New York is Burning:
Xtravaganza Ball @ The Box

Before Tuesday night, I had only dared to dream about attending a New York City underground ball.

But at the Lower East Side burlesque hall and trendy lounge the Box, I lived out my fantasy. And oh, was it beyond amazing. Fingers were wagging, screams of work bitch! filled my ears. There were shows, there was drama and real life danger. And most of all, there were looks, honey.

Derived from the celebrated “Paris is Burning” (a viewing of this 1990 documentary is obligatory for understanding the magnitude of this event) the apt-named “New York is Burning,” was hosted by the House of Xtravaganza, one of the most popular and collectively talented groups on the ball circuit. It was, most simply, a high-fashion, do-it-yourself runway competition where scores of folks dressed in ways that purposefully defy written description. To use the vernacular of this queendom, before you say anything, you would want to get into the look.

Now, to clarify, this ball was kind of a “show ball,” meaning that it was designed for the entertainment of others—it was not the kind of truly serious vogueing competition in which, say, Vogue Evolution has competed in for years. Those are much more intensely competitive and emotional, like a sporting event–they’re also not exactly open to the general public. ‘New York is Burning’ was more like an off-season demonstration of athletic prowess. In heels.

Crowded with excited attendees wearing styles that spoke of futurist genderfuck, Victorian tramps and severely Euro couture, the best viewing of the floor-level runway (offset by velvet ropes) was from one of the balconies above, perched near the $40,000 lighting board that sets the atmosphere of the space (there are also three sound-booths—the Box is a cabaret of dreams).

The honored judges—including Ana Matronic of the Scissor Sisters, European Vogue, Editor-at-Large, Hamish Bowles, Yoko Devereaux director Andy Salzer, famously celebrated drag performers Justin Bond and Joey Arias—are all members of the NYC creative elite. MC-ing was the neon-adorned Princess Xtravaganza and nightlife guru Patrick Duffy.

The categories: first time at a ball (and no, I did not walk considering the dirty-ass Vans I was sporting), European Runway, Butch Queen in Pumps, Hot Body, Bizarre vs. Couture vs. Avant Garde. While the audience was invited to participate judges still called out people for lack of creativity. They were not opposed to reading people they found to be less-than-creative. Quite a bit of vogueing went down, including an epic battle between Javier Ninja (an unparalleled contortionist voguer) and a thrill-seeking member of the House of Karma.

While I still haven’t figured out his name, this crazy-ass queen was ready to gag the judges by jumping down on the runway from the upstairs balcony, a good 12 feet in the air. While most of the crowd didn’t pick up on this, one of the house managers certainly did and panicked flickering his flashlight at the would-be acrobat. Safely on the ground, the Karma-lite and Ninja spun, stretched their limbs and death-dropped onto the floor in attempts to out-do each other with the most creative body sculpture.

After a pregnant pause and much deliberation, the House of Ninja emerged victorious, but each of these performers had the love of the crowd. The houses present included some of the avant-garde members of Aviance and Legacy (pictures from the floor can be found here). Arriving at the last minute for the Bizarre category was Xander Aviance in a signature multi-layered outfit that included two capes and ended with curly blonde locks of wig and a homeless couture tutu—actually judged as not bizarre enough by one of the panel.

When the crowd started to boo this judgment in a moment of true theater Xander himself grabbed a microphone and yelled shame at the crowd.

“No! You stop that right now!” he intoned. “Do not boo him, he is a judge and that is what he is here to do!”

After the exhilarating ball, the Box returned to its lounge-y dance party and some “burlesque” performers (I’m not even going to discuss Queen LaQueefa) along with be-suited straight party seekers filtering in as well. It made for a nicely mixed (if not slightly confused) crowd. At one point three guys in tuxedoes, one of them speaking with a Spanish accent, “Is not always gay here!” he claimed to his friends, not unkindly.

That night at the Box, however, it was gay –and it was fabulous.

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