The mention of ballroom culture pulls from memory subversive gender performance in the 70s in Harlem, New York. Paris is Burning, albeit controversial in its gaze, exposed the world to the cultural phenomenon and the way competitions transgressed societal norms by usurping normativity in terms of gender expression and sexual orientation. The documentary has been the subject of harsh critique with bell hooks accusing the white director of acting as a voyeur and portraying the ballroom scene as a spectacle for the white gaze. However, the documentary has been instrumental in introducing the world to the subculture of ballroom and the world of drag. The function of this space was to create a place that young Black queer people could call home without having to suffer the consequences of transphobia and homophobia. This incredible cultural phenomenon has trespassed borders and found home in South Africa.

 In “Engendering space: Ballroom culture and the spatial practice of possibility”, Marlon M Bailey describes the making of the ballroom space as “a Black queer space as the place-making practice es that Black LGBT undertake to affirm and support their non-normative sexual identities, embodiment and community practices.” Ballroom culture and the space which is carved out for this experience is a cultural production. Ballroom as a counter culture has provided sanctuary where performance is a discursive device capable of rupturing heteronormative gatekeeping of social convening. 

A unique iteration of expression

Although voguing and walking of different categories embody the traditional ceremony of ballroom culture, events such as Le Grande Ball and Vogue Nights have brought to the forefront unique iterations of performance and expression. In an article for New Frame, Trevonne Moo (aka Original Hunty) who is a co-founder of Le Grande ball stated, “I really wanted to ensure that it’s not just a copy and paste of an American cultural phenomenon, that we [localise] it and make sure we own it. Even the runway music we use is from South Africa. We are trying to reshape it, using our own mix of paints and colouring it.” Le Grande Ball saw various houses, most notably, The House of Sgebengas reclaim cultures which are prevalent in South African townships. Skhotane culture — a relatively new cultural phenomenon where young men in South Africa show off their opulence through pouring liquor and Ultramel custard over their expensive jewellery and clothes — made an incredible appearance at one of the balls. In colouring the culture to represent South Africa, Le Grande Ball has managed to capture popular culture and queer in ways which allow queer South Africans legitimate citizenships whilst embodying their true gender expressions. The late controversial icon Brenda Fassie has also been reclaimed by a younger generation of queers who embrace her sexual fluidity and her bad girl demeanour. In this constant reclamation and countering of societal norms, ballroom culture in its South African rendition is a constant transgression which creates safety that is not rooted in assimilation or an intended proximity to heteronormativity. 

The late Kirvan Fortuin who was also the founder of the House of Le Cap used the ball as a place for visibility and political statement. Fortuin, who was brutally murdered in June 2020, described in an article in 10and5 as follows, “The ball culture has always existed in Africa, long before I was born so it is something that is embedded within us. Balls are a platform for expression and activism. It is a place where we celebrate each other and question certain things in society. My balls always make some sort of political statement, because balls are and should be a parody and satire on society. As Africans, we are at the phase where we are eager to define ourselves. Balls provide that platform to open dialogues and the avenues of what is African, who is African and who belongs.”

Contrary to the aspiration of the queens and participants portrayed in Paris is Burning, contemporary South African ballroom culture seeks to claim beauty, luxury, kink, various Black cultures and Africanness. Intentionally, the dream is not limited to white femininity but to highlight variations of identities and the room for queerness within the ambit of any identity.  

A spiritual convening and a site for self-discovery

Johannesburg has historically been a metropolis for the LGBTQIA+ community in South Africa. It has held history in its palm where feet drummed across the city in the first Gay Pride in 1990. It has secretly and safely pocketed gay clubs where young gays could socialise without the every lurking gaze of heteronormativity. However, places for young Black queers to exist and engender joy were few and lacking. In describing the need to carve out spaces that centered around safety particularly for Black queers, Vogue Nights founder Lelo Meslani thinks of his club as a culture-making space which also provides a platform for conversation and communion. Quoted in the Sowetan Live, Meslani states: “The discussions that we [the LGBTI+ community] have are the backbone of our existence and as much as queer people meet in the night life, we can’t shy away from the fact that that’s where it happens. I think that it is important to nurture those spaces so that they are safer and more accessible and making sure those conversations happen in that space and outside of it and how we can grow from it as well.” The place of the ballroom in Johannesburg is one of significant importance considering the influx of young students experiencing independence for the first time. Affectionately known as baby queers, young participants and spectators are exposed to a kaleidoscopic spectrum of gender expression, sexual orientation and gender identities at balls. The multigenerational constituents of balls often find themselves mingling in between categories and being exposed to personalities that challenge somewhat binary understandings of gender.

 In this spiritual convening, there is a place for performance and dreaming. A utopia is created where a future with a queer imaginary is possible. The ballroom allows spectators and performers to embody a personality that would not fit in their classrooms or conservative work spaces. Queerness is not limited to sexual identity and gender at balls but rather makes place for those whose bodies are marginalized in society because they are not able bodied, skinny, educated, white and straight. Adorned in opulent styling or close to nothing at all, the ballroom creates a space for complete adulation for people to come as they are. In describing the category of “Executive Realness”, Dorian Corey on Paris is Burning says “You’re showing the straight world that I can be an executive — if I had the opportunity I could be one ‘cause I can look like one. That is like a fulfillment.” In a sense, the ballroom fulfills and provides a possibility of dreaming.