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.

Are you a screenwriter? Entertainment critic? Film director? Actor? Makeup artist? Producer? The Queer Room makes its debut for any and all members of the entertainment industry to mix, mingle, and network.

The Los Angeles Blade, Hyperion LA, and LatiNation invite you out for a casual happy hour at The Abbey this coming Thursday, October 23^rd, from 5 to 8 pm. Bring your Instagram profile, your business cards, and your star personality for this entertainment-minded mixer. Come meet your future power partners in the industry. Now is the time for us to come together and become united.

Los Angeles Blade publisher Alexander Rodriguez will be on hand together with Andrew Bear, CEO and Founder of Hyperion LA, and Andres Palencia, CEO & Co-Founder of LatiNation, along with key members of their staff. Hyperion LA is a full service creative production company specializing in story-forward campaigns for beauty, lifestyle, and culture-defining brands. LatiNation is a bilingual, multi-platform media company transforming Latino representation by creating content that organically represents the modern Latino experience.

Andrew Bear tells the Los Angeles Blade, “Partnering with the Los Angeles Blade for The Queer Room feels perfectly aligned with our mission at Hyperion LA -to spotlight and strengthen LA’s LGBTQ+ creative and entertainment community. This mixer is about real connection-creating space for collaboration, representation, and visibility across our industry.”

The event is open and free to all, hosted by The Abbey in West Hollywood. The Abbey will be serving a happy hour cash bar.

For more information, email [email protected]

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.

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“Wholesome” isn’t the first word that comes to mind when I think about queer parties, but it’s what LGBTQ+ event planner and DJ Jessica Wagstaff embraces for Lez Brunch. This queer daytime party is the rebirth of a previous event Wagstaff had organized for two years, and she hopes this iteration of the lesbian-centered brunch party prioritizes queer safety, joy, and inclusion more than ever before. 

At 43, Wagstaff is warm and self-assured. She’s been a staple of local queer party spaces for over two decades, a journey that began with increasingly constant treks over from south Orange County as a young adult. Wagstaff grew up in Aliso Viejo and felt like a “token lesbian” for most of her adolescence there. While she saw her classmates in high school begin to date and explore romantic relationships, she remained in the closet for fear of being shunned by her family. “Everyone knew I was gay, but it was something I battled until I was at least 30 years old,” Wagstaff told the Blade. “I always knew I was different and very isolated. I never felt like I belonged, ever. So, thinking I was gay was a whole other ball game, like: Oh, now I have this, and now I have to figure out whose life I want to live: me or the world?” 

As a teenager, her main channel into queer representation and self-expression was through the music, art, and activism of the Riot grrrl movement, a 1990s feminist punk subculture that was brash and defiant: an unruly flame that burned bright and fast. “I loved bands like Sleater-Kinney and Bikini Kill, because that was how I channeled my sexuality,  my rebellious streak and my political activism,” said Wagstaff. 

After graduating from high school, Wagstaff began driving all over Los Angeles to seek out queer sanctuaries: places where she didn’t have to hide or repress herself anymore. Now, she has built her own type of sanctuary: a sapphic-centered brunch party that is open to everyone in the queer community, especially trans and nonbinary people. 

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In this conversation, we talk about Wagstaff’s earlier years in L.A.’s queer scene, and how that led her to form Lez Brunch. 

What were your queer sanctuaries growing up?

The very first place that I used to go to was a place called Club MILK, and it was at a venue called the Fais Do-Do. It was so punk and queer, and it was one of the very first places where I could be around gay people, because in Orange County, there was nothing. 

How did you find out about Club MILK in the first place?

I think I saw a post on Chainsaw Records or something. As soon as I got a car, I used to drive all the way to Los Angeles from South Orange County. That was one of my first queer lesbian sanctuaries. There was [also] a coffee shop off of Broadway called The Library, and every Wednesday, they had a lesbian night where they would have artists and we would be crowding the sidewalk. And, West Hollywood in general: we had Truck Stop and parties like BOOBY TRAP!, PYT. Those were more from 2007 forward [and] a lot of [those] parties aren’t going on anymore. 

The parties of today, like Hot Flash, Hotter Flash and Futch…there are so many diverse parties that represent our community as a whole. But, it took the lesbian community to forge that, to make it socially acceptable to be able to cater to everyone: the girls, gays, and theys.

What was it like first entering those party spaces?

I couldn’t get up to LA fast enough on those nights. Just being lost and trying to reshape your world view on what it meant to be gay in a world that wasn’t accepting of that — it was a lot of fun. The word that I keep coming back to is “liberating,” and I could just be unapologetically and authentically myself in those spaces.

When did Lez Brunch form and how did it come to be? 

Lez Brunch used to be called “Lez Do Brunch.” We started in 2017 [and ended in] 2019. It was very successful. We started at a club called Bar10 in West Hollywood. So my business partner at the time, we came together, and that venue had offered the opportunity to throw a daytime party. [After] we split, I still wanted to have some of that branding, so I took the word “Do” out. So it’s just Lez Brunch, and it’s just me running the show. 

After COVID, and right after the inauguration of our current occupant of the White House, there were a lot of changes that were affecting our trans community and our LGBTQ+ community as a whole. The fact that they’re trying to erase trans people — it lit a fire under me. I couldn’t sit around any longer and not have an impact or try to bring people together during really tough times. Having a safe space, having visibility, and owning our identities unapologetically [under] this current administration and political climate was my main motivation. Joy is a form of resistance. So I was like: I have to throw my brunch again and bring it back, and everything that it meant for me — especially highlighting nonprofit organizations [and] shining a light on them.

These people are the backbone of our communities. They’re the ones that are providing resources. Usually, a portion of the proceeds gets donated to a nonprofit or mutual aid organization. My party is a party with purpose. [We’re] bringing the community together, but we’re also highlighting these organizations that work tirelessly and are massively underfunded. They’re investing in us, and this is our opportunity to invest back. 

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How do you feel about sapphic and queer spaces in LA? You were saying previously that some parties felt a bit exclusive. Is this still generally the case? 

Where it is today versus where it was 10 years ago [has been] a huge evolution. I feel spaces today demand inclusivity. It is now a standard where, if you’re not concerned about safety and representation, then go. It’s very wonderful to see how things have grown from being more exclusive to now having parties that represent everybody more as a whole. We have more venues than ever. We have more events than ever. Lesbians have always been at the forefront of joy as activism. So, these are sapphic-centered, but they’re catered to really everyone in our community. It’s the lesbians that are bringing out everybody else, if that makes sense. It’s nice to see lesbian events becoming more inclusive. 

What can people expect at Saturday’s brunch, especially those who are trying to find queer community and those who will be participating in the nationwide No Kings actions?

Our timeframe, 12 p.m. to 4 p.m., is directly in the midst of the No Kings protests. We welcome people to come, and if they are protesting out on the streets, come and re-energize. Have brunch and bottomless mimosas and feel joy, too. This administration wants us to be scared and afraid and erased, and this is an opportunity to go out and fight, but also be happy. Be with your community and dance. Again, I think the two most important words for me are “unapologetic” and “authentic.” 

At Lez Brunch, we aim to build a safe and inclusive environment where everyone feels welcome and can be free to be who they are, be accepted, and be seen. It’s all about helping people feel queer joy and safety. We’ll have games, darts, pool, and live music. Just expect bottomless fun and joy.

The next Lez Brunch takes place tomorrow, on Saturday Oct. 18th at Blue Birdy’s pub in West Hollywood. More information can be found here.

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When queer Argentine author and activist Manuel Puig published his novel “El beso de la mujer araña” in 1976, it’s doubtful he could have dreamed it would one day be turned into a musical. With most of the action taking place between two characters in a cramped prison cell, and a bleak political context casting dark shadows across even its brightest moments, it didn’t exactly seem a good fit for that kind of treatment. And besides, thanks to its open depiction of queer sexuality and the overtly revolutionary tone of its political messaging, he could barely even get it published.

A decade later, it had become a major Hollywood movie, winning an Academy Award for William Hurt; it had also caught the attention of John Kander and Fred Ebb, the composing team responsible for (among other hit musicals) “Cabaret” and “Chicago,” who joined with playwright Terrence McNally to craft an adaptation for the Broadway stage. The resulting show would debut there in 1993, winning seven Tonys and a host of other awards; Puig, sadly, did not live to see it, dying in 1990 of complications from surgery after a life lived mostly in exile over his queer activism and outspoken political beliefs.

Now, the musical incarnation of “Kiss of the Spider Woman” has finally made its way to the screen, courtesy of veteran filmmaker Bill Condon – who, besides his screen adaptations of “Dreamgirls” and “Chicago,” is also responsible for “Gods and Monsters” and the “Twilight” movie franchise – and starring Latina diva Jennifer Lopez in the title role.

For those unfamiliar with the piece, whether in its musical form or any of its earlier iterations, the story centers on the relationship between two cellmates in an Argentine prison – Valentin (Diego Luna), a revolutionary being held as a political prisoner, and Molina (Tonatiuh), a queer window dresser imprisoned for “public indecency” – with very little in common and even less to talk about. Nevertheless, a connection begins to form between them when Molina decides to pass the time between them by narrating the story of his favorite movie – a glossy old Hollywood musical romance starring his most beloved Golden Age star, Ingrid Luna (Lopez) – and Valentin is drawn in despite his disdain for Molina’s trivial interests and seeming lack of political conscience. As the days pass and Molina continues his narrative in installments, their forced cohabitation begins to deepen into an unlikely friendship – and maybe more.

Of course, there are dark secrets in play, too, hidden agendas and undisclosed truths that strain their trust between each other; nevertheless, as they continue to bond, through both the escapist fantasy of Molina’s ongoing cinematic “recap” and the harsh brutalities of their shared reality, they find an intimacy that helps them transcend their perceived differences in a place designed to crush both their humanity and their hope.

In Condon’s adaptation, the stage musical is reworked to bring it closer in tone, perhaps, to Puig’s original novel, emphasizing the contrast between the grim and colorless prison cell with the spectacular glitz and larger-than-life glamor that saturate the imagined world of Molina’s recounted movie – and it’s quite a contrast. In these sequences, “Kiss of the Spider Woman” opens up its claustrophobic setting into an elaborate recreation of glossy Hollywood escapism at its Technicolor peak, full of exquisitely staged scenes of romance, action, and Golden Age MGM-level musical choreography, which also permits the film’s two male stars to spread their creative wings even further, by casting them alongside Lopez as parallel characters in the “metafilm” fantasy where so much of the story’s emotional resonance occurs – and where many of the plot details begin to reflect their “real world” circumstances as it goes along. It’s all carried off with excellence, professionalism, and technical wizardry, and the result could easily be described as cinematic “eye candy” that’s sure to please fans of the musical genre.

Yet there’s something vaguely disappointing in the choice to differentiate the two worlds of “Spider Woman” so distinctly and completely. It creates a sense of watching two separate movies that have been spliced together, one a gritty story of oppression and survival and the other the other a wild and campy exercise in nostalgic Hollywood gloss. It’s an effective enough tactic, but what it misses is the blending that happens between the two worlds in the stage production, where fantasy and reality overlap and intertwine, and we can’t help wishing that Condon had taken a more imaginative approach, one that might have translated that magical theatricality to the screen in a uniquely cinematic way.

Still, the message comes across. The story’s deeper explorations – of facing reality without sentiment or escaping it through fantasy, of bridging differences of attitude and perspective through human connection at its most basic level, and perhaps most crucially, of seeing beyond a limited understanding of sexuality and gender.

For that last point, there is no more direct reason for it than the performance of Tonatiuh. Seeing Molina embodied by a queer actor brings a level of sensitivity and truth to the mix that illuminates every other element around him. It’s a breathtaking leap toward stardom from a previously (mostly) unfamiliar performer, equally adept in the musical sequences as with the strictly dramatic material, and it elevates “Spider Woman” simply by being there.

His co-star is equally superb. Luna brings his own brand of sensitivity – and vulnerability – to Valentin; he’s also up to the demands of the musical scenes, going toe to toe with Lopez and a whole crew of dancers and seeming to enjoy every minute of it. Most important, he strikes a chemistry with Tonatiuh that makes their blossoming tenderness toward each other into the true saving grace in their character’s lives – the real world magic for which movie fantasies are only a metaphor – and lingers fondly in our memory long after the film is done.

As for Lopez, she claims the screen when she’s on it, bringing a commanding presence and a hard-working pro’s intensity to her multiple roles as Molina’s beloved actress, her character, and the sinister alter ego of the title. No, she’s not Chita Rivera (but then, who could ever be?), but she’s more than up to the challenge of bringing her own distinct energy to make the part her own.

We can’t deny that “Spider Woman,” which began its theatrical release on Oct. 10, faces an obstacle as the screen adaptation of a popular piece of musical theater; fans of the original will doubtless have expectations going in, and opinions coming out, and there’s nothing to be done about that. While it might have benefitted from a more out-of-the-box handling of the show’s dual reality, what’s important is the purity and resonance of the queer voice that comes shining through it, not just in Tonatiuh’s soulful performance but in the movie’s essential core, and that’s worth more than enough to counter any nit-picky quibbles about its overall approach.

It may not please everyone, but thanks to its remarkable lead performances and the authenticity that illuminates both its drama and its fantasy, it’s got the kind of soft power that can stay with you forever.

Tom Goss is making space, making an impact, and making fantastic queer-centric music as always. Through his music and his career, Goss firmly and fiercely lifts up queer joy, the more tender side of masculinity. With his genre-fluid sound that reverberates from folk to hip-hop to unquestionably and unabashedly queer pop, Goss has become a pioneer of the perfectly performed unconventional.

Most recently, he performed at LA’s iconic Hotel Café, where he shared the stage with fellow queer music icons Rachael Sage and Kristen Ford. We had the opportunity to catch up with Tom to discuss the evolution of his music, the importance of representation, and why being “very, very gay” is a radical act in and of itself.

You’ve made for yourself quite the reputation as an unabashed narrator with your music. Could you describe the evolution of your sound over the years?

For me, the story is always at the forefront of my music. Each story demands a different treatment. Folk, Pop, Dance, Hip-Hop, Rock, nothing is off the table. Whatever is best for the story is the direction that I take. 

I find it a little odd that we demand our artists find their voice, but we also demand that they never change their voice. My first record came out in 2006, which was almost 20 years ago. My tastes, interests, relationships, and experiences have changed drastically over those 20 years. It makes sense that the music I make would change along with it.

Ultimately, I try to craft memorable music that is uplifting and positive. Whether that’s Gay Stuff (my July release, a gay pop summertime bop), Bear Soup (my May release, a hip-hop bear twerk anthem), or my upcoming record, which is queer Americana. It’s all a part of the journey and I hope you have as much fun as me! 

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Your music has graced many film soundtracks (including the full score for 2017’s Hooked), performed internationally, and has made gorgeously gay music videos. How do you approach film projects vs. live performances?

Film has pushed my idea of what style of music elevates a scene. It forces you to write differently, play instruments differently, and produce differently. As people, we tend to find the lane in which we are most comfortable, and put life on cruise control. As an artist, that is the worst possible thing. Scoring films, or making videos, forces you to work with other people, understand other perspectives and ideas, and grow as a result.

My music video “Son of a Preacher Man” was probably the first time I wrote something with the video in mind first. My director and longtime collaborator, Michael Serrato, had an idea for the “Son of a Preacher Man” music video. I thought it was awesome and went to work arranging the song in a way that would support the visuals, rather than the other way around. It was very powerful. Now I write songs with video concepts first all the time, it’s such a fun way to work!

You’re quite the celebrity in the bear community. That said, what does this recognition mean to you and how, if so, does it influence or fuel your creative process?

I feel honored to be a part of the bear community. It’s full of the most beautiful, creative, smart, and sensitive people I have ever met. Anytime I speak of love or attraction, it’s about bears. I do not understand how to love without bears. Without them, the world is black and white. With them, it is overflowing with color and joy.  Love fuels everything in my life. There is no Tom Goss without bears.

Do you think labels like “bear musician” are empowering, limiting, or something else entirely?

It is not my job to label myself. I make music, I tell stories, I love those around me, and I create art as a result of that which I love. I really try to focus on those things rather than anything else.

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Your music can challenge traditional (or, arguably, outdated) concepts of masculinity. Was this intentional or, rather, something that emerged over time?

It’s very intentional. I have, from the very beginning, worked to have a diverse cast of characters in my projects. I believe the way we see beauty is learned. The reason we are judgmental towards people of size, or color, or expression, is because we were taught to. That’s easy to understand.

The flipside is, the way we change the way we see beauty, is by showing other forms of beauty. That is my job. I want to take the things the world says aren’t beautiful, and capture them in a way that utilizes the same tools we use to make traditionally beautiful people appear beautiful. 

I can’t tell you how many messages I’ve gotten over the years that say: 

“oh, I didn’t know that I liked [insert marginally racist, sizeist, transphobic name here] but that person in your video is HOT!”

And OF COURSE THEY ARE! Stop trying to find the things you don’t like about someone and find what makes them beautiful. 

Gaga has her monsters and Beyonce has her Hive. What name, either collective or plural, would you give to your devoted fanbase (assuming that one does not yet exist)?

Friends. The idea of artist idolatry makes me uncomfortable.

Can you share with us some ways that you prepare yourself for a live show? Any pre-show rituals – Pagan, Wiccan, or otherwise?

Ha! Not really. Usually I’m running around and laughing with folks until I look at my clock and realize that I need to stop and perform. 

Can you share with us one lyric that you’ve written that sent chills running down your own spine?

Joan of Arc was trans as fuck. 

He cut his hair and picked up arms.

Walked across an empire, fulfilled his destiny.

I play it alongside Joe Stevens, an iconic trans singer, songwriter, and multi-instrumentalist who has long been a hero of mine. Look him up. Support him.

You use your voice and your platform not just to make fantastically fabulous music but to hold a mic to queer voices and their stories. How do your roles of artist and advocate intersect and amplify each other?

I want to tell stories that other people are afraid to tell. I want to tell stories that speak to my experience and impact the way that I see the world. Over the course of my career, that has meant queer stories. 

Frankly, there is no community that is more vibrant, diverse, creative, resilient, and dynamic than the queer community. It’s really that simple.

With anti-LBGTQI+ rhetoric spreading like the flames of a wildfire, do you feel a sense of urgency to advocate through your music?

My goal over the next couple of years is to be very, very gay, very, very queer, and very, very honest about the things that make me happy in that identity. We have to provide hope to people in a time when things feel so hopeless. We also have to protect our trans community. They are very much under attack. 

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If there is one thing that you’d wish for the younger generation of our queer community to take away from your shows, your music, and your career, what would it be?

Be yourself, no matter how hard it seems. Don’t let anyone take you away from you. It’s ok to play. Find that which brings you joy and explore it to the fullest. 

You are beautiful and valuable. I’m so happy to be in this world with you.

And lastly, how will you be celebrating Halloween month this year?

I’ll be touring in California (LA, San Diego, San Francisco) and then heading to Florida for Cannonball. It’s going to be a fun, bear-filled month!

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‘Somebody is Walking on Your Grave: My Cemetery Journeys’
By Mariana Enriquez, translated by Megan McDowell
c.2025, Hogarth
$30/336 pages

The knee bone’s connected to the shin bone.

You can go up from there, or down your body’s scaffolding. The backbone’s connected to the rib bone. The hip bone to the leg bone, the wrist bone to the finger bones, and in the new book “Somebody is Walking on Your Grave” by Mariana Enriquez, translated by Megan McDowell, there’ll come a day when you won’t need any of them.

She always had an appreciation for cemeteries.

Still, they weren’t an obsession until Mariana Enriquez fell head bone over heel bones in love with a street musician while on a vacation in Italy with her mother. He took Enriquez through a cemetery on their whirlwind romance, which sealed her love for graveyards.

She never seems to miss a chance to tour them, to marvel at the beauty of statuary atop marble resting places, to see tombstones listing sideways, or to note the names and tragedies of the dead. This includes the graves of non-humans, like a horse that helped its owner escape an Argentinian uprising in 1885; and a Scottish dog who guarded his owner’s grave for more than a decade.

Enriquez visited San Sebastián, Spain, and was almost jailed for it; and she was lectured about Aboriginal graves by a white man on Rottnest Island, off the Australian coast. There was a magical sense at Sara Braun Municipal Cemetery in Chile, and an absurd couple of mysteries in Argentina. She visited just some of the 42 cemeteries in New Orleans including, of course, crypts and the grave of Marie Laveau. She spent Dios de Muertos in Mexico, and was surprised that you can live near a funeral home in Savannah and not have ghosts. She visited the catacombs in France, and argued with guides and guards in several different places, noting that people are a lot nicer when they’re dead.

In a very big way, “Somebody is Walking on Your Grave” is a fun travelogue that’s also part memoir, and taphophiles will love it. But readers who specifically add a cemetery tour to their vacation itinerary, or who obsessively scour guidebooks for graveyards to visit will enjoy author Mariana Enriquez’s observations; they’re humorous and not stuffy, lightly acknowledging the bit of the macabre that’s here. She includes history behind the cities she visits, as well as for the cemeteries, and that can be a bit longish sometimes. You may not mind, though, because her descriptions enhance any trip you might make, serving as exactly what you’d want from a real live tour guide.

But toward the end of this otherwise-delightful book, Enriquez unabashedly admits to doing something atrociously unsettling, to which she says she feels no remorse – which may be a hard forgive for readers who wouldn’t ever dream of emulating it.

This book is a fun read, up to that point, so just beware. Most of “Somebody is Walking On Your Grave” is truly interesting, but that one chapter inside here may not fully allow you to wrap your head bone around it.

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Just when you thought there were already more than enough real-life monsters on your TV screen, Ryan Murphy has served up another one.

Fortunately, unlike most of the others, this one is no longer a threat – but that doesn’t mean he’s stopped terrifying us. For the third installment of his “Monster” anthology series, Murphy profiles notorious murderer and bodysnatcher Ed Gein, whose crimes in a rural Wisconsin town during 1940s and ‘50s became legendary in the annals of serial killer lore – though, with only two confirmed murder victims, his body count barely qualifies him as one. Nevertheless, his notoriety has spread into popular culture through the inspiration they provided for some of the most iconic fictional serial killers in our popular imagination.on.

In fact, it’s the reach his heinous acts has extended through the many screen and literary villains that have been based upon him – first and most famously Norman Bates, the deranged cross-dressing killer at the center of both Robert Bloch’s novel and Alfred Hitchcock movie version of “Psycho” – which seems to be most of interest in “Monster: The Ed Gein Story,” which uses the fictionalized narrative of its titular anti-hero’s life as a springboard to explore the reflection of his crimes through the stories and the characters that would come to be based on him, as well as their impact on some of the people who created them. That’s a perfect angle for a Murphy series – in this case written by Ian Brennan and (mostly) directed by Max Winkler – because it allows plentiful opportunities to indulge the queer entertainment mogul’s penchant for campy re-enactments of true (and not-so-true) Hollywood.

In the first of its eight episodes, we meet Gein (Charlie Hunnam) in the early 1940s, living on the family farm he shares with his mother (Laurie Metcalf) and brother (Hudson Oz). As it plays out its version of the events that would shape his future madness – particularly the tyrannical ravings of his puritanically religious mother, and her efforts to instill her vitriolic hatred of sinful impulses (especially involving sex) into her sons – it also offers “fast-forward” glimpses of what’s to come for Ed, whose quiet and seemingly timid demeanor masks an inner life that includes a fascination with shrunken heads, cannibalism, and the gruesome atrocities of the Nazi Holocaust.

It’s a gripping introduction, invoking the elements of Gein’s story that would become serial killer “tropes” – the abusive upbringing, the dissociation, the gruesome “souvenirs” and skin suits intended to feed a fantasy of transformation – and lays the land ahead with the stylistic choice to blur the lines between reality, delusion, and mythology. At the same time, it quickly establishes a precedent of veering into speculation, depicting certain events – killings to which he never admitted and were never proven, a fabricated romance with a young neighbor (Suzanna Son), and other departures from the territory of “docudrama” into that of “sensationalized fantasy” – in a manner that makes it hard to separate truth from fiction.

That, of course, is the point. Most of Murphy’s crime and horror shows, in some way or another, explore that same nebulous line, whether “based on a true story” or not. The “Monster” series is an ideal vehicle for exploring the boundaries between perception and reality, offering characters and situations so distorted beyond everyday experience that even documented truths feel like part of an absurdist play. In the season’s second episode, the scope expands with the inclusion of another plotline, a few years beyond Gein’s eventual capture and imprisonment, which takes place during the filming of “Psycho,” which frames both director Alfred Hitchcock (Tom Hollander) and star Anthony Perkins (Joey Pollari) into an equally speculative exploration of the way these famous collaborators may have been affected by the artistic process of delving into Gein’s monstrous head.

We won’t go further into the events that follow during the rest of the series, except to say that it goes on to follow Gein’s presence in pop culture through his cinematic reincarnations in “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” and “Silence of the Lambs,” and that, as with most Murphy shows, there’s a kind of lurid gloss which envelops the entire thing, a self-consciously elevated style that magnifies half-truths and popular mythology alongside the tragedies that sparked them.

That, historically speaking, has always been the controversy around Murphy’s “Monster” shows, sparking debate about exploiting the memory of victims for the glamorization of their killers. It’s also the same controversy that has surrounded all such stories in popular entertainment culture, whether partially true or entirely fabricated. Indeed, Hitchcock faced similar criticism with “Psycho” all those years ago, yet he also made a fortune and cemented an already-impressive legacy with a movie that redefined not just the horror genre, but the boundaries of popular cinema itself; and though (as the series suggests) he may have come to regret opening a “Pandora’s Box” of previously unseen violence and depravity that would saturate the big screen forever after, he would, no doubt, have appreciated the irony of seeing himself portrayed here as a creature driven perhaps by some of the same twisted desires as Gein – simply because he understood, as a master manipulator of audiences, that the most effective use of filmed storytelling is achieved by showing us the darker corners of our own inner landscapes that we would otherwise prefer to ignore.

In terms of presentation and performance, “The Ed Gein Story” successfully inhabits a gritty noir-ish space that evokes both the pulpy true crime stories of Gein’s day and the “slasher movie” aesthetic of our own; the violence is no-holds-barred, and therefore difficult to watch, which in itself will likely be enough to ensure that it’s not a show for every taste. Though Hunnam is disappointing as Gein (his affected, one-note take on the character is a far cry from Perkins’ endearingly awkward boyishness as the real-life killer’s fictional stand-in in “Psycho”), but many of the other cast members deliver outstanding turns – most notably the gifted Metcalf, who makes Gein’s mother arguably more monstrous than her notorious offspring.

Ultimately, appreciation for Murphy’s newest foray into true crime myth-making will come down to, as with any of the others, a matter of taste. Those who approach it with an eye toward its canny examination of popular media’s obsession with crime, violence, and unspeakable horror might have a better time with it than those hoping for a more objective, centered, and fact-based document of Gein’s notorious history.

In any case, its entertainment appeal is – perhaps ironically – undeniable; after all, serial killers provide an almost ironclad guarantee of public interest, carrying the ever-mysterious key to what makes a person “evil” and the chance to examine our own relationship with the deadly impulses behind their crimes. Whether or not you appreciate the show’s deliberately exploitative tone, or the sometimes over-the-top camp of its lurid presentation, or even the seemingly gratuitous nudity and violence that serves to uncomfortably titillate us throughout, you’re bound to be drawn in.

In other words, you might not like it, but you won’t be able to look away.

With its riveting storyline and gorgeous dance scenes, it’s no wonder that one of the standout films this awards season is “Kiss of the Spider Woman.” Originally a bold novel published by Argentine writer Manuel Puig in 1976, it was adapted into a play and then a screenplay. In 1985, the film earned four Academy Award nominations, with William Hurt winning Best Actor — the first ever awarded for a portrayal of an openly queer character.

Ten years later, in 1993, the story was turned into a Broadway musical starring the iconic Chita Rivera, and won several Tony Awards. Fast forward to 2025: for this new version, Jennifer Lopez and Diego Luna both play dual roles in the film, which also stars newcomer, Tonatiuh. 

The film takes place in 1983, during Argentina’s troubled times; two prisoners are forced to share a confined cell in Buenos Aires. Valentín (Luna), a Marxist revolutionary, is committed to his political idealology, despite being tortured and deprived by the guards. Molina (Tonatiuh), a gay window dresser who is in jail because of his sexual orientation, survives the insanity by fantasizing about his favorite movie, telling Valentin all the details. While their connection begins as a way for them to emotionally escape, it grows deeper, in the most profound way.

Through stories, confessions, and sacrifice, the duo discover unexpected tenderness and the possibility of love in a place designed to annihilate the human spirit.

“These two men who could not be different in every single way, everything is stripped away from them in their lives, the politics, class, education, all this stuff goes away, and they start to see themselves as individuals,” said Bill Condon, the Academy Award-winning writer-director known for such films as “Gods and Monsters,” “Chicago,” “Dreamgirls” and “Beauty and the Beast,” who was deeply moved as he wrote the script.

Producing the updated version of the film was vital to Lopez, who is also an executive producer. “I think it’s more relevant than ever,” she said at a recent Golden Globes press event.

“The idea of a trans or gay character in this movie…the kind of divisiveness that we’ve experienced in the world in the past few years. A story about two people who are thrown together, who are so opposite, who are so different from each other. And find the humanity and fall in love with each other. Who would never probably even find themselves in the same circles. That’s really important to have queer representation in movies. In my own family, I know how important that is for people to see that.”

Tonatiuh, who steals every scene he is in, lost 45 pounds for the role.

“I think there’s a certain moment that’s happening right now that we need to remind ourselves that dignity and humanity and love transcend gender,” he said. “They transcend sexual orientation. They transcend all of those things. And so, yes, we deal with queer themes in our film, but I do think that it is a love letter to diversity. It is a love letter to humanity as a whole.”

Condon loved every version of “Kiss of the Spider Woman,” each of them was “revolutionary” for its time.

“But when you read that novel, it’s taken us this long to really catch up to what it was saying. And specifically, this was well before the election season and well before we knew what was going to happen. But it was clear that trans people were going to be demonized, that they were going to be a part of the conversation…it did feel that this was something that was bubbling up and happening. So that’s what made it feel very urgent.”

Lopez added: “The revolution that you’re saying that we need right now is exactly the reason why I think the movie is so important right now for people to see. Because it reminds you that it’s really, at the end of the day, about two people getting along and falling in love, when you really forget about all of the other things, that we’re all just human. And it is about humanity.”

Tonatiuh hopes that the film inspires people to step up.

“We constantly see the news, we see everything that’s going around and we wonder, ‘What is it that I can do? I’m just one person.’ But this isolationist mentality is the thing that gets us here. Every one of us has little actions to take and little moments to do. And especially in a moment where Latinos in general in this country are experiencing massive negative public relations, just attack after attack after attack, it’s really wonderful to showcase what Latino dignity is and reminding people of, like the talent, the joy that our culture adds to the United States and the world.”

On Friday night, rainbow-dyed cloth, butterflies, balloons, and flowers surrounded drag queen Lushious Massacr as she fluttered across a stage, her bedazzled, princess-like dress cascading behind her in hot-pink waves. The crowd stood enchanted as she lip-synched along to her baile de sorpresa: a surprise dance performed by a young girl for loved ones attending her 15th birthday celebration.

It is Lushious’s birthday — but she is turning 37. Nearly two decades later, she is celebrating the quinceañera she never got to have. “When I was a little boy, I never could have imagined a world where I would be allowed to celebrate my quinceañera. The majority of people were still very allergic to queerness,” Lushious told the crowd. “Tonight, we will celebrate the little girl inside of us. She wasn’t allowed, and she wasn’t given permission. The little girl will be given permission tonight.” 

This reclamation and queering of tradition was a recurring theme at the Los Angeles LGBT Center’s annual Queerceañera, also known as Queerce. The event provides a space for queer Latine community members to dance, be connected to resources and support, and embrace themselves in the company of loved ones, chosen family, friends, and fellow queer strangers alike. This year’s Queerce, themed “Mariposas Sin Fronteras,” or Butterflies without Borders, forged a cocoon that allowed guests to steep in the comfort of acceptance and liberation. This respite, though lasting only a few hours, is for many queer people a necessary safe haven in an increasingly tumultuous political and social landscape.

“This year has been so heavily marked by attacks on immigrant communities, attacks on the Latine community, specifically in Los Angeles,” Los Angeles LGBT Center Chief Equity Officer Giovanna Fischer told the Blade. “Our work’s directly impacted by that, because we serve a lot of the Latine community in Los Angeles…We’re seeing an uptick in people accessing our immigration and legal services. So, how do we take this event that is celebratory and will remain celebratory in nature, to still be responsive to what our community is going through?”

Resource tables dotted the courtyard at the center’s plaza, where Queerce took place, and offered various bilingual pamphlets on sexual health, legal advocacy, Know Your Rights resources, as well as connections to Mi Centro: a Boyle Heights community center formed in collaboration with the Latino Equality Alliance that provides HIV testing, a food pantry, outreach events, mental health support, legal services and other programs.

Fischer also discussed that the Center’s staff members have been trained on how to respond to United States Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers as raids and operations continue to take place across Los Angeles. This training is part of organizational efforts to increase community safety as spaces — especially LGBTQ+ Latine ones — come under close political scrutiny and threat. 

One of Queerce’s honorees, Oliver Alpuche, stressed the importance of preserving these spaces. A decade ago, he founded the non-profit DTLA Proud to organize festivals, block parties, and marketplaces that uplift queer identity and celebration. In a tearful speech, Alpuche stated that queer spaces are in “trouble.” They are places “where we gather, we plan, we protest, [and] we celebrate,” Alpuche said on Friday night. “We need to keep them alive. And my commitment going forward is to create a Rainbow District in Downtown where we are all accepted, where our culture could meet our queerness and thrive in a space where representation matters.”

Queer Latine representation shone brightly at the event, with electric reggaeton remixes spun by DJ Bella Spreads and a tender art show by multimedia installation artist Yulissa Mendoza. The show was comprised of two works: “¿Eres de la ciudad o del rancho?” and “Siéntate, Mi Amor,” the latter of which was displayed at the Cheech Marin Center for Chicano Arts and Culture in 2024. A tangible, interactive piece, “Siéntate, Mi Amor,” features a table modeled after the one at Mendoza’s grandmother’s home. Covered with a delicate crochet tablecloth, it was adorned with keepsakes, like a lightly crumpled sleeve of Marie biscuits, a note with a gas bill neatly scribed on it, and another that said: “Love you.”

“It’s almost a universal table of sorts,” Mendoza said, recounting to the Blade about how, as a child, sitting at a communal table felt endless and boring. It wasn’t until they had developed close queer friendships and a deeper understanding of their own identity in adulthood — much of which happened around a table — that they began to rethink what this early experience meant to them. “I think it was really my chosen family that allowed me to see the spaces that I grew up in as formative and important…My art now is me honing in on those cultural traditions and practices, [and to] showcase them in a way that is not only archiving them, but making them something of my own.”

Their work speaks to the practice of art as transformation — how historical and familial ties can be strengthened through a different kind of perspective: one that holds a deep kind of self-knowledge. Here, art is time travel. Art allowed Mendoza to form new branches from early, misunderstood roots. Deeply informed by their relationships to their queerness and their Latine heritage, Mendoza has created a new kind of space that is both familiar and totally new. They are creating a different pathway and gathering ground illuminated by queer imagination, and the melding of both past and future.

As community members gathered for Queerce, a question lingered in the air: what does an expansive and safe future look like? While there may not be a clear, definitive answer, events like these highlight the efforts, resilience and solidarity that power marginalized, queer communities. “You think butterflies listen to anyone who tries to tell them when they can or cannot fly? Butterflies are free. Humans deserve to be free too!” Lushious Massacr said. “In a world that demands that queer people hide, we refuse. In a country that demands that immigrants run and hide in fear, we refuse. We will not be afraid, and we will not ask for permission to live our lives.”