Photos from top, left: Alyssa Edwards, Jordan Fox and Heidi Glum, Hari Nef, Boyyoung, Julianna Huxtable, Alan Cumming making it rain on them hos, Beefcake Daddy of life who’s name escapes me, Steaphon Valentine and B. Ames
In a town overrun with “intimate” lounges and dance halls that seem to fall short of the legendary clubs of yesteryear, Frankie Sharp’s WESTGAY exists to give us all hope. It’s a wild, unpretentious house party set in an old strip club, where everyone is either sexy, or fascinating, or scary, or all of the above. WESTGAY is a John Waters fever dream.
It was there that cultural institution, Alyssa Edwards, rolled in well after three AM, and gave the performance of her lifetime. In a corset brighter and more sparkling than Coco Montrese’s veneers, a severe Cleopatra wig, and thigh high boots encrusted in the finest glitter, she pirouetted, catwalked, grimaced, and pouted through Lana Del Rey’s “Will You Still Love Me” and a dance-mix of her own quotable bytes from Drag Race. She graciously gave the the frenzied crowd an encore, another Del Rey anthem, “Summertime Sadness,” ending with her being carried off the runway by a go-go boy who is reputed to have the biggest dick in porn. That is the fucking definition of show business. Exhilarated, knowing the night could do nothing but crash and burn after such a spectacle, I skipped out of there without saying goodbye to anyone.
Walking home, I was haunted by Del Rey’s lyrics, so vividly brought to life by Miss Edwards. Will you still love me/ when I’m no longer/ young and beautiful/ Will you still love me/ when I’m no longer/ young and beautiful.
Yes Alyssa Edwards, we will. We will.
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