It's easy to be enamored by the pretty faces and elaborate costumes when tuning into Rupaul’s Drag Race or watching snippets of FX’s upcoming series Pose, but there’s much more to ballroom subculture than what lies on the surface. And for all its glitter and glamour, the community today has evolved, from a sad necessity, born from issues like the HIV/AIDS crisis, into an environment of inclusivity that is deeply protective of its own.



Documentaries like the 1990 film Paris is Burning pulled back the curtains of the underground ballroom scene in New York City, showing a safe haven for many black and brown queer people to exist and, as Madonna sang, express themselves. For many LGBTQ people, including popular transgender figures like Laverne Cox and Leiomy Maldonado, the underground ballroom scene was and remains exactly that.

In the mid 1980s, when Jennie Livingston was filming Paris is Burning, HIV/AIDS was an epidemic. Much of the cast would succumb to AIDS-related illnesses. Between 1981 and 2003, somewhere between 1,039,000 and 1,185,000 people were living with HIV, according to the CDC . The ballroom scene was deeply impacted, and as a result organizers began administering free HIV tests. To encourage screenings, they let people who were tested into the ball for free.

The famed documentary portrayed these elaborate balls as more than organized dance-offs and cheering crowds while also shining a light on the problems many black and Latino LGBTQ people face: poverty, illness, racism, homophobia, and transphobia—issues that have plagued the underground ballroom scene for nearly a century.

Ballrooms: Then and Now

Historians call the 1920s a “period of pleasure,” not only because of the thriving economy, but also because there was a place for everyone to express themselves unapologetically—everyone except LGBTQ people, and especially those who weren't white. They found themselves at a standoff with racism, transphobia, and homophobia. Some were even disowned by their own families because of their gender or sexual identities.

But in an LGBTQ-friendly dancehall, attendees could express themselves through dance and fashion. It wasn't unusual to see men wearing shimmering gowns or long wigs made out of golden streamers. Stylized femininity was like spitting in the face of society’s strict gender-roles—and that was encouraged. And, as evidenced by time spent with a burgeoning ballroom troupe in New York, those things have remained the same, even decades later.

One afternoon in early March, a troupe of underground ballroom dancers gathered to practice. The empty cups and bottles, dirty diapers, and used condoms crumpled in the corners of a park in the Bronx didn’t stop them from practicing their duck walks, spins, dips, and floor performances. Each dancer asked to be called by their ballroom pseudonyms—names like Miss Slim Jim, Munch, Crispy, Licorice, and Skittle.

“We’re a new dance group now, but soon we’ll become a house,” said Miss Slim Jim, the oldest and chosen mother of the group. “We’re going to be ballroom legends, dahling.”

Growing up transgender—previously identifying as a gay man—was not easy for Miss Slim Jim. “Mott Haven [is] a tough neighborhood, and I’m a tough girl,” she said. As a six-foot tall transgender woman, Miss Slim Jim stood out when she was next to her much-shorter, much-younger mentees, or—as she called them—her children.

Miss Slim Jim first learned about the balls from an acquaintance. “At 18-years-old, I was on drugs, heroine,” she said. “I was shooting up with some dope heads on the roof, and one of them told me about the balls. He took me to one on Harlem, and for one night I forgot how fucked up my life has been. I saw men in wigs, dresses, and heavy makeup. They were dancing how I do in my bathroom mirror. I ain’t even want the drugs anymore. I wanted to be a part of the ball.”

"I saw men in wigs, dresses, and heavy makeup. They were dancing how I do in my bathroom mirror."

Harlem has always been a center for the underground ballroom culture. In the 1920’s, one place in particular, Hamilton Hall, drew huge crowds and plenty of media attention. Conservative voices quickly dubbed the spot—and the counterculture it invited inside—“immoral,” “a place of perversions,” and “a detriment to mainstream society.” And when the economy crashed in 1929, many actually blamed the underground ballroom culture, claiming the Great Depression was a result of offending God.

Angry mobs of straight men sometimes waited outside of the balls to harass, threaten, assault, or even murder men in drag; two out of three underground ball participants (typically queer men) were harassed and/or physically assaulted, according to reports. But instead of protecting attendees, local governments drafted laws to criminalize the underground ballroom setting and suppress queer visibility. Undercover officers in New York City sometimes entered the underground balls, flirted with queer men, and arrested them if they even suggested going home together—because of a state law that allowed them to do as much. Between 1923 and 1967, more than 50,000 queer male ballroom attenders were arrested on this charge.

Today, however, LGBTQ advocates like Laverne Cox believe that more and more transgender people are beginning to accept themselves. "It is revolutionary for any trans person to choose to be seen and visible in a world that tells us we should not exist,” she told Buzzfeed in a 2014 profile. While the life expectancy of a transgender woman of color is still approximately 35-years-old (due to violent crimes, HIV/AIDS, and suicide), mainstream society is cognizant of queer/trans visibility, and queer people are allowed to exist as themselves without breaking state laws that prohibit queer expression.

The Rise of House Culture

Despite all the attempts to squelch it, the underground ballroom scene evolved into something even more revolutionary. Decades later, the ethos lives on in the form of "houses"—close, tight-knit communities that host balls and provide support to the LGBTQ community.

Today there are more than 100 active houses in 13 cites across the country. They exist not only to organize balls but also to help out their communities—often providing HIV-related support. As for the balls themselves: They're still going strong. Many start as late as 4:00 a.m. and keep bumping for upwards of ten hours. There are judges, niche themes, and, of course, prize money.

But when you step behind the curtain, beyond the glamour and pageantry, one thing quickly becomes clear: Paris is still burning. The threats that plagued many of the underground ballroom scene’s participants in the 1980s (and before) still haunt them today.

Paris Is Still Burning

Out of the dancers in Miss Slim Jim’s troupe, eight are HIV-positive. “I got raped by someone I met on Grindr,” Munch, one of Miss Slim Jim’s mentees, said. “He said that he was HIV-positive, and I told him that I did not want to have sex with him. I was scared. He ended up beating me up, ripping off my clothes, and fucking me without a condom.” Tears began to swell up in his eyes as he opened up about his trauma. “I called [Miss Slim Jim], and she came to my house all the way from Mott Haven just to take me to the Callen-Lorde [Community Health Center] to get PEP and PrEP.”

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The underground ballroom scene saved Miss Slim Jim’s, and now she’s working towards her Credentialed Alcoholism and Substance Abuse Counselor (CASAC) license to help people who might be going through similar hardships as her.

Munch is still HIV-Negative, and he thanks Miss Slim Jim and Callen-Lorde for responding so quickly. Miss Slim Jim, however, takes no credit; instead, she called out the Health and Wellness specialists she met from Gay Men's Health Crisis (GMHC) and Callen-Lorde who are active participants in the underground ballroom scene. “At almost every ballroom scene, there’s free testing and people who can help you get on PrEP,” she said. “I wish that shit was around when I was growing up.”

Chocolate D-Lite, one of the two other HIV-Negative members of the group, is also on PrEP. “I’m clean,” he said. “I’ve never had an STD in my life.”

Miss Slim Jim interjected, snapping her fingers and voicing her disapproval with sound effects. “Don’t say that you’re clean. We’re all clean. We all washed our asses this morning. Having HIV or any STD does not make somebody dirty,” she said with her finger pointed in the air. Chocolate D-Lite quickly apologized and went back to practicing his floor performances.

“Having HIV or any STD does not make somebody dirty.”

The crew was practicing their dance moves and discussing their outfits for an upcoming ball in Brooklyn. There was a $300-dollar prize, but no one cared about the money. Instead, they cared more about bringing awareness and respect to their crew. “If we can’t win at the mini-ball, how the hell are we going to win at a grand ball?” Miss Slim Jim said.

Ballroom Culture Goes Mainstream

Though it began as a secret scene with less than 200 regular participants, the ballroom circuit quickly spread worldwide. Over the past 30 years, mainstream figures and brands from Madonna to Nike have popularized this formerly underground culture.

With the 1990 with the release of Madonna's hit song "Vogue,” almost overnight, everyone knew what it meant to vogue. According to Billboard magazine, Madonna "had been inspired by dancer/choreographers Jose and Luis Xtravaganza from the Harlem 'House Ball' community, who introduced vogueing to her at the New York club Sound Factory."

Even commercial brands have been lured into ballroom's glamorous fold. Last year, Nike created a video ad campaign with transgender vogue artist and ballroom dancer Leiomy Maldonado, who was also the first transgender woman to appear on MTV's America's Best Dance Crew in 2009. Directed by Daisy Zhou, the ad pays homage to New York City's ballroom scene.

All that visibility has led to positive changes. One bright example: Since health and wellness professionals from GHMC and Callen-Lorde started collaborating with underground ballrooms, the number of new HIV infections have declined by over 18 percent. This number continues to decline as more people around the world use PrEP. And while studies show that one in six gay men may contract HIV in their lifetimes, the rapidly declining number of new transmissions is promising.

As Madonna once said, “stand for freedom of expression, doing what you believe in, and going after your dreams.” The underground ballroom scene gives Miss Slim Jim and her crew the agency to do exactly that.