Cannabis and the drag ballroom scene changed my life

I’ve been an author, poet, rapper, pencil artist, makeup artist, model, burlesque performer, costume designer, and creative director. At some point I decided it might be a good idea to maybe elope with the circus, so I became a fortune teller and tarot card reader. But at the end of the day, I decided to become a cannabis nurse, an expert on the body’s endocannabinoid system (ECS). As an educator promoting access, safe and effective plant-based therapies, I teach patients how to heal with weed.

Growing up, my freedom of expression was strongly encouraged by my immediate family, but I hit an unexpected wall when it came time to freely express the truth of my sexuality. I’ll skip the ugly details, but Mom would rather have me dead or disfigured than a bulldagger.

Since my early teens, I have always been brave and honest when it came to my identity and sexuality. At age 14, I was the first in my age group to come out as bisexual and biromantic—despite the approval of my extended, strict Seventh-day Adventist and Baptist family.

That day I had just spent several grueling hours rehearsing with my vocal group for an upcoming stage performance. For the first time, some of us decided to light up a joint to relax, socialize and brainstorm.

This is where my best friend and I first spoke about our sexuality, and after handing him the joint, I told him he was okay with accepting himself as he is. He denied it first and for a while afterwards, but he’s since come out and I can understand why he denied it for so long.

As an LGBTQ+ and BIPOC person, I can say with confidence that once you decide to come out, there is a general lack of social and family acceptance. Many of us face hatred, ostracism, and even threats of physical harm and death from those we consider our closest loved ones. This is exacerbated for those who identify as Black, African American, Latinx and who were also born males.

Finally, years later, at his own dramatic coming-out party, my boyfriend invited me to attend what he described as “a competition, sort of a pageant, but for gay people.” But before I could leave, he explained that I needed to wear a torn bridal gown, have a bloody mannequin head instead of flowers, and walk the runway with a ferocity no bridal show had seen before. My girlfriend was wearing a tuxedo and a brand new pair of red sparkly 6 inch platform pumps. It was 10 seconds across the board. We won.

That night, I unknowingly agreed to be initiated into the wonderful world of balls, club kids, and LGBTQ+ Hollywood.

The LGBTQ+ community and the origins of dragballs

Balls full of stars, legends and icons have existed in the USA for more than a century. They became popular after the Stonewall riots in New York in 1969 and gained prominence in the 1970s as safe havens for those who had been ostracized and denied as LGBTQ+.

Formed primarily by Black and Latino drag queens and gay men to combat racism, these outcasts formed strong family units known as “Houses”. Named after some of the fashion world’s most iconic labels – such as Mugler, Balenciaga and Ebony – the homes are made up of ‘parents’, mother-father figures who guide and protect their ‘children’, often providing shelter if someone has been forced to do so to leave the home of his birth family.

Encouraging creative expression, Houseparents prepare their children to compete and compete against other Houses in multiple categories including Runway, Fashion and Face categories. The competition is fierce and prices can reach thousands of dollars.

Today we see the House Ballroom culture becoming a worldwide phenomenon. It’s popping up in nightclubs in Japan and Europe, and in the mainstream media on TV shows like Pose and Legendary. Many ballroom kids have gone on to build successful careers as choreographers, designers, writers, and actors.

In 2009 I was addicted and was recruited into House Blahnik. This home would be one of the first dedicated to HIV prevention and as I am a professional nurse specializing in holistic healing and herbalism I could clearly see how this community is a great benefactor of medicinal cannabis in the treatment of is HIV/AIDS.

Founded by icon Jay Blahnik, the House of Blahnik has become my home and outlet for creative expression. I was coached and mentored by ball legends who boosted my overall confidence on the catwalk. And when the ball was over, we chatted over wine and weed.

In those connecting moments, house beats blared from speakers, glitter and feathers littered the floor, and clouds of cannabis weighed heavily in the air. We planned the next competition and discussed ways we could help each other grow and heal.

The same allies encouraged me to do cannabis maintenance. We could see the importance cannabis played in our healing. And when we were young, my best friend was one of the first people I knew to contract HIV. As he struggled with the complications of the progressive illness and rapid weight loss, his doctors wrote him off, telling his family that it was best to prepare his funeral.

I am forever grateful to the brave nurse who secretly told my friend about the appetite-stimulating and potentially alleviative benefits of cannabis. She encouraged his mother to cancel the funeral and instead roll her son a joint, smoke it with him, and give him whatever he wanted to eat.

While I’m not sure if it was the weed or the moments of bonding with his estranged family that encouraged my friend to live, some things are certain: The ballroom and the cannabis community is about culture, community, and Creativity. Me and my immediate family would not be alive if it weren’t for the ballroom and cannabis.