Just before midnight on a Monday in June, around 200 LGBTQ youth gather for the Vogue Knights party in midtown Manhattan. The kids are nervous but also emboldened by the familiar refrain of Rihanna’s “Work” and ready to “battle” under the disco ball overhead. Surrounded by their peers while judges watch from the stage, about half the crowd takes turns dropping to the ground in fluid succession, limbs akimbo, as they cycle through dance moves they’ve perfected at the Christopher Street Pier.
For decades, voguing, a complex style of dance, has offered LGBTQ teens an outlet for expression often denied by mainstream society. In this underground subculture, people “walk” (dance to music using moves based on the poses struck by runway models) for prizes at events known as balls. Vogue venues have become havens for queer kids, offering a space where they can find communities.
“It’s a safe setting,” says Luna Luis Ortiz, a legend in the ball community and a founder of this weekly party. “Butch queens put on lipstick to kiki and vogue as a means of expression. We hug, kiss, and celebrate everyone.”
Voguing plays a vital role in one of the city’s most troubled milieus. Almost half of New York City’s homeless youth identify as LGBTQ. On average, transgender kids are 13 when they wind up on the city streets, according to a 2010 report. Too often rejected by their birth families, many LGBTQ youth join one of the community’s distinctive family structures known as houses. “[Vogue Knights] attracts all kinds of houses,” says Luna. “It’s a family place.”
Established members of each house may become parental figures to newcomers, who are at high risk of falling victim to violence, suicide, and murder. Gay “mothers” and "fathers” may show their “children” how to tuck their penis and pick out a wig to wear for voguing, and they offer tips on how to survive life on the streets.
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“This community is disproportionately affected by homelessness,” says Luna. “Being a parent in the scene, I’ve seen some of my kids go through it. I always support them to find housing.”
Justin Allen Gomez, who’s helping judge tonight’s ball, was one of many teens whom Luna has informally adopted over the years. Now 28, he’s a star in the ball community. “It’s a source of pride when you build your kids up,” says Luna. “He’s been with me since he was 13. That’s my son.” Raised in Brooklyn, Justin teaches vogue classes, some free, at the Door, a nonprofit that promotes youth development. “Voguing was always an escape from any negativity aimed toward me,” he says. “It [taught me to] accept myself. I know who I am. I love what I do.”
On the dance floor, the kids twist and jump as the MC calls out the categories of competition: face, walk, realness. They preen and prostrate themselves until 4 a.m., competing for a cash prize or in hopes of being invited to join one of the houses. In here, kids can forget their problems. In here, they have a chance to become legends.
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