What it’s Like Being a Queer, Tattooed Punk Rocker at a Black Tie Gala

Passe’ Blanc. A term that the French Creoles used for other Creole people who were so fair skinned they blended in and lived among the whites. A complex and fascinating history, many “passe blanc” individuals lived as covert operatives of sort, reporting back to their internal circles what the aristocratic crowds were up to, and talking about. This was really a strategy that served as a defense mechanism of sorts, allowing the infringed populations to remain one step ahead of their oppressors without them ever becoming aware of the source of the insider knowledge.

I think about that factoid and the concept of being “passe blanc” a lot when it’s gala season in San Francisco and the myriad of formal and black tie functions start to pop up in the city (and my inbox) at the very end of the summer. As an enthusiastic supporter of the arts and a member of the San Francisco Junior League, I found myself (quite ironically, at least at first) attending these functions as a way to both try something new, and spend more time with my friends.

While I’ve grown to enjoy these, erm, society events quite a bit, I will always feel like not only is there an elephant in the room, but that I am the elephant in the room, and have given up trying to decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing or not. I figure if I’m the face of DEIB at work, my women’s groups, volunteer orgs, and whatever hobbies I involve myself in, then I might as well be at black tie galas too, right? It’s not like I’ve much of a choice, but if I’m going to be the face of DEIB wherever I go, then I may as well be a fabulous one. I’m definitely an experienced one.

Speaking of fabulous, one of the first things I was concerned about was what to wear. I’ve been to a lot of award shows and formal weddings over the years, but I had never been to the opening night of this or that until more recently. One thing I noticed consistently at these formal events is how some individuals struggle to eyeball the proper “formality” level of their outfits, showing up wearing dresses that look like they were made for quincianeras, prom nights, bridesmaids, or even worse, mother of the brides.

To avoid this, I’ve stuck with a “conservative” formula of dress silhouettes I knew would be flattering to my shape, with both impeccable grooming and well chosen accessories — a technique that’s yet to steer me wrong once so far. Finding a gown or dress for a black tie occasion can sound like nails on a proverbial chalkboard to a lot of folks, but thanks to E commerce and reasonable return policies, it’s possible to find virtually any style or color of dress at any time of the year online.

In fact, for this year’s opening night of the San Francisco Symphony held just last week, I was lucky enough to snag a BOGO on two dresses. The day they were delivered, I had an ultra fun, musical montage-style mini fashion show trying them both on at my gay friend’s birthday party in front of all of their guests in order to see which one fit best. Considering the UPS driver’s arrival with my package coincided with me walking out of my building’s front door for the event, it seemed like the only natural thing to do. It was like an episode of the TV show  Say Yes to the Dress, but in a fourth floor lower Haight apartment. 

Once you arrive to these galas, on the other hand, the point is to blend in… sort of. I mean when you’re covered in tattoos, curvy, and six feet tall in heels, you never really blend in, but you don’t want to stand out in a bad way… like a car when it’s missing a hubcap. I think that folks are always surprised at how elegant and sophisticated I look whenever I arrive, and while always flattering, in the back of my mind I also wonder what it is that they were actually expecting.

The photographers do tend to notice and gravitate towards me, not because they know I’m a writer but because I’m usually rocking some sort of ultra interesting or just flat out va-va-voom look as my fashion modus operandus. A double fashion major, I grew up spending my lunch hours and weekday school nights tucked into bed reading Vogue and W Magazine, living for post awards show season — not to see who was winning, but for photos to finally be published of what everyone was wearing.

It’s always a mix of terror and elation upon your initial entrance to these events because there’s always some sort of red carpet or step and repeat type scenario at hand. Expect to see lots of photographers snapping away and air kissing going on, with various folks squealing “Hiiiii! You look amazing!” but also cocktails and beautiful event design, not to mention what everyone else is wearing.

Speaking of photographers, in fact, they are some of the best allies you can make at these events. Usually fellow queer, tattooed punk rockers or older gays themselves, they can always spot you as a needle in the haystack within the crowd. If you go up and introduce yourself exclaiming the feeling of relief for finding one of the only other “normal” people there, it usually breaks the ice and kicks off a great conversation.

I didn’t realize it at first, but introducing myself to the queer photographer at least year’s Opera Ball is probably what landed me on the cover of the SF Standard the next morning as well as in the background of several SF Chronicle Sunday Datebook photos, much to the shock and perplexity of several of my fellow Junior League cohorts, who also attended.

Maybe I’m not “conservative” in the traditional sense, but by being more conservative than how I normally act, dress, and present, I actually reverse engineer myself into being quite the mysteriously glamorous woman. It’s a sort of sorcery that none close to me have yet to truly figure out, and the type that gets me onto the cover of new sites, apparently. Hocus Pocus.

Once inside, it sort of feels as if you’re at the fanciest wedding reception you’ve ever been to, or like you’re on the show Four Weddings, just trying not to miss out on anything while you’re there. There’s servers with trays of champagne and appetizers, food, and bars everywhere. There’s usually also a very “wedding” style band or DJ, and tiny hamburgers, because rich people love tiny hamburgers. I have had them in every size, on every bun type, with every sort of cheese, garnish, and protein imaginable. In this great nation, on Thanksgiving, for example, you have turkey, and otherwise, rich people eat tiny hamburgers. That is the impermeable law of the land. If you are in America, there is just no escaping the hamburger. And apparently, the richer you are, the smaller they get.

The bartenders and servers are also the other best people to meet at these events. I mean sure, the networking among the other guests is great for your career and all but if you want to get the hook up all night long or actually just get along with someone, find a cool, queer looking staff member (one who doesn’t look like they’re in a hurry, or stressed) and “buddy up” with them. Re-visit their stations. Tip them well, even if tipping isn’t required, because making alliances with them can make your experience 20 times better. Just trust me on this.

If you want to meet all the cool guests though, hang out by the dance floor. The edges of the dance floor are always right where the party is just about to go down. You don’t have to personally know someone to make friends with them on the dance floor — it’s all just a vibe. If you’re more of an introvert, hang by the dessert table. This is a good tip for those who are more sober leaning as well, you can meet some very sweet folks hanging out by the sweet treats.

At the end of the day, I’m way more comfortable in the press pit filming a concert than I am sitting in the audience at the opening night of the ballet in a ballgown. But if I’m being honest, I love both equally as the unforgettable and rich cultural experiences they truly are. Ones that I’m extremely lucky to be included in, involved in, and invited to, not to mention incredibly fortunate to be able to attend.

In a way, when I think back to that 15 year old kid with pink streaks in her hair sitting in front of The Coffee Garden after school with her Vogue Magazine, I’d never think I’d ever be *Ariel voice* “Part of that worrlllddd….” but I digress because I am a true lover, and therefore supporter of the arts, so if anyone actually belongs there, it’s definitely someone like me.

And unlike the Creole, I perhaps don’t “passe’ blanc” in a literal, visual way, but the way that I have been welcomed and accepted into the gala circuit has been much more of a positive experience than initially expected. And it is a circuit, so to say, because after a while you realize that it’s mostly all the same folks who attend these things over and over again.

It’s more than I could have ever dreamed of, in fact.