When I log onto Zoom to speak with Ira Sachs (Passages, Little Men), a queer filmmaker who has been immersed in New York’s independent film scene since 1989, he’s having a conversation with one of his kids (offscreen) about taking his favorite bag for trick-or-treating. “If you won’t lose it, you can take it. It’s hard to find. Just don’t lose it!” Sachs says.

It’s a rare glimpse into the active life of both an artist and a father, which I can’t help but keep thinking about when we begin talking about Peter Hujar’s Day — Sachs’ intimate new film that paints a portrait of Peter Hujar (Ben Whishaw), a real-life artist who died of AIDS in 1987, just through a conversation with his friend, Linda Rosenkrantz (Rebecca Hall). It’s in everyday discussions about everything from Halloween bags to the morning smell of coffee that we can sometimes find the most connection.

Over the course of 24 hours, Sachs paints a vivid portrait of Hujar’s daily struggles to make money as an artist, his insecurities about capturing portraits of Allen Ginsberg and William S. Burroughs, and the friendships with people like Linda that kept him afloat. Based on the real transcript of Rosenkrantz’s and Hujar’s conversation, which was recorded on Dec. 18, 1974, the film is both a celebration of Hujar’s life and an homage to the artists who died of AIDS.

Ahead of the theatrical release of Peter Hujar’s Day, The Blade had the opportunity to speak with Sachs about honoring the New York-based artists of the ‘70s and ‘80s who were immersed in queer culture, reuniting with his Passages star Ben Whishaw, and why community is so fundamentally important to the LGBTQ+ community. This interview has been edited and condensed.

Obviously, this is a very New York movie, and we’re here talking for The Los Angeles Blade. But I love how specific this film is to New York. To start off, I’ve read about how you discovered this conversation. How did the form of this conversation inform what you ultimately wanted to portray about Peter Hujar as an artistic figure?

Well, I think I almost didn’t know the answer to that until the film was done. I realized what it does very well, thanks to Peter’s storytelling, is that it’s a window into the truth of how hard it is to make art. And I think the struggle that he goes through around the quality, the success or failure of his photograph of Allen Ginsberg is, for me, both very moving and also very comforting. Every time I make art, it seems impossible, and I feel like, “Oh, it’s hard for Peter Hujar too.” And I feel that gives me a kind of strength and confidence. And I will say that I have often looked to the artists of the East Village, particularly queer, gay artists of the ‘70s and ‘80s, as an extraordinary inspiration — many and most we lost to AIDS. But there was a kind of radical individuality during that time, and that was encouraged in art making, which I feel is beautiful and necessary.

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Here, you are reuniting with Ben Whishaw, whom I loved in Passages. I’d love to hear about your collaboration specifically with him between these two films, and what made you see him as the leading man for Peter Hujar.

Well, I read the book when I was working with Ben on Passages, and it was a great and wonderful excuse to keep working with Ben Whishaw. And I also knew that Ben had an interest in queer history and queer creative life that paralleled my own. It’s something we talk about a lot. We want to be adventurers like our heroes. He also looks a little bit like Peter, and it turns out he has a self-portrait of Peter on his wall, which I didn’t know. So all stars aligned, and we got to make this film.

This is your first time working with Rebecca Hall, and I know she’s going to be in your next film, the musical The Man I Love with Rami Malek. You’ve had actors you’ve returned to work with throughout your career, so I’d love to hear about some of the most fruitful aspects of these collaborations.

Well, Rebecca has a whiff of genius. She’s so fine in her work. She’s an actor who, even in silence, is also a writer. She tells stories and subtext without underlining anything. So it seemed exhilarating to collaborate with her. Specifically, I’d seen her in a 2016 movie called Christine, which I thought she was so brilliant. And also with Ben and Rebecca, they’re comfortable with risking failure. I think that is so generative — not to be looking at outcome, but to be embracing process.

I absolutely agree. And as you mentioned earlier, you are depicting New York at a very specific time in the ‘70s, before the AIDS epidemic hit. You’re someone who’s lived in New York and started your film career there. Obviously, it takes place in an apartment, but we do get to hear the sounds of New York; it still paints a very specific portrait and texture of this city.

It was important to bring the sound of a city into the movie, and it also became part of the drama. Whether it be a jackhammer or a siren or, at certain moments, quiet. Specifically, the sounds of prostitutes on a street corner, which are the last image described by Hujar when he talks about his day: the sex workers below his window. To me, that’s a very city sound and a city image. It was one of the ones that made me love the text and love the book. It’s this quiet in the middle of the night when you hear somebody else’s drama between the glass of your apartment.

There are also moments where you decide to intercut beats with classical music, which I thought was really effective. Could you speak to that?

Well, I wanted the film to be both real and theatrical at the same time. The music ruptures an idea of the everyday. It brings the film to a heightened level of emotion and drama. From the beginning of the film, I also wanted to be explicit that this was, in itself, a creative act. Making the film was like taking a photograph. It was experimental, it was uncertain, it was exploratory, and, hopefully, it was a form of portraiture — both of Hujar, but also of this friendship between Peter and his friend Linda, which seems really personal. My relationship to certain women in my life is conveyed through the love that you see between Peter and Linda, and between Ben and Rebecca.

For me, one of the real emotional anchors of this film is this universal feeling that we’re wasting our time in the day, or if you were to look at everything you do in any given day, there’s the fear that you haven’t accomplished enough. But I really love the structure of this film and that you’re inviting us to sit in the mundane, little moments. Could you speak to what you wanted to convey in your relationship to time in the film?

There is an evocation throughout the film that goes unspoken to the loss of Hujar and so many others to AIDS. That is really the unspoken emotion in the film, which is the preciousness of someone like Peter. Something about Peter is quite extraordinary, partly because he’s such a good artist. In certain ways, I tried not to think about Hujar’s photographs, but they were in me. And similarly, I tried not to think consciously about losing Peter; 13 years later, he was dead. But it was really in me when I made the film, and the fairness of that loss. There is an image of these steel planks in the Hudson River, which are remnants of the piers. I don’t know if that comes through to anyone, but something is missing in this shot of the river, and I think in this city, there’s a lot that’s missing.

That makes me want to re-watch the film to pick up more on that.

I made a film called Last Address, an eight-minute film. It’s online, it’s probably my most seen film. It’s about a group of New York artists who died of AIDS, and I shot the houses where they lived at the time of their death. Someone said to me today that it seemed like Hujar is the inverse because Last Address has no biographical information except where people lived and when they died. And this is now actually all biographical information on a certain day. And that film is also structured artificially in the course of the day. It begins at Keith Haring’s house early in the morning when you hear birds and trucks delivering milk, and then it ends at Times Square, at the house of Reza Abdoh, who was an Iranian theater director who died of AIDS. Similarly, I constructed a false day, a cinematic day.

On that note, I’m not somebody who went into this film knowing too much about Peter Hujar. I saw this at AFI Fest, and I was struck by some of the conversations that people were having as they left the theater, being interested in wanting to learn more about him and discover his work first-hand. How do you see this film as an opportunity for up-and-coming queer generations to discover Peter Hujar as an artist?

That’s interesting. I will say that it was not my intention, but it’s pleasurable to hear that that’s the case. There’s something about discovering an artist so singular and so powerfully confident within what could be a marginalized space that is extraordinarily generative to younger artists. It can be. Peter’s attention to the people around him, the queer people around him, the gay people around him, and the trans people around him is so rigorous and so loving, and also so counter to mainstream and global culture. The film is really about the resistance of globalization, and to the extent that that’s what Peter’s work does. It says the local is where you find meaning. And that’s anti-capitalist.

This film premiered at Sundance back in January, and I know you’ve had many films premiere there in the past. Could you speak to the state of the film industry because, as we’re seeing, there are not as many distribution deals coming out of Sundance? But this film was one that was really able to find its audience, getting picked up by Sideshow and Janus Films.

It’s never easy to work outside the dominant system. We are struggling with the dearth of exhibition spaces. I guess we’re struggling with an ecosystem that isn’t fertile, and so sustainability becomes very difficult for artists, when there’s not, in each stage — including festivals — the energy, whether that be economic or artistic, that might generate more and more work. But I don’t want to be nostalgic. There’s an attempt to understand that we have lost things; we lost a generation of artists to AIDS. We lost the kind of local nature of an artistic community that we had in the East Village in the ‘70s and ‘80s. We lost places like The Bar, which was on the corner of Second Avenue and Second Street. On Second Avenue and Fourth Street, there was a local watering hole where people could find each other on a daily basis and share their stories. And so, in a way, the movie is an encouragement for conversation and to spend time with people. In doing so, we can gather strength as artists and as a community, as queer people.

I love that. I’m not in New York, but I think finding a real sense of community is something I’ve personally struggled with as a queer person. That’s just hard to find in everyday life. So I felt this film was, as you said, a reminder of the power of community and conversation.

It’s so necessary, and I think particularly as people who are making creative work, you need something that is a ballast against one’s doubt. And companionship can be that.

The film will have a U.S. theatrical release in November.

Actor Guillermo Diaz has been working hard in the entertainment industry for over three decades. Proud of his heritage and queer identity, he has broken through many glass ceilings to have a prolific career that includes tentpole moments such as roles in the films Party Girl, Half Baked, and Bros, and in major TV shows like Weeds and Scandal, and even in a Britney Spears music video. This season, he made his feature-length directorial debut with the film Dear Luke, Love Me.

In an intimate sit-down with the Blade, Diaz shares that he attributes a lot of his success to his Cuban upbringing.

“Well, it prepared me to learn how to lie really well and be a good actor because it was a lot of acting like you were straight, back in the eighties and nineties (laugh). Another thing I learned from my Cuban immigrant parents is that they work super hard. They both had two jobs; we were latchkey kids, and I just saw them constantly working and wanting to provide for us by any means. So that was super instilled in me. That was the one thing that really stuck out that I admire and respect.”

Besides Diaz’s recurring roles on TV, his resume includes appearances in just about every genre of programming out there. If there is a major show out there, he was probably on it. Law and Order, Girls, The Closer, Chappelle’s Show, ER, Party of Five, and the list goes on. He’s accomplished more in his career thus far than most actors do in a lifetime. There is no doubt he is a hard worker.

“It’s a sign that I just loved to work, and it’s funny looking back at it now because you see all those things, but at the time it was just the next gig, the next job.  I was just wanting to keep working and acting and learning and doing all that stuff. Then it sort of accumulates, and you look back and you’re like, damn! That’s a lot of stuff!”

Acting was never on Diaz’s radar until he was asked to fill in for a friend in a Beastie Boys medley for a talent show when he was a sophomore in high school.

“I did it and fell in love with it. I was teased a lot in high school. Then, when I did that performance, all those people who teased me were like, you were so great! So I looked at it initially as a thing of like, oh, this is where I’m accepted and people like me when I’m on stage. It’s kind of sad, too, because that’s what I latched onto. And then of course, I fell in love with the craft and performing and acting, but that initial rush was because all these people who were messing with me and teasing me all of a sudden liked me. And I was like, this is what I have to do.”

Little did Diaz know that he would break the mold when it came to stereotypical casting. When he first hit the industry, diversity and positive representation were not a thing in Hollywood.

“You just kind of accepted at the time. It was the early nineties. 90% of the time, it was playing a thug or a gun dealer, or a crack head – it was all bad guys, negative characters. But it was either that or not act and not be in anything. So you just kind of accept it, and then you have this sort of vision or hope that in the future it’s going to get better.

Diaz’s management was trepidatious about him playing gay roles for fear of being typecast. But Diaz did play a handful of gay roles early on, although he passed on But I’m A Cheerleader, which went on to become a gay cult classic. Diaz decided early on that he was not going to hide his sexuality. Diaz appeared in the film Stonewall. That was the defining point for him in sharing his identity.

“Being cast in that historical sort of dramatization of the 1969 Stonewall riots – I couldn’t believe I was in the midst that I was in the middle of doing this and playing the lead drag queen on the film. I just felt so honored, and I knew it was important, and I knew I needed to do a really good job. I thought, what a special moment this is. And it kicked my ass shooting that movie.

I remember after doing Stonewall, people saying, well, now you’re either going to have to make a choice if you’re going to lie, or if you’re going to just be honest, and you’re going to have to be out from now on if you’re going to be honest. And I was like, I’m not going to freaking lie. When they’d asked me, I would say I was gay. I think because I never tried to hide it, it didn’t become a thing. So people just kind of ignored it. It didn’t mess with me or my career. I don’t know. Or I just got lucky. I don’t freaking know.”

As a queer, Latin actor, Diaz is all too aware of what is happening politically and socially in the world towards minority communities. Does he think actors have a place in politics?

“For sure. I mean, we’re people first, right? Like, I hate when people sort of are like, oh, you’re an actor, shut up. I’m super political and outspoken, and I’m that guy who will say shit. I’m on the right side of history, at least. I’m not being complicit and silent. So, yeah, I think actors for sure have a place in politics. Absolutely.”

While directing was on Diaz’s radar, it wasn’t something that he was actively searching out. But as life would have it, his friend Mallie McCown sent him her script for Dear Luke, Love Me, a film she would play the lead in. Diaz was hooked.

“It was one of those scripts that I had to keep putting down every like 20 pages. I would put it down because I didn’t want it to end. It was so good. Originally, I was just going to come on as a producer of the film, and then the director dropped out, and then Mallie asked me if I was interested in directing. I was scared as shit. I had never directed a feature film. But I was like, it’s now or never.”

The film covers a decade of the friendship between Penny and Luke, covering themes of platonic love, asexuality, co-dependence, and self-identity. With most of the film focusing on just the two leads, Diaz has crafted an intimate and raw film. What is his message with the film?

“That love is complicated, but it’s beautiful and rewarding and worth all the heartache. I believe that. I don’t want to give away too much in the film either, but I think everyone can relate to it because there’s heartache and there’s pain, and there’s beauty and there’s love.”

And in looking at his past work and in looking toward his future career, what kind of legacy does Diaz want to build?

“That I broke some ground, that I knocked down some walls as an artist; I’m hoping that made a difference. It’s funny because when you’re in it, you’re not thinking about all this stuff that could possibly pave the way for other people. You’re just kind of moving along and living your life. But yeah, I would hope that I broke down some walls as a queer Latino.

I hope that people can sort of get something out of me trying to live as authentically as I can, just being my queer self. Hopefully, that helps someone along who is having some troubles being accepted or being comfortable with who they are.”

Most LGBTQ+ people see being outed as one of the worst things possible. For YouTuber, comedian, and director Breanne Williamson, she saw it as an opportunity. 

“I started hearing around town that people were saying I was a lesbian,” said Breanne, when she sat down with the Los Angeles Blade to speak about her newest project, Basement 51. “That was really frustrating to me, because as much as I was stressed about coming out, I also wanted it to be in my own words and my own story! So, I decided to upload a video to YouTube called ‘Coming Out’…and the rest is history.” A history that has been filled with more than 12 million views and almost 100K subscribers, as Williamson has risen to become one of the platform’s biggest queer creators.

What began as a rebellious video reclaiming her narrative has become a lifelong career; not only have Breanne’s short films Coming Out and Aging Out racked up millions of views, but her lengthy acting portfolio and regular stand-up performances have established her as one of Vancouver’s rising comedy stars. She spoke to the Los Angeles Blade about her new projects and the struggles that always accompany getting a piece of media off the ground — struggles that have only gotten worse in 2025.

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Despite not living in the United States (a fact that many people would call an asset to this performer), Breanne has still been forced to contend with increasing hatred online. “We’re starting to roll back support for queer media,” explained Williamson. “I think back to funding Aging Out a couple of years ago and the amount of businesses down to jump on board — in hindsight, maybe [they were] trying to get that checkmark to say, ‘I support something that’s [gay]!’ But now…it’s a lot of nos, a lot of walls, a lot of, ‘I don’t know if we want to be associated with that right now.” 

Recent months have seen the struggles that have always existed for LGBTQ+ creatives get even worse. For years, the entertainment industry has been a treacherous space for new artists; a growing emphasis on multi-million dollar movies and shows has left producers unwilling to take a chance on new ideas. It’s an ever-present issue that has always been even more difficult for marginalized performers like Williamson…lucky for everyone, Breanne and the many artists like her aren’t backing down. 

“It’s [all] about uplifting one another,” She said, when describing the many ways her fellow performers have been helping crowdfund and raise awareness about each other’s work. “Amongst my peers, we’re really feeling the need to support one another’s projects more now than ever.” Breanne was lucky to find a place in this supportive, thoroughly LGBTQ+ community early into her career, a group that has only become more vocal in the face of rising bigotry online. It’s because of them that she’s created so many projects that embody queer culture — namely, how thoroughly awkward it can be. 

Whether it’s coming out over the course of years or discovering at 30 that you’re older than half the people at any given gay bar, Williamson has always captured the hilarious (and often extremely uncomfortable) sapphic experience through her projects. 

“Each character is probably six people in my life, myself included,” she said, when discussing how she imbues every project with the realities of herself and other queer women like her. “When I write, there’s obviously truth to every character and story…like in Aging Out, which is a sapphic rom com, there’s a messy makeout scene in the bathroom of a gay bar — [which was] very much an experience I had that I knew needed to make it in the film!” She laughed at the memory while detailing how it’s scenes like this that really resonate with queer viewers. While simple inclusion is always an asset to the LGBTQ+ community, we’re beyond trying to teach people that being gay is okay. To truly connect with the marginalized folks in her audience, Breanne surmises, you have to recognize the countless awkward, funny, gross, embarrassing, and unpleasant yet nostalgic emotions that make up being LGBTQ+ in the modern day. She has always tried her hardest to bring that level of authenticity to every story…even if those stories happen to be set during an alien invasion. 

Basement 51 is Breanne’s newest project, a YouTube web series that sees a lesbian comedian get stuck with her coworkers (and former partner) during an alien invasion. As witty as it is jaw-droppingly wild, Williamson balances the utter chaos of this premise with the grueling experience of being forced to share space with your ex-girlfriend (who you may or may not still have feelings for). While the project is a funny enough metaphor on its own about the abject terror of trying to make it in comedy, above all else, Breanne just wanted to make something for people to laugh at. “At the end of the day, the project is something that I want people to be able to click on and find an escape [from] everything that’s going on in today’s world — to have a laugh.”

It’s a sentiment that has carried the director throughout her career. She stressed how affirming and fulfilling it’s been making the LGBTQ+ media that she never saw as a child, and why people shouldn’t be afraid to do the same today — in fact, they need to. She encourages others not to feel discouraged by the people attacking queer art today and to instead show them that our communities can never be silenced. Of course, this is so much easier said than done, but to everyone nervous about sharing their stories, Breanne ended her interview with some warm advice:

“Set the camera up, and just get going…if you wait and wait for the perfect project, you’re going to be waiting forever. [You’ll look back] and wish you did things differently, but then the next time, you’ll [actually] do those things differently and [improve]. It’s all a learning experience — you’ve just got to go for it.”

When it comes to blending humor and hard-earned perspective with a healthy dash of heart, few do it quite like Alec Mapa. Actor, comedian, and self-proclaimed “attention whore” (his words, not mine) has spent decades lighting up screens and stages while using laughter as both a mirror and a megaphone for truth.

This November 8 at Nya West in Los Angeles, Mapa will be honored at NIGHT OUT, Family Equality’s gala celebrating LGBTQ+ families and the many avenues of love that make them thrive. It’s an appropriate recognition for someone like Mapa who’s managed to turn visibility into advocacy.

Equal parts entertainer and family man, we had the chance to sit down with Mapa as he shared with us about the power of being seen, the continued efforts for equality, and how both comedy and fatherhood continue to shape the way he navigates through the world.

You’ve got a big evening coming up with NIGHT OUT hosted by Family Equality this coming November 8th. What does it feel like to be honored not just for the impact you’ve made as an entertainer but also as a parent and family man?

 It feels lovely because I’m an attention whore, and surprisingly, because I never leave the house. To hear that my work or family would have any impact at all is wonderful news.  I’m just here folding the laundry.

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Family Equality has been an impactful force for LGBTQI+ families. What do you think is the most urgent and impactful work they’re doing right now?

 The urgent work to change hearts and minds hasn’t changed one bit. Since 1979, Family Equality’s mission has been to ensure that everyone has the freedom to find, form, and sustain their families by advancing equality for the LGBTQ+ community. The fight for queer rights is like a game of Whack-A-Mole. Just when you think you’ve made some impact, a new generation of bigots pops up. 

With such a diverse and talented group of performers like Monét X Change and Brendan Scannell, how do you think events like NIGHT OUT help showcase the many faces of queer comedy and entertainment?

Performing at queer Hollywood fundraisers is how I met all the queer creators who hired me! Sylvio Horta cast me in Ugly Betty after seeing me perform for the GLAAD awards. Ryan Murphy cast me on Scream Queens after seeing me at Family Equality.  Greg Berlanti cast me in Doom Patrol, but not from a fundraiser; I auditioned.  Still sore about that. 

You are a true Renaissance man, from TV and film to Broadway, stand-up, and voice work. What aspects of your career in the public sphere have influenced your role as a parent?

 I took my kid to every set I worked on and introduced him to every department from wardrobe to craft services because I wanted him to see that being an artist is a real job. 

What has parenthood taught you about yourself that performing never could?

I’m more careful about my words.

Using harsh language on your kids doesn’t make them stop loving you, but they end up loving themselves less. 

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Comedy can be a weapon just as much as it can be a unifying force. How do you approach the balance between pushing boundaries while also creating a connection with your audience?

 I started out on Broadway, so I always want my audience to experience a catharsis-  that sublime release that happens when you laugh all the laughs and feel all the feels. 

From Roseanne and Friends to Jane the Virgin and Scream Queens, you have been representing the entertainment world for a minute. How have you seen queer representation evolve over the span of your career? Is there still room for improvement?

In 2000, I was the first out gay Asian actor to play a gay series regular role on network television. Now, Gaysian superstars like Bowen Yang, Nico Santos, and Joel Kim Booster are smashing it. I feel like a gremlin that someone got wet or fed after midnight.  However, the caste system that centers whiteness is currently in charge, so diversity, equity, and inclusion might go the way of the Dodo. 

You’ve been speaking out and showing up for queer causes for decades. What gives you hope in this current climate? What gives you pause?

What gives me hope is the unstoppable strength, resilience and queer joy of the LGBTQ+ community. No matter how much they try to pave over us, we’re as relentless as a blade of grass bursting through concrete. What scares me is the complete lack of humanity of those in power. 

How do you use comedy to spotlight queer issues, especially at a time when audiences might prefer to “laugh and not think”?

The more specific you are, the more universal you become. I didn’t spotlight queer issues in my Showtime Special “Alec Mapa Baby Daddy” (now streaming on YouTube),  I just spoke honestly about my experience as a married gay Filipino man and the adoption of our son. My new stand-up hour, “The Buttcracker,”  on December 11th at El Cid on Sunset, is all about doing stand-up while I was recovering from prostate cancer. Hilarious. 

Adoption is undoubtedly a transformative way for many LGBTQ+ folks to build families. From your point of view, what is the unique power of adoption in creating families, and how has it shaped the broader narrative of queer parenthood?

Several studies have shown that LGBTQ+ individuals and couples are significantly more likely to adopt or foster children in the foster care system. My friend Stephanie White adopted and raised 7 special needs kids. Jason Cook and his husband adopted 6 kids and kept all siblings intact.  Despite that powerful narrative,  adoption agencies can still legally discriminate against qualified individuals based on sexual orientation or gender identity.  Family Equality sent me to Capitol Hill to lobby on behalf of the “Every Child Deserves a Family Act” to prevent anti LGBTQ+  discrimination in foster care. The Act has still not passed. Whack-A-Mole it is. 

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Join the Los Angeles Blade on Saturday, November 8, in Los Angeles for a special evening of love, laughter, and change-making. Event info here.

‘Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it’ — a cliché phrase that is more relevant now than ever. 

It’s an unfortunate truth that the erasure of queer history is not a new phenomenon. While the current political climate has featured some of the most blatant attempts to remove our communities’ impact, those in power have always tried to diminish just how much LGBTQ+ people have influenced society as a whole. It’s an ongoing attack that has left many worried about future generations not knowing all of the queer greatness that came before them — and it’s why Queer 101, hosted by Peppermint and Hugh Ryan, couldn’t have come at a better time. 

This new podcast from Pride House Media commemorates the moments in LGBTQ+ history that are too often ignored by the mainstream news cycle. And it’s hosted by a pair who make history as much as they record it; Peppermint is a world-famous Drag Queen who went from stunning on RuPaul’s Drag Race season nine to breaking barriers as the first out trans woman to originate a role on Broadway. And as one of the leading voices in the preservation of LGBTQ+ culture, Hugh Ryan has dedicated his career to unearthing and documenting the moments in our history that too many have already forgotten. The Los Angeles Blade was lucky to sit with these hosts to discuss Queer 101, why learning from the past is key to navigating the present, and how everyone listening is already an LGBTQ+ historian – they just don’t know it yet. 

“Queer history is a history of resistance,” said Hugh, as he and Peppermint detailed what initially drew them to this project. “This is our chance to talk about everything that touches on pure life, culture, and resistance right now.” And talk about it they do; each episode sees the duo tackle a new aspect in queer history, ranging from deep-dives into little-known advocates to interviews with stars like George Takei about queer life within Japanese internment camps. Theirs isn’t the first podcast to discuss subjects like these, but Peppermint emphasized that Queer 101 is unlike anything listeners have heard before. Not only because of how these topics personally affect them — Hugh is a gay man and Peppermint is a trans woman — but because of their genuine love for the spirit of liberation that makes these stories so impactful. “We often end up with these whitewashed versions [of history],” she explained. “It’s up to the queer people, the people of color…the marginalized people [to] assert our history and redeem it.”

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They stressed that this doesn’t mean these episodes are a droll recitation of information — quite the opposite. Each segment is filled with small tangents and jokes from the hosts, with their unique brand of approachable education ensuring that audiences are actually growing from the information they’re hearing.

 “A lot of people don’t have…basic knowledge of American history — let alone queer history!” Said Peppermint, when discussing how curated, over-simplified accounts of the past (which almost always erase LGBTQ+ presence) are often all that your average person is exposed to. “We’re setting out to change that…and reintroduce people [to this history].” It’s a valiant mission at any time, but particularly now when so much of the history people have fought generations for is under attack. 

Every week under the current presidential administration brings some new attempt to erase the impact of marginalized communities. Whether it be ‘softening’ depictions of slavery or trying to remove transgender folks from the Stonewall Riots memorial, time and time again, these people have shown how desperate they are to disregard those who truly built this country. This podcast’s goal is not only to fight back against such a violent erasure by educating listeners, but also to remind them of a darkly hopeful fact: this isn’t the first time things like this have happened. 

“It’s how we know how we got [here], which is how we know what’s happening next. It’s how we understand ourselves and how [to] push back.” Stated Hugh, whose long career has shown him the cyclical nature of history — particularly how many times queer communities have fought for their freedom, attained some, and then had their pride attacked by those fearful of true equality, restarting an at-times unbearable cycle. Peppermint echoed this sentiment, clarifying that while we are in uniquely troubling times, it doesn’t mean that we can’t learn from those who fought before and use their tactics to combat erasure now. 

And the best method of preserving queer history for the future? Telling our stories today. 

“Everyone has a voice recorder on their phone!” Exclaimed Hugh, when discussing how, by documenting their stories, individuals are preserving their own LGBTQ+ impact and that of those around them. “Where you can do it, bring it out, share it…it’s something we can all do.” 

“It’s important for queer people to learn about their history,” continued Peppermint. “To have a connection to the generation before them, to understand how these things get passed down…because it doesn’t happen automatically.” It’s something that these two do every week with their fun, insightful conversations that finally give so many people and moments the respect they deserve. And, they want to remind everyone listening, it’s something that every person in their audience can do by remembering: you’re an LGBTQ+ person with a story to tell.

That means you’re already on your way to making queer history yourself. 

There’s seldom a night that combines laughter, love, and a good cause quite like NIGHT OUT, Family Equality’s gala celebrating the beauty and resilience of LGBTQ+ families. This November 8, at Nya West in Los Angeles, NIGHT OUT brings together advocates, artists, and allies for an evening where joy meets justice, and this year it will be honoring none other than the incomparable Tig Notaro. The Emmy- and Grammy-nominated comedian, actor, and producer (and master of the perfectly timed pause) will be honored alongside her wife, the talented Stephanie Allynne. Together, they’ve built a life and career grounded in authenticity and heart, raising their family while reimagining what visibility looks like. As we sat down with Notaro ahead of this year’s festivities, she reflected with her signature mix of dry wit and warmth on her career, community, and what it means to be a family.

You and your wife are being honored alongside some incredible talents at Night Out, hosted by Family Equality. What does this recognition mean to you—personally, professionally, or otherwise?

I’m flattered that anyone has noticed what we’re doing, honestly. We’re already so proud of our family and the life we’ve built together, and to have others take notice—and to feel like it’s making an impact for other families—is really meaningful. It adds another layer of appreciation to something we already hold dear.

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You and your wife built your family together, and parenthood is still a politicized space in many ways. How do you navigate the balance between protecting your family and being a symbol of resilience within the LGBTQ+ community?

We just keep moving forward—like we always have. I think that’s the best statement we can make: continuing to live our lives and move ahead.

You’ve spoken openly about the importance of chosen family, which is such a vital part of queer culture. How has your chosen family shaped your journey?

Our sons, Max and Finn, honestly don’t know who’s biologically related to them and who isn’t—and that’s kind of beautiful. We have so many incredible people around us who take on different roles, bring different personalities and love into our lives. If they weren’t around, sure, we could figure things out, but having them in our lives is remarkable. It’s this beautiful, extended web of support. I don’t know if that fully answers your question, but that’s how I feel about it.

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It absolutely does. On that note, you were a producer on your dear friend Andrea Gibson’s documentary, Come See Me in the Good Light. How did your relationship with Andrea—and your involvement in that project—impact how you move through the world now?

That experience was deeply personal. I was very clear from the beginning—both as a friend and a producer—that everything needed to be rooted in love and support for Andrea and their wife, Meg. That was my North Star throughout. Even now, any decision I make on the film is guided by that principle: doing right by them.

Working on the documentary was what I call a “compartmentalized joy”—because it was filled with love and laughter, despite being a film about a friend who was dying. And what surprised me was how much hope it gave me—not just in humanity, but in collaboration. In film and TV, it’s easy for differing opinions and egos to get in the way, but this project didn’t have that. We came out the other side with something really positive. That gives me hope.

You co-host the podcast Handsome with Fortune Feimster and Mae Martin, and you field a lot of questions from guests. If you could ask one question to the entire nation—something to spark an important conversation—what would it be?

Hmm… I think it would center around compassion. I’d ask: At what point do you crack open to compassion? And at what point do you shut it down? I’d be very curious to hear about those breaking points in both directions.

That’s a powerful one. Switching gears a bit—you portray Jet Reno on Star Trek: Discovery. If Reno were beamed down to the United States in 2025, what do you think would be the first thing she’d try to repair?

She’d probably start by repairing the planet itself. My character jokes about fixing anything with duct tape—and honestly, that’s not far off. But in all seriousness, environmental issues are the most pressing. If there’s no planet, there’s nothing else to worry about. Jet Reno would definitely beam down and start duct-taping Earth back together.

Your comedy is both personal and deeply relatable. How do you decide what parts of your life to bring to the stage, and what to keep private?

It really comes down to connection. Whether it’s a personal story or something observational, I have to feel a strong connection to it. Sometimes I know right away—oh, there’s something here. Other times, I test it out on stage a few times to see if it clicks. But if I’m amused or entertained by what I’m saying, chances are the audience will be too.

How has the landscape for LGBTQ+ performers evolved since you started your career, and where do you see it going?

When I started stand-up almost 30 years ago, LGBTQ+ performers were mostly confined to LGBTQ+ shows. If you wanted to see a queer comedian, you had to go to a specifically queer lineup. Now, it feels like much less of an issue. The comedy world reflects the larger world—it’s divided in many ways—but within comedy, if you’re funny, people generally don’t care about your sexuality or gender. I hope that continues. Despite the larger political pushback we’re seeing, I haven’t experienced that same resistance within the comedy scene. It’s come a long way.

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Finally, as Family Equality’s Night Out celebrates joy and resilience, what message do you hope attendees take away from the evening?

I hope the message is that families—of all kinds—are valid and powerful. In certain circles, there’s still resistance or controversy, but among the families I know, it’s such a non-issue. Our kids didn’t even know we were gay! We never thought to “come out” to them because it just… was. That’s how normal it felt. And I think if we keep creating and celebrating these families, that sense of normalcy will continue to grow. It’ll stop being a “thing”—because it isn’t.

Join the Los Angeles Blade on Saturday, November 8, in Los Angeles for a special evening of love, laughter, and change-making. Event info here.

In the Bill Alverson’s own words, he spends each day as a ‘walking paradox’; Alverson puts in long hours at his law office, conducts countless appointments as one of the country’s premier pageant coaches, and still makes time to appear on Lifetime’s hit reality series A Sorority Mom’s Guide to Rush!

This isn’t the first time the legal professional has graced TV — he had his own series in 2015 and produced the Netflix hit Insatiable — but his appearances on television are more impactful now than any of his before. Finally, Bill gets to greet viewers as the proud gay man he is today. 

From the struggles of America’s legal system to the cutthroat world of beauty pageants, the Los Angeles Blade sat down with Alverson to hear about his coming out journey and how he’s been navigating his sexuality, his many pursuits, and his role as a father (all while appearing on numerous reality shows over the years). He offered ample advice to other queer parents on what it means to put your child first while still respecting your own identity. And, in regard to his long career that grows by the day, Bill makes something very clear: no matter how many shows he’s on or pageants he helps people win, his family always comes first. 

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“I grew up in a small town in South Alabama…in 2016, the highest percentage per capita that voted for Trump was my county,” explained Alverson, when discussing why it took him so many years to come out. “I didn’t even know what the word bisexual was!” He first grabbed national attention back in 2015 with his reality show Coach Charming, a TLC series that saw the attorney take a break from practicing law to mentor debutantes across the country. Audiences quickly fell in love with this hilarious personality; when he wasn’t showing off his bombastic coaching style or critiquing modern pageantry, each episode showed the idyllic life Bill lived with his wife and three children in Alabama. Viewers quickly fell in love with this family man and the epitome of Southern charm that was his daily life, which is why so many were shocked when he was outed as gay shortly after the first season finale. 

While able to joke about it now, Bill described the trauma of his colleagues allegedly outing him to their local community. “When I did Coach Charming, my law firm [allegedly] hacked into my computer…and found out I was gay.” Said Bill. “We were the oldest firm in Alabama at the time, and I was one of the youngest partners…[and] one of them literally told me to ‘get out of town’.” This came during a time when Bill had already opened up to his wife about his sexuality, when the man had been preparing his own public statement to come out to fans on his terms. Because of this alleged invasion of privacy, what could have been a milestone in reality television was instead a personal explosion for Bill and everyone he loved the most. 

Eventually, he was able to recover. He capitalized on his newly public sexuality and, after an amicable divorce with his wife (who remains a close friend to this day), began dating men and pursuing new projects as his most authentic self. This led to camp classics like Netflix’s teen comedy Insatiable or his current role on A Sorority Mom’s Guide to Rush!. But even though Bill was able to navigate his new reality with pride, he knew that above all else, he had to make sure his children were as safe and happy as he is now.

Bill didn’t try to rationalize or smooth over his children’s emotions when they struggled with his sexuality. “I [said] to [my daughter], ‘You know what? I didn’t have a road map. I’m sorry I put you through that, and you have a right to be angry.’” He had a version of this conversation with each of his children, small and large confrontations where they questioned his identity and the unwanted national attention his outing had on their family. Bill approached each with a similar candor, stating the key to helping them understand his experience that every queer parent should know: “It all has to come from being honest.”

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Alverson quickly learned a hard truth about being a queer parent: your pride can’t just be for yourself. “Are you winning the battle to lose the war?” He asked, when speaking about the times he wasn’t as open about his sexuality because he knew it would lead to his kids suffering with their peers. Bill clarified that he never hid his identity — “I’m like, ‘Who’s the parent, and who’s the child?’” he joked, when describing the times he had to tell his children that he wouldn’t go ‘back in the closet’ for their comfort. But he also learned that when you’re a gay parent, pride is a conversation, an ongoing journey that has to account for not only your experience but that of the children you’re raising. There’s no one way to do it, and he’s experienced many issues with his kids over the years in trying to maneuver life as a gay father. But by respecting their feelings and speaking to them like the young adults they are, he’s been able to turn his journey of self-discovery into a trip the entire family is taking together. 

Bill Alverson has established himself as a true powerhouse of reality TV, showing up to inject various shows with his unique brand of Southern sass while still taking the time to defend clients as a practicing attorney. He’s a modern model of truly ‘having it all,’ and throughout his interview, the man reiterated that none of this would be possible without the family who has stood by him every step of the way. His sense of pride is a familial one, and for every other parent struggling to share their authentic identities with their children, he says, “Be the friend you’d want to have — not what makes you happy, but what would make them happy.”

Music is magic. It has the power to transform minds, uplift spirits, and unite communities. In a time of too much discord, good music has the potential to provide us with some much-needed harmony. For many marginalized communities, this harmonious energy is not only an instrument of healing but also an amplifier for our collective voice, no autotune necessary. For decades, rapper, producer, and songwriter Cazwell has been dropping dearly queerly tracks, from Loose Wrists to Rice & Beans, melting both our hearts and our ice cream with every beat.  It is to absolutely nobody’s surprise that our beloved bicoastal babe has snagged himself the Best of LGBTQ+ LA 2025 award for DJ of the Year (congrats!)

We sat down with Cazwell and talked about the importance of trans empowerment, bringing his East Coast vibe to the West Coast sunshine, and the anticipated release of his latest LP. Sink your teeth in – this one’s going to get all over your face…

Congrats on winning DJ of the Year by the Los Angeles Blade’s Best of LGBTQ+ LA 2025. How does it feel to be recognized for your influence and impact on the queer music scene?

Thank you, Los Angeles Blade and Best of L.A. Awards!  I feel recognized for how much I’ve grown as a DJ. I’m very grateful for getting a Saturday night residency at Hi Tops (West Hollywood). The unpretentious atmosphere gives me permission to take chances and surprise the crowd. When it comes to my music, I’ve been told by some gay people in music that I’ve inspired them to keep going with their craft. It feels good to know that I’ve made a positive impact.

Your sound and visuals have always pushed boundaries and tightened trousers. What fuels your creativity, and how has it evolved throughout your career?

I think what fuels my creativity is that I enjoy the process. I get less satisfaction from observing the work I’ve done compared to when I am taking the steps to make it happen. When my head is wrapped up in the world of making a song or filming a music video, time kind of stands still, and that’s when I feel my most powerful. Making music always gives me the opportunity to talk about the life I want to have or the confidence I want to have, and then I get it from the power of the song. Or maybe it was always there, and I had to just dig it up. I’m not sure, but it works for me.

Can you give us a taste of your latest LP, HITS ALL OVER YOUR FACE [The Peace Bisquit Collection]? What themes can we expect, and how does it reflect where you are in your life?

HITS ALL OVER YOUR FACE [The Peace Bisquit Collection] gave me the opportunity to look back at all I’ve done and give myself a little pat on the shoulder, which I rarely do so for my mental health. It was a positive thing. For me personally, the double album is a reflection of how Peace Bisquit has helped me navigate through my decision-making with music production. I’m very proud of it. I looked at the compilation track listing and said to myself, “Damn! I’ve made a lot of great songs!”

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Your fashion and visuals are just as iconic as your music. How do you define your style these days, and who or what inspires it?

Well, now I am certainly in my “Daddy Era.” I’ve been pulling a lot of inspiration from 90’s movies like Trainspotting and Fight Club. I also pay attention to a lot of Japanese fashion and always seem to have my head in a Japanese fashion magazine like “Popeye.” Besides that, I’ve learned that no matter what I wear, if I’m not happy with my body, I’m always hiding something. So now my perspective is to be as healthy and fit as I can, and I will feel and look good.

You’ve collaborated with many talented artists. Who is on your dream list that you haven’t worked with yet?

I want to work with Charli XCX. I was just listening to the BRAT album yesterday, and it still hits hard. I’ve been a fan of hers for years and years, and watching her excel and morph into this party girl-raver-superstar has been amazing. I want to write a song with her just to learn. I can’t wait to see what she drops next.

You’ve always been unapologetically queer in your work, especially at a time when visibility wasn’t always celebrated. What does queer visibility in music mean to you today?

Visibility and queer music need to be protected. To me, it means empowerment and not keeping silent, no matter who you make feel uncomfortable. There’s nothing much more powerful than music when it comes to strengthening your mental health. I’ve always wanted to use my music to make gay people feel just as entitled and cocky as straight people do when they rap or sing.

In a political climate that is increasingly hostile toward LGBTQ+ rights, do you feel a new type of urgency in your work as both an artist and public figure?

The urgency has always been there, but they’re coming for trans people first. The most important thing that all artists – gay and straight – can do right now is use their visibility to bring attention to protecting trans people. And that doesn’t just mean wearing a “Protect The Dolls” t-shirt and calling it a day. It means putting them in their songs, their videos, and finding a way to donate money or time to causes that help trans people. Let trans people know that they are loved and cared for anyway you can.

Have there been aspects of your background (cultural, regional, or familial) that you’ve consciously brought into your work, or that you’ve had to push against?

Well, most recently, I’ve been bringing my Polish heritage into my work, wearing a Polska red and white jogging suit in my “Daddy” videos for social media. I’ve always loved that Eastern European look of the guy with the shaved head in a jogging suit looking like a total asshole, lol. I think it’s funny and sexy in its own way. The influence that New York has instilled in my attitude will affect me forever. I’m still hustling to get all my work done like a New Yorker while some of these West Coast kids are waking up at 2 pm every day thinking about brunch.

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In today’s conversations around representation and intersectionality, how do you see your place (or your responsibility) as someone who’s broken boundaries in both mainstream and underground spaces?

Our government is trying to get rid of any piece of history that celebrates people of color and the LGBTQ community. It is important for gay artists to recognize that the majority of the genius that comes from our music was birthed from the Black queer community and to pay them respect every opportunity we have. I also feel it’s my responsibility to mentor young queer artists any time I can. I’ll try to give advice or give my thoughts on their work when they ask me. Many young artists don’t have anyone in their circle to just give them constructive criticism or even uplift them and tell them how talented they are. I think everyone needs that.

You’ve spent time on both coasts. Do you consider yourself more East Coast or West Coast at heart? How have the scenes in NYC and LA influenced you differently, both musically and personally?

I’m definitely more East Coast. I’m a New Yorker till the day I die. Los Angeles has given me the opportunity to relax and gather my thoughts as opposed to always being in a competitive hustle just to keep a DJ gig and pay rent on time. I miss the vibration of New York, but I wouldn’t trade it for the mental clarity that I’ve been able to develop on the West Coast. Hopefully, someday I’ll be bi-coastal.

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What’s something fans might be surprised to learn about you, either in the booth or outside the spotlight?

I think the thing that would surprise them the most is that I haven’t had sex in over a year. Partly by choice and partly because I prefer to have sexual relationships with somebody I admire, and I haven’t been able to find that in a long time. It was definitely easier on the East Coast, but I’ve been working on myself a lot lately, so I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything.

What’s your message to younger queer artists navigating the music industry right now?

Don’t try to perfect your work. It will never happen. Enjoy the process and don’t be afraid to suck. No artist that’s been in the game for years wants to listen to their early pieces of work because it feels so cringe. Just keep making music. Keep putting out art. Don’t focus on the outcome. Just focus on the vision you’ve received because you got this calling for a reason.

Harvey Guillén has had quite the extraordinary year, from making one last stop at the Emmys for the sixth and final season of the hilarious What We Do in the Shadows, acting alongside Lukas Gage and Sophie Thatcher in the horror comedy Companion, to continuing to voice act in shows like Harley Quinn and Mickey Mouse Funhouse.

But he’s only just getting started.

“I guess in my head, I have so much more to do,” Guillén tells The Blade after receiving the Truth Icon Award at the Raizado Festival back in August. “I’m just getting started, and then when they read out 70-something film and show credits to my name, I was like, ‘What!’ Because I’m not keeping score of the projects I’m doing. It blew my mind because in my head, I constantly think this is just the beginning.”

Guillén brings flair to every red carpet and has the goal of becoming the first queer Latino person nominated at the Emmys for best supporting actor in a comedy. But beyond his on-screen visibility, the L.A.-native recognizes the unique opportunity voice acting provides.

“Imagine a place where you can be creative, where all your talent is based not on what you look like, not how tall you are, not your background — just your voice,” Guillén says, reflecting on notable roles in Puss in Boots: The Last Wish and Wish. “And that’s appealing, because voiceover is the hardest place to get into. It’s the one place that’s even more welcoming than any of the other departments.”

Guillén sat down with The Blade to unpack the evolution of his red carpet looks, saying goodbye to his What We Do in the Shadows family, only recently being allowed back in his Altadena home following the devastating wildfires, and wanting to inspire other queer Latino men with both his on-screen and voice acting work. This interview has been edited and condensed.

You’ve had an incredible year, and I’d love to start off by hearing about the inspiration for your red carpet fashion. It really stands out.

That was Harry Haleen, and I think he’s a great, amazing designer. We just work with what we already have. As a big boy, I always like to accentuate curves, and we wanted to do this sharp shoulder, bringing it back to the ‘80s Dynasty moment, but also a plunging neckline, which made it into a corset-looking top. The high-waisted pants gave this cool, almost triangle-cinch look. The pants and outfit were really comfortable to be in, and I had a long, draping cape attached to these pants. When you look in the front, you see pants, and then when you walk away, you see a gown.

I started working with my stylist, Melvin, after years of styling myself. I finally found someone who wanted to show off and make a good impression with fashion choices. That was never an option for me because no one wanted to dress up a big guy. No one would want to take a chance, or their answer was always, “We just don’t know where to shop for you.” That’s ridiculous — fashion should be for everyone, not just for sample-size models. So this whole year, we’ve taken that journey together. We want to make it clear that fashion is for everyone, and the big boys can be fashionable.

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What We Do in the Shadows ended this past year with its sixth season. How do you look back on your experience being a part of that show for so many reasons and receiving so many Emmy nominations?

We’ve been doing this for six seasons, and it really felt bittersweet because every time we go to the Emmys, we see a new show come on board, we meet them and they’re always so nice. From Abbott Elementary and Quinta Brunson coming up to us and saying how much they love the show when their first season was on the air — now she’s become a friend — to Seth Rogen from The Studio saying how much he loves the show. And vice versa. You know, comedy is hard. Amy Poehler recently said that sometimes the Academy Awards snub comedies and don’t really take them seriously. I think that’s not fair because making people cry is easy, making people laugh is hard. Because our show had such a specific storyline with vampires, sometimes what got lost in the recognition was taking it as a serious show. Because the writing is incredible, the acting is phenomenal, yet everything but the actors got nominated. We never got nominations except last year, for the first time, Matt Berry got the nomination. We were rooting for him, we were all rooting for you! We wanted him to take home the award, and it didn’t happen. But we at least got the nomination.

For me personally, it was a goal because I wanted to be the first queer Latino to be nominated for a supporting role in a comedy. That would have made history. And so even if I didn’t win, I was like, “At least if I get nominated, we’ll make history.” That’d be cool to open the door for another queer Latino who comes after me, and it didn’t happen.

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Hopefully, that history can be made soon. I also know you’re an L.A. native, and your Altadena house was damaged in the January fires. There have been struggling production rates, and the ICE raids. What has it been like to see all these changes in L.A. and also these moments where people have come together to support the community?

It’s been tough. It’s been a rough year. I was just allowed to come back to my home about a month ago. They finally gave us the green light to go. My house was damaged, and the property was all damaged. The night it happened was kind of traumatizing because they didn’t evacuate our side of town in Altadena. I was in my home, I got rid of my car a long time ago, and I was looking out the window. We started rehearsal that day for Anything Goes at the Pasadena Playhouse with Jinkx Monsoon, and we stopped abruptly and said, “There’s been a warning for Altadena.” We canceled rehearsal, went home, and said, “Everyone, go take care of what you have to take care of, and we’ll see you guys tomorrow.” We never went back to rehearsal.

I went back home and saw a red ball of fire in the distance. I was like, “That is way too close,” and they didn’t evacuate us. The winds were 100 miles per hour that night, and there were sparks in the air, amber falling from the sky. I remember thinking, “I just bought this house. I’m a first-generation homeowner.” I had just shown this house to my Mom and tricked her over the Christmas break to think that I had rented an Airbnb, and then when she got to the Airbnb, I told her I bought it. To see her face, to see that her son bought a home in America for the first time… it was very sentimental. I just remember thinking of all that, going back in the backyard and asking ancestors to look after my house.

It’s almost like a distraction to myself to create a distraction for others, because I distract myself by creating a movie, show, or comedy. It’s therapeutic for me to not be focused so much every day on the insanity that is insurance and fire and all that. But along the way, we wanted to use the arts to help, so I did an evening where we raised money for street vendors, who are also being affected by ICE in Southern California. We also did a read of Superbad streaming online with Gloria Calderón [Kellett] to raise money, to donate money to organizations that help people. Just getting back to some kind of normality, which is hard this year with ICE and the fires and everything. And also, where we are with the State of the Union and just in general as human beings. It’s been a tough year, but one thing I’ve learned is that in times like this — in history, in the future — you’ll always need an escape. That means entertainment and actors are more important than ever. We are needed. I’m not a first responder, but what I can do is provide an escape, and I’ll continue to do that as long as I can.

That’s a great way of putting it. Another issue that California has been struggling with is trying to get production back in the state. I know many Emmy-winning shows like The Studio and Hacks were campaigning on the fact that they were shot on location. For you as an actor, is keeping filming local important to you?

Yeah, absolutely. I always say it’s so funny that every day, we have planes that land in L.A. with a new writer, actor, model, and dancer with these dreams of joining this amazing profession. And yet they get here, they’re outsourced to Alabama, to Spain, to Toronto. I can count the number of times that I’ve shot in Los Angeles in one hand for the last decade.

Oh wow.

I consider myself very lucky and privileged to work as often as I do, because as history has shown you, statistically-proven, someone who looks like me, with my background, with my sexuality, should not be successful in this business because they have made it harder for us by diminishing our stories and saying that those stories aren’t welcome. I don’t take it lightly; it’s not lost on me how lucky I am. It’s just you have to constantly be working at the next gig, trying to get the next gig, and all those gigs are never in L.A. because everything has been outsourced. I shot a movie in Spain last Fall. Shadows was shot in Toronto for seven years of my life. I might as well get dual citizenship in Canada!

This is the entertainment capital of the world. I noticed recently that used to be the slogan for Universal Studios, the actual theme park where they make movies. They legally can’t say that anymore; they can’t even stand by their own words. You can’t even say that because it’s a lie; it’s no longer the entertainment capital, but it was built on that. And the idea that this town is so expensive to live in, and you make it even harder to live and work in. It’s a little bit greedy, you know? This city is built on entertainers. You can’t even be an entertainer and live here, right? You have to live in Milwaukee or Texas and then fly in to wherever they’re going to shoot. And if you do that, you’re going to lose what L.A. was based on. That’s scary because the other source of this city was built on immigrants from all over the world.

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As you look forward, you mentioned your goal of representing queer Latino men on screen. What kind of roles do you want to take on, and where are you hoping your career will take you?

I would like to think that when people see me on screen, they’re inspired to do anything they want to do. My biggest thing is when I have people come up to me at Comic Con — men, women, trans, non-binary — they say something like, “When I see you, I feel seen. When I see you just living your life full of joy, I see it is possible that I can also be that.” That’s really amazing to hear because when I started this, I didn’t start to necessarily do that, but after I was aware that just by living and doing you every day, you could be inspiring someone who’s going through a hard time. You could be the inspiration someone needs to be an inspiration to someone else — It’s a ripple effect. This is like dropping the rock in the pond and the ripple effects it makes after that.

From the frontlines of LGBTQ+ activism in San Francisco to the glitter-glazed streets of Palm Springs, Jeff Hocker is so much more than an event producer. Swapping out the megaphones for microphones, Hocker is fearlessly fueling the movement through celebration and joy. The visionary behind some of Palm Spring’s most iconic festivities like Halloween on Arenas and Cinco de Mayo, Hocker blends jubilation with justice, glitter with grit. With a career that began alongside legends like Cleve Jones and Gilbert Baker, he’s spent decades turning parties into platforms and dance floors into declarations.

This year, his signature Halloween street soiree is upping its game, expanding into a full weekend experience with two distinct nights of revelry. On Friday Hocker is serving up MASKED, a costume-clad fête, and Saturday is UNMASKED, a deliciously uninhibited tribute to leather, fetish, and foxy fantasy. The Blade sat down with Hocker to talk about his journey and how joy itself can be a radical act of resistance in and of itself.

You’ve been a driving force behind some of Palm Springs’ most iconic events, like Halloween and Cinco de Mayo. What first drew you to this path, and how did you get started in the world of event production?

I actually grew up in the Bay Area and then moved to San Francisco. Early on, I became friends with people like Cleve Jones and Gilbert Baker. We put together the first Pink Saturday in San Francisco, and from there, we helped launch the city’s Halloween celebration. Eventually, we were all busy with different projects, so we passed it along to the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.

One day, I saw a job listing in the paper that said, “Travel the world, promote Palm Springs.” I thought, “That’s me.” My friends had always said, “All you do is talk about Palm Springs—you should be getting paid to promote it.” So for four years, I traveled internationally to promote all aspects of Palm Springs.

After that whirlwind, I started my own business and returned to event production. I produced major events like Idyllwild Jazz in the Pines and was executive producer for Opera in the Park, which still happens today. I began developing my own events too, which gave me the freedom to work with the people and brands I believe in.

About 12 years ago, Dick Castcamp, a local bar owner in the Arenas District (who has since passed), approached me and said, “Jeff, we need you to take over Halloween.” The event had plateaued and needed someone with vision to elevate it, and showcase the district. That’s when Halloween Palm Springs became what it is today. We’ve grown it every year, bringing in Grammy-winning artists like Thelma Houston and Evelyn “Champagne” King. It’s not just a costume party – it’s a full-on world-class experience.

Halloween on Arenas is legendary – not just for costumes, but for drag shows, celebrity hosts, and even international porn stars. For those who’ve never been, what can they expect this year?

Halloween falls on a Friday this year for the first time in a while, so we’re making it a two-night event, and it also coincides with Leather Pride Weekend. We’ve themed the nights accordingly:

Friday, October 31st is MASKED – all about lavish costumes, masks, and our big costume contest.

Saturday, November 1st is UNMASKED – a leather, fetish, and fantasy street party. The street will fully transform overnight, and we’ll have some of the world’s top DJs like Hector Fonseca and Luciana, the Queen of Electro. They’ve both played circuit parties worldwide.

We’re calling it two nights of dance parties, because people come to dance. We’ll also have incredible culinary options, like TacoZarro, a kind of celebrity food truck chef who caters for Acrisure Arena and major events. And El Salvador Restaurant is coming too.

Friday’s lineup includes our costume contest (around 7:30 PM), followed by platinum-selling pop diva Dev – you probably know her from “Like a G6” and “In the Dark.” We also have DJ Juan from Beatbox SF, local favorite DJ Modgirl, and DJ Jeffrey. From start to finish, the street is going to be alive with music, energy, and celebration.

Palm Springs is evolving quickly, especially since COVID. How has the city’s changing scene shaped your events, and how have your events influenced that evolution?

When I worked for the Bureau of Tourism, the average age in Palm Springs was 58. Now it’s around 45. More people are moving here to open businesses, especially younger professionals from LA, San Diego, and New York.

The restaurant scene has exploded with chef-owned concepts, and the hotel industry is attracting investors who are completely renovating properties. We’re seeing more LGBTQ+ folks, of course, but also straight allies who want to be part of the vibrant, inclusive culture here.

It’s not just a retirement town anymore. There’s real opportunity, especially with things like the new College of the Desert West campus, which will offer programs in media and hospitality. That means local students can graduate and stay here, something that wasn’t possible before.

Switching gears – at a time when LGBTQ+ rights, especially trans rights, are under attack nationally, how do you see Palm Springs as a place of visibility and resistance?

I was fortunate to grow up in San Francisco and be around people like Cleve Jones, who taught me the power of civil disobedience and activism. I was in ACT UP. I worked on the first March on Washington. I was there when the gay choral movement started after Harvey Milk’s assassination.

Now, I sing with the Palm Springs Gay Men’s Chorus, and we use music as a form of social justice. Our community is under real threat again, particularly the trans community. Here in Palm Springs, we support them however we can – through clothing drives, visibility, advocacy.

I always say: when one group is targeted, others usually are too. Hate is rarely limited to one group. That’s why I work to bring people together – across race, religion, gender, identity – to stand against hate in all forms. That’s how we protect each other.

Speaking of activism, do you see celebrations that embrace joy in our community like Palm Springs’ Halloween on Arenas as a form of protest in themselves?

Absolutely. Joy is resistance. Visibility is resistance. Look at someone like Keith Haring. His graffiti and subway art were acts of protest. They made people feel something. That’s what art does. And I think joyful, unapologetic celebration is a form of protest too, especially when others try to silence or erase us.

Art has always been political. Take Gilbert Baker, who created the rainbow flag. When people dance in the streets, unapologetically queer, proudly in costume -that’s protest. That’s defiance. That’s hope.

The arts are under attack. PBS, Lincoln Center, institutions that shaped American culture are being defunded or devalued. We need to fight for them. And we need to bring back the basics – telling our stories, marching, being out. Harvey Milk said, “Tell everyone you’re gay.” Because once people realize their neighbor, their doctor, their contractor is LGBTQ+, it changes hearts and minds.

Young people today often feel like, “We’ve won our rights.” But rights can be taken away. They need to know who Harvey Milk was. They need to understand Stonewall. Because if we forget, we risk repeating history.

You mentioned working with Cleve Jones. Could you share something about him that the public might not know?

In the early days of the Names Project, I worked alongside him doing press, coordinating volunteers. It was hard. San Francisco and New York were the epicenters of HIV/AIDS. We were losing people constantly.

Cleve knew the power of creativity. The AIDS Memorial Quilt wasn’t just art. It was healing. It gave mothers, siblings, and friends a way to grieve and feel seen. It built community. And even today, with HIV still impacting lives, we need something like that again, something creative and soul-nourishing to remind people this crisis isn’t over.

Not all activism is protest signs and rallies. Sometimes, it’s music, fabric, dancing in the streets in your full authentic self. That’s protest too. That’s power.

Looking back on Halloween past, any standout performances, wild moments, or costumes that have been etched into your mind rent-free for all time?

Absolutely. One of the most incredible performances was Thelma Houston. Her agent told me, “She’s 80, but she’ll blow your mind.” And wow! She performed like she was 25. Just amazing energy and professionalism.

As for costumes, one year we had a group called School of Fish. About 12 people dressed identically in fish costumes, complete with fins and bubble guns. They moved in formation through the crowd like they were swimming. It was magical! And surprisingly, they didn’t win. Edward Scissorhands took the crown that year. But the creativity every year continues to blow me away.

With the national rise in anti-LGBTQ+ and especially anti-trans rhetoric and policy, how do you see Palm Springs as a beacon of resistance and visibility?

I was fortunate to come of age in San Francisco, working alongside people like Cleve Jones, who was a major part of the movement. I was involved in Act Up, the Names Project, and so many early HIV/AIDS protests. Civil disobedience was our tool. We marched, we organized, and we fought.

Now, in Palm Springs, we actively support our trans community with clothing drives, visibility events, and resource connections. We understand that hate rarely targets just one group. It’s intersectional. If they hate LGBTQ people, they also likely hate Black people, Jewish people, immigrants, and women’s rights.

My goal with events is to bring people together, to showcase joy as resistance, to build bridges, and to remind people: our power lies in community.

For folks who don’t throw events or have a big platform, do you have any advice for how they can participate in activism during the Halloween season?

Yes. Get engaged. Read up on local and national policies. Support political candidates who align with your values. Even a $1 donation helps. Volunteer. Show up. Protest.

And if you’re celebrating Halloween, do it loudly. Be creative, be bold. Wear costumes that send a message, or spark conversation. You never know who you might inspire.

Click here for info on Halloween on Arenas