Hunt for Community in the U.S. — Miss Vee’s Freak Show
I'm sitting at a jazz bar as I type this, the music's loud and the people are louder. There's a line of tech bros and nine to fivers that extends all the way from the bottom of the stairs to the bathroom at the top, and people keep scuffling along to either piss, or get to the bar. I’ve been trying to recollect my experience since this trip was well over 2 months ago, damn nearly 3 but regardless, it must get done.
In relation to my last post, one of the places I visited during my time in Asheville was Miss Vee's Freak Show, a burlesque show. I'd never been to any before, but I kind of knew what to expect when I asked around before leaving for my trip up north.
My friend Sammie had managed to get me cleared to take photos, and I'm all about trying new things and finding new communities. I haven't found too many in Atlanta, yet. A common theme of me going out usually involves me being like "I haven't been anywhere in a while, I should go out." I of course do and give out my greetings, I say hi to a lot of people, some just getting off work, some who are rude, but I feel like I have to make conversation, and some I’m genuinely happy to see. But sometimes, I get so exhausted from running around, over thinking about social dynamics I think to myself, “I’m tired, I want to leave.” This show however, it wasn’t like that, maybe it's the feeling of not knowing anyone there, seeing something new, but being there made me feel like I was out adventuring, exploring.
I'd been amazed by the amount of people that turned up, and the types of people I saw. I'm sure I saw some couples, some elderly folk, people dressed in animal costumes since the theme for the event was around dressing like an animal. I'd even seen and met a mother and daughter who were at the show together.
When I got inside I was stopped by security.
"Did you get cleared to take photos, who are you," I was asked.
"Oh, Sammie had gotten me in, she said that I was good to go to take photos?"
I'm actually glad in a way that I was stopped and asked that kinda question. It'd be pretty shit if some random asshole just popped in with their camera to take pictures of half naked people and just leave. A fear that many people of the space often watched out for, rightfully so.
"Let me double check with Vee," after a few minutes they came back "Okay, you're good to go, have fun!"
Some Suppressive Health Anxiety
I was so nervous, even though I knew I was in the clear, I had felt like this was something so private that I absolutely should not be taking pictures at, even though I had the go ahead. It was then that I started thinking of my repressive Christian upbringing, one wrought with shame when it came to anything even remotely sexual. I wondered what it was like to be so comfortable with your body and sexuality that you could perform for either complete and total strangers or people you saw on a regular basis. I admired it, it takes confidence and guts to be that comfortable in your own skin, even more so to perform in front of a crowd of people. It had taken me a while to even be a little close to being comfortable with intimacy in my early 20's.
Couldn't really blame myself for it though, the sexual health education in the small town of Mulberry, Florida, really didn't amount much to anything. It was just a collection of slide shows of scabby penises and vaginas, and blind babies that had mothers that never received treatment for Gonorrhea.
"You can get HIV from sharing drinks, Mulberry, believe it or not, actually has the highest rate of HIV cases in all of Florida," said the 70 something year old nurse visiting our class that day.
Later when I got home my dad said, "That's absolute bullshit, I grew up in Miami, that's absolutely not true."
But the damage was done, I was traumatized, which I'm sure was her and the state of Florida's goal.
So traumatized in fact, that when I was 15, I was afraid that I'd gotten an STI from kissing my girlfriend at the time, so much so I actually confessed to my mom, crying, asking questions, and instead was scolded for even thinking of kissing girls at my age.
When I was 20, I visited the sexual health clinic on FSU's campus to ask the nurse who was in charge to give me an STI test because I was experiencing "symptoms." Symptoms being a sore throat, and my eyes feeling strained and watery.
"Did you have any form of sex."
"Yeah, kind of, just mouth stuff."
"Okay when?" She asked.
"Last night."
Mind you, the symptoms were all in my head, if you can’t tell I was, or maybe still am, an avid hypochondriac, with a pension for catching every disease that ever existed in the history of mankind. Only to realize that my sore throat and watery eyes are from allergies in the springtime, in Florida.
"Oh sweetie," she said while putting her arm on my shoulder. "These kinds of things usually take at least a while to be able to test for, you don't have symptoms."
Ended up being such a good thing that I happened to pop in there. She ended up showing me how to put on condoms properly, how STI's actually spread, how common they all are, and how people often demonize something that they've caught or could catch. Needless to say I slept around on campus (responsibly) after that experience. She became a pretty common face for me to see every 3 to 5 months as well.
Back to present day
I was taken back and surprised by just how many people were there. I mean, I'd heard it was a private show, so in all honesty I'm not sure what I expected. I kind of pictured people wearing masks to anonymize themselves, and maybe even some people in the audience wearing, I don't know, gimp suits or something with all leather, which honestly would have been bad ass. A sort of secret society where only those that had been cleared were allowed to attend. But nope, the stage was huge, the space was even bigger, people were wearing t-shirts, suits, dresses, a lot of the crowd goers seemed to actually know one another pretty well. There was an actual community that had formed through these regular performances.
I was still nervous, either because I wasn't sure if anyone would be mad at me for showing up to take photos, or because I was a fresh face. Setting up with my camera, I had run into the official photographer of the space, Brooklyn. She was wearing a yellow beanie with overalls, and had carried a canon camera with a really big lens, and an external flash that was perfect for low lit settings, real official like.
"What kind of camera are you shooting with," she asked.
"Sony A7III, I'm using film lenses because it's a great way to save some money." I then proceeded to geek out about the equipment I was using and how old some of it was. I mean I have one produced by the Soviets, another that is slightly radioactive, it’s great.
"Oh wow that's cool, you can get some really unique looks with those."
"Yeah, my only thing is that when it's too dark, I can't see through the viewfinder and figure out how to focus in the dark."
I had asked her for pointers and how best to stay out of her way.
"Stick to the outside if you can, but really if you see me setting up for a shot just try to keep track of where I am so I can get a good shot."
There's always a silent understanding when it comes to photographers and working, or just being out and taking photos. Most photographers I had met that were more experienced than I am often had a habit of trying to help newer photographers with tips or old equipment. A simple "I'll help you along the way" type of mentality. People that were often catering events would also try to give you food too. There's a sort of empathetic commonality that working people share at events I think.
"Let me get your information, when this is over, we can meet for coffee tomorrow, I've got a second camera you can have with some old equipment."
(I ended up meeting with her the next day and grabbing the camera, it's great).
The announcer, Ganymede, is a drag performer and DJ also based in Asheville, who was wearing a prosthetic Zebra mask that moved with her jaw when she spoke, (coolest thing I’d seen all day), had announced that the show was set to begin soon. People took their seats, the lights dimmed even more, and I was still fussing with my camera, trying to figure out how to get the external flash to not be too bright or dim. It was so damn hard to tell how to adjust when you can't fully see what you're photographing. I ended up missing the first performer because of my little issue.
I saw tons of performances with beautiful and thought provoking costumes. My favorite was probably the performer who came out with pink dildos for udders, and pasties that said “got” on one side and on the other “milk.” Many of the other performances had beautiful and elaborate outfits, with amazing rehearsed dances that were as exciting as they were captivating.
During the show, a class that was taught by Miss Vee, and was graduating from her Burlesque workshop group called “Tease and Transformation,” had gones up. All were wearing flamingo outfits, I’d never been to Vegas, but it was like seeing a performance on the Strip in a way.
After the show had ended, I'd spoken to Ganymede, and asked if I could take her pictures outside with the horse mask, and talked to her for a while about how she put the outfit together. She explained that the mandibles for the bottom and top were attached somehow to her jaw. When she spoke, the horse's mouth moved, I was in awe.
After a few weeks I had interviewed Vee, I wanted to know what made her want to start doing burlesque, what made her want to encourage others to perform as well. Was it being able to provide a safe space, making sure people got paid for their passions, I had to know.
About Vee:
Vee is a 35 year old photographer, artist, and performer, a jack of many trades. She’d moved to Asheville since the very tail end of 2019, and was leaving a toxic relationship. Like all of us, the isolation had really taken a toll on her, but she describes it as good for her “character development.”
“I’ve been performing for 15 years, I started with fire spinning, but a lot of people had asked me to do burlesque. For the longest time, I didn’t want to go in that direction because of the misinformation about the industry I had heard. I finally took the leap when I was given an opportunity from a friend at The Getaway.”
“What’s your favorite aspect of being able to host the burlesque show events, is it bringing people together, the classes?” I asked.
“I like a lot of different aspects of this space. When I started hosting the shows I hated talking in front of people, but it was always something I wanted to do and wanted to be good at. I’ve gotten a lot better at it, but in the beginning it was rough. I love bringing people together too, and creating a welcoming space. Making sure that everyone feels safe, as safe as they can be, and then also being able to pay people fairly feels pretty good.
We started talking about being able to support yourself as an artist next.
“Even in photography, people are like, “oh, just do it for fun” and it’s annoying. It’s really toxic and I like breaking down the starving artist thing. We all deserve to have a life where we are paid for our art and not be struggling.”
“What about the classes?”
“With the classes I make sure that the classes with new people are given the opportunity to do it for themselves and give them the tools to learn.”
I wanted to know about community building. “I noticed that there was a woman there, who was with her mom. What types of people have been coming to the show over the years, what are they looking for?”
“It’s a mixture of people, definitely a lot of queer people, there’s also been a lot of people in the fetish community. I do different themes every time, so it really depends on who comes by.”
She paused for a moment, then continued “We had a sapphic themed one, so obviously a lot of gays and the theys came out, and then a kink one, a clown event, that one was really interesting. The theme really attracts a different kind of person each time. ”
Eventually of course, I asked about Helene, the Hurricane that had occurred last year.
“I kept the show going one month after Helene, I was worried about people being angry about that. It turned out people really needed it. We actually made it a sliding scale show, and we ended up doing a $100 costume contest, but you had to be from Asheville to win. When there’s a lot of chaos, disaster, and sadness going on around you, I think people remember that, having a place to get away from it all for a bit and be with the community is healing.”
Miss Vee's Freak Show ended up garnering many different types of people, from many different walks of life. They were there for their own reasons, some because they liked theatre and a good show, others to support a friend, and even more to meet, talk and hang with their friends. But the one thing I noticed about it all was the amount of time, community, and care that was so invested in the event. How everyone seemed to know each other, welcome those that they didn’t know.
I think all communities should strive for that, a level of kindness and care that welcomes those that are open to it.