I started the night with a couple of friends at my apartment in Hoboken while I painted for a night out in drag (we’re being liberal with the term “drag” here). Given the warm weather and the fact that I had company, I decided to walk to the PATH in my full look for the night rather than the usual sweats and sneakers I wear in transit. But between the fact that I took an hour longer than expected to get ready and our passing through Manhattan to go to Williamsburg, my friends opted out of the rest of the night. And though another friend of mine was robbed while taking the train by herself in full drag after a gig about a year ago, I wasn’t too worried about the few stops I had to go to Billysburg.
I had a great time checking out the new Sat night party at This n That (Misty Meaner, Mocha Lite, and Princess Bit'h did an awesome collaboration on “Let Me Take a Selfie”) and closed the night at Monster with Sir Honey Davenport.
Maybe I was feeling my fantasy a lil too hard, but I decided to walk (in heels and neon leg-warmers) past the nearest PATH station to one with wireless service for my 20-minute wait for the next train.
A guy on the street started talking to me as I turned off of Christopher St. I thanked him and attempted to end the interaction a couple of times with “Have a good night” before walking away, using my best peripheral vision to check the windows as I passed to see if he was following me. One block later, I turned around at a light to find him a few feet behind me shelling out more compliments.
I did my best to end the conversation without being rude. As I walked away, he asked if I lived in Manhattan. I yelled, “I do not,” over my shoulder with an obvious tinge of annoyance in my voice. A random guy with an eastern European accent seemed to be distracting him, so I continued the remainder of the 5 blocks to the 14th St PATH station.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I descended the stairs, knowing I had a good 15 minutes to play on the Facebook and Instagram accounts I’d been neglecting all night.
My first thought when I turned around in the tunnel and saw this same chaser coming towards me with a shit-eating grin was, ‘Damn, he didn’t look any better in the dark.’ And then, 'He knows I take the PATH to get home!’
As a 6'2 (well, 6'5 that night) black guy who works out, I’m rarely concerned for my own safety and find myself making sure I’m not making others feel threatened by my presence. But here was a guy much smaller than I who, after being treated in a tactfully dismissive way, followed a man with a goatee and 5 pounds of makeup for 5 blocks at 4am. I could very well have been dealing with a complete psychopath. Possibly armed.
The European guy reappeared and explained that the dude wanted a photo with me. So I let him, the Euro guy, snap a photo on his phone with as much space between me and the chaser as the frame world allow and scurried away as the two discussed how the Euro would get the photo to the chaser.
It wasn’t until I heard the chaser say, “You’re not gonna put this on the Internet, right?” that it occurred to me that I should have asked Mr. Euro to take a photo with my phone, too.
I’ve listened to and supported the idea of slut walks and the fact that women should be able to wear what they want without fear of violence because of it. And I’ve supported efforts to to bring awareness to violence against trans women (the stats on the
likelyhood of transwomen to be murdered is really fucking scary). But this experience shined a new light on all of that. Had I washed my face and changed clothes, it would have never happened, but creeps like that are the reason why women, transwomen, and drag queens have to take precautions like packing extra/low-key clothes when they go out and spending extra (substantial) money on cabs to and from gigs and/or regular nights out (chances are if you’re of an artistic mindset, you don’t live very close to where the parties are).
Yes, there are precautions we can take to avoid these types of interactions. But how about we work towards creating a culture where an outfit isn’t an invitation for (potential) violence?
Besides, where the hell would I fit a can of mace in this outfit?
Officials have just announced that Sandblast is moving from Asbury Park to Atlantic City! Click here to check out the time I went and met The Maverick Men.