Dominique Deveraux v. Alexis Colby v. Crystal Carrington” categories also defy the Latex's “no labels” ideals.

And dawls, please utilize the services of proofreaders when preparing your ball flyers. As for the “Butch Performance in '80s Gear” category, entrants would have been hard-pressed to find “Gazels.” Did the Latexes want to see Cazal or Gazelle eye wear? Additional language debauchery was noticed in Asley Icon's and Saniyah Ebony's “Divas Live” flyer, where three different spellings of Mother Ebony's first name appeared. We wanted to spell her name correctly, but found no contact information for her aside from the suggestion on the flyer to “see Ashlet and Siniyah personaly.” “Personally” should be spelled with two “l”s, and who is “Ashlet?”Maybe their designers also had trouble reaching them for name-spelling confirmation.

But I am not reading the mothers. Ashley looked ovuh in her Union Jack outfit, although I am sure that no British nationalists or American confederates are representing an African-American transexual the way she was repping them. Graceful Siniyah was soft and lovely in “Femme Queen Performance” but was chopped for wearing capris instead of the required mini-skirt.

The random application of the category descriptions also affected Jennifuh Leathuh, who, as a boy, entered “B.Q. in Pumps: in an Afro Wig.” She rocked a jumbo platinum afro with six-inch pumps but was chopped, unlike two other wigless queens who pumped in flats.

Hyped to be balls' highlight, the $1,000 grand prize “Performance” category was symbolically underpopulated. Andre Givenchy masterfully slew four male contestants and their hacked up versions of “The Ha Dance,” but it was the first category, so few were around to witness an upcoming femme queen snatch it. I can't say that I got what I came for, but I definitely got what I paid for.


© 2002 Andrew McCarthy.