In a small, dingy closet of a literal and figurative underground bar in DC, I have the privilege of watching Jason Barnes transform into Pussy Noir. He uses his compact mirror to apply dark and light shades of foundation that contour his face, all the while negotiating around his rolling suitcase, which explodes at our feet with sequins, costume jewelry, faux furs, and knee-high stiletto boots. Jason is the very picture of grace under pressure, even as I’m watching the clock and worrying. He’s one of those people who’s perpetually at ease in his own skin, regardless of where he finds himself.
Once he finishes applying his foundation, we decide to take a smoke-and-champagne break while it sets. In the main room of the bar, the act before his has begun constructing a human candelabra. A woman is supine on a red satin dais-pedestal, wearing only pasties, panties, and a mask, and two men paint her body with wax.
Outside, Jason is still in his street clothes—black leather overalls and a black, floor-length fur coat. He’s somewhat of an institution in DC, but he is perhaps better known as a genderfuck fashion icon than he is as a boylesque dancer and performance artist. His performances, as much as his street style, defy both the audience’s expectations and any clear-cut categorization. Jason is a classically trained opera singer who wields his extraordinary ability to create a spectacle. Queer art collective Boys Be Good describes the performance as “burlesque-inspired performance work [that] presents a saccharine, colorful and vivid critique of the role of womanness in culture and narrative.” Jason’s website insists that neither he nor Pussy Noir is a drag queen or a diva. “She bathes in layers of contradiction… She provokes and incites the crowd,” it reads.
Back inside, they’ve planted real burning candles into the hot wax layered on top of the performer, who strikes me as a beautiful altar to womanhood. I want to linger there for a moment, but there’s no time. Pussy is waiting.
We head backstage again, where Jason applies purple glitter to his lips and warns me casually before he strips naked. When he finishes dressing, he looks stunning in a long red dress, layers of bejeweled necklaces, and a wide-rimmed black hat. His Old Hollywood influences are evident in every fashion choice he’s made. Suddenly, he’s visibly anxious. As soon as the ensemble was constructed, the nerves came on like a switch. He takes a silent moment to himself. His hands clench into two fists in front of his chest, his eyes squeeze shut, and his lips move in prayer.
But once onstage, Pussy Noir exerts grace, poise, and complete control over the crowd. She tells the audience that, “Everyone is put to work for me. So if I tell you to take off a shoe, take off a glove, show me your dick. It all happens.” Pussy Noir is bold and aggressive in a way you’d never expect from Jason Barnes. In a witty introduction full of clever quips, Pussy tells us that tonight’s performance will be an ode to her greatest influence, Grace Jones. We’re treated to a mix of straight vocal performance and lip-synched burlesque, and I’m left wondering how intentional Pussy’s messaging is as she sings, “I’m not perfect, but I’m perfect for you,” and “Once a man, twice a boy.”
Pussy swivels her hips and drapes herself gracefully across the classic burlesque chair, lifting her leg high. Much of her performance drips with feminine appeal, but she surprises everyone when she kisses her bicep. There is a costume change mid-set, and Pussy dons a red sequin leotard with ruffled shoulders. “Clap for fashion!” she demands, and we comply. The following number is the most striking to me; in that sparkling bodysuit, Pussy’s at her most exuberant. She swaggers, she manspreads in the chair, and as the music reaches a crescendo, she grabs her junk with both hands before slowly inching them up her stomach toward the empty cups at her chest.
Hours beforehand, when I knocked on the door of Jason Barnes’ apartment, on the fifth floor of an unassuming building, he answered by peeking his head timidly around the door—playful, but perhaps also genuinely wary. Inside, pop art portraits of fashion goddesses—Jackie O, Lady Gaga—adorned the walls. Candles and nail polish and costume jewelry littered every surface. A sewing machine sat squarely in the center of the kitchen table.
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The Rumpus: The first question I have is a little bit of a strong start for an interview, but the first thing I want to ask you is about your gender identity and orientation. I don’t want to rely on what I read from what people have reported about you—I really want to ask you myself.
Jason Barnes (aka Pussy Noir): I’m a gay male. I do put myself in a transvestite “box”—to just give a box. Now, I feel ownership of it, because I am wearing women’s clothes. You know what I mean? I’m just like, “Well, that’s the way it is.” But I don’t know if I am a transvestite. I am someone who practices transvestitism. I still introduce myself, hear myself as a male. When I’m wearing a skirt or something, I don’t necessarily tuck. Those are the kinds of things I think about when it comes to gender, because my gender is expressed in my clothes first and foremost.
Rumpus: So can you explain genderfuck fashion for people who don’t have any idea what that is?
Barnes: It’s just a modern term for transvestitism. Let’s call it what it is. We have a negative connotation for transvestitism.
I think that’s the thing. If we did not have that, we wouldn’t have the word genderfuck.
Rumpus: Do you feel frustrated by people’s requests—I guess even my own request—that you define yourself in a certain way, or do you feel like the environment that we are living in these days allows you a certain amount of freedom? Does it feel good to be able to explain yourself?
Barnes: It never really bothers me when people ask me honestly about gender and sexuality. If people ask me and then try to put words my mouth, then it bothers me. If you are going to ask me a question, let me answer it! I hate when people do that. But anyone in a normal conversation asks me honestly: “Oh. I just want to know.” Then I feel good when they ask me, because that allows me to educate and let them know what I’m doing and what I’m about. Because I’m not the only person like this—they meet other people like me—they aren’t so boggled and they know how to communicate.
I always think of my existence as something much greater than just being a human being and just existing in the world and living and dying. I always believed that I have a huge message that I have to give to the world; I have to be present; I have to be this person, because it’s needed and it’s wanted.
Rumpus: So, it’s really fascinating to me that you identify as male, but Pussy Noir is female. Is she like an alter ego for you? Do you have a relationship with her that feels like that—male by day and female by night?
Barnes: Well, funny enough, Pussy Noir is actually not female.
Rumpus: She’s not? I’m sorry! I saw her referred to with feminine pronouns on your website.
Barnes: She is—he is—it is—this kind of idea of being above gender, so like that whole Native American two-spirit idea. Combining both in the same body—that’s what I’m about. I allow people to say he or she anytime they want to.
Rumpus: Which one do you prefer?
Barnes: I don’t have a preference, that’s the thing, because for me, this is a really good experiment. So this is to me a very long experiment ritual of reaching that two-spirit level. Another thing outside of what we are talking about.
Rumpus: But I would love to hear about it.
Barnes: Well, the two spirit is basically—you know, the male and female perfect entity that combines in all great forms. I have always believed that that has been like a spirit guide for me. Male and female entities existing in one body, whether I look more like a male or female. That power is still there. When I perform, I will use both masculine and feminine power to get my point across. I think that’s why my performances are so powerful for people, because I’m hitting them from all the different angles. It’s attractive for a lot of different crowds, straight and gay, men and women.
Rumpus: So, I understand how burlesque is different from, for example go-go or drag, in a technical way, but I’m interested in why you are drawn to it. How does it feel to you as a performer and what is the experience of it? Why do you prefer the performances you do over these other forms?
Barnes: One, the burlesque removal of clothes in front of the public is therapy. That’s what that is. That’s it—that experience, therapy—watching the acceptance from all these faces when you remove piece by piece, and knowing that there is nothing else between you two that they can judge you on. Then, also, I love classical training and I love taking traditions and mixing them up and so attaching myself to the tradition of burlesque, as well as tradition of drag, and being able to mix it up. I think it’s because burlesque is the platform where you can be creative and sexual, and all those things. Burlesque is not just pasties; burlesque is varied. I’ve seen burlesque performers who really just did a number, like a musical number. It was sexually motivated, it was sexually driven, but they just did a musical number. I’ve seen burlesque dancers who are contortionists, who just contort butt-ass naked. I’ve seen burlesque dancers just pull things out of their ass. At The Box in the New York—I don’t know if you ever been, but you need to go! And you have those people who are like burlesque Nazis, but I don’t really care about most people who are Nazis about tradition in art forms.
Rumpus: I read this article about boylesque, and the comments for the article were really interesting—which, I realize it’s silly to put much stock in comments. But I was just interested to read what the responses were from the public at large. A lot of what I read were these gay men saying, “Ew. I don’t like men who look like women.” And in response, there were always people chastising previous commenters by saying, “You’re too concerned with conforming to traditional gender roles” and “this is very shaming” and “it’s not a good way to behave on the Internet.” I’m wondering if this is the sort of conversation that is happening out in the real world in the boylesque community, as well. If so, how are the performers interacting with or provoking them?
Barnes: I don’t hear those comments ever, unless I read them online. The burlesque community is so positive; everyone is so nice. Guys talking about the gender roles and things like that—those men usually have issues of their own, with their masculinity. Men who do everything to be masculine, all the way down to going to the gym, to dressing a very specific way. And usually those comments come from gay men, which is the sad part.
Rumpus: Gay men who are very strict in their gender roles?
Barnes: Who are very—the new term is “spornosexual.” I don’t know if you heard about that term? The guy who created “metrosexual” created the new term for this generation.
When it comes to boylesque, the gay community—they are the worst sometimes. If you are not fulfilling a specific gender role, whether it’s this drag illusion or hyper-masculine
—like a leather daddy or just like ready for sex, oiled up—if you are not fulfilling these gender roles, they lose their minds. They are like, “I don’t know what this means.”
Rumpus: You think even the gay community maintains a sort of binary view: male/female, dom/sub, top/bottom?
Barnes: I think for a community where we were a subculture at one point—we aren’t anymore, anyone who says we are is dumb—we really haven’t evolved. I’ve never met a straight man that has issues with gender like gay men do. I think they feel threatened because… I don’t want to say it like this, but the “gay Illuminati” realized that their mission got out of their hands and became a much bigger mission. It’s like with feminism. It was a bigger issue that they did not foresee. But as opposed to feminism, where it was a positive evolution, with the gay movement it became a very negative regression. It’s not like the whole movement is negative, it’s just that one aspect—but a very crucial aspect—that’s a regression.
Gay men can be very misogynist, and it’s getting worse nowadays. We see it with Azealia Banks—that’s misogyny going on against her. That’s what that is. She’s already a queer woman, she’s talked about being a queer woman before all this started. Yes, she had some words on a public platform with a man, who, honestly, is like the O.J. of gays to me. We can give him back. I would rather keep Andy Dick.
The sad thing is that gay men, like straight men, rule that sector of the world now. If you really look at it, gay men—especially gay men in power—are straight white men from 1950s. They look exactly like them, they run their lives exactly like them. I think that wealthy gay white men are… not to say inspired by, but almost that effect of colonization, where if you colonize a certain people, they will start taking the same roles as you. That’s all you know. Because except for the generations under me now, all of us were raised by straight men and women, and lived in a very straight Victorian society. These gay men have now created that for themselves. It’s literally a parallel society.
Rumpus: So gay men who identify as more masculine are, sort of—
Barnes: They are your Don Drapers, basically… The idea of oppression was happening within the gay community long before they became a mainstream, but it’s more public now, it’s more present now, they live in a global society. They are power males. They have their gay wives, and the gay wives are just like the straight wives.
Rumpus: So do you feel like your performances are subversive in a sense that they are challenging the gay community to accept men who exist in this gray area of gender?
Barnes: Completely. To be considered sexually present in the gay community, you must attach yourself to one of the categories of porn that are out there. Why? Because we are a group of people connected by sex, at the end of the day. We are trained sexually to respond to each other and to communicate to each other through gay media. What I do, and the one reason why, is that I did not feel sexually accepted, and so I use burlesque to force these men to sexually accept a feminine gay man. Unless you are a white twink and like 18 to 23, you are really not accepted—you need to start picking a side. You need to know if you are going to be a bear, you are going to be a muscle boy, you are going to be circuit guy, you going to be a leather daddy. It’s really interesting to watch. I’ve seen many of them of the last five years pick a side.
What I do is, I remind them that this still exists. Every performance is about being beautiful and being soft. Being a black man, and being soft as a black man, which is never the image you see—that shocks people. It’s very important to me to do that. Then I add layers of masculine power, and that kind of thing.
Rumpus: You feel like you didn’t fit in any of these predetermine categories.
Barnes: No, I really didn’t. When you are in a world of people who communicate sexually, and you can’t—that sucks. That’s hard.
Rumpus: Burlesque really has this reputation of being a culture where a lot of different body types are accepted. Does boylesque aspire to create a dialogue about body politics in the gay community?
Barnes: Yeah. I think so, definitely. I don’t think all burlesque performers are trying to do that, but there is a majority of them doing that. I know the ones who are not your standard like gay image kind of guys, like the big ones, paunchy ones, all those other kind of guys. They are definitely doing that, and they are doing it well. Because, when you watch them perform, you do feel the sexual attraction for them.
Rumpus: So I would love to switch gears quickly here, and ask about your personal life in terms of your experience coming out and finding your identity. Are you comfortable talking about that?
Barnes: Yeah, because my story is really funny. It’s the fact that I have no coming out story. I was born super gay. I could not hide. If you did not know, you were deaf, dumb, and blind. I actually have not said to anyone, “I’m gay,” because that would be like me saying, “I’m black.” It also wasn’t a self-discovery for me; boys made sense from day one.
Rumpus: What is it like to experiment with gender? I’m also interested to hear whether it’s something that you feel like—if it’s fluid.
Barnes: Yeah! It can switch from day to day. It can be like every now and then, I want to dress like Anna Karenina, so I have a lot of crinolines. And I have those days when it’s like, I want to be more sporty, and maybe kind of masculine, but more like a chick wearing masculine clothes, so I would do that. I will think like 80s androgyny, like Armani for masculinity. There are many silhouettes out there that I can utilize, which is the great thing. I know fashion like an encyclopedia, because I know how to manipulate what I wear. Every statement is a very bold statement. And it’s fine when people mistake me for a woman—more when I’m wearing men’s clothes than when I’m wearing women’s clothes, actually.
I think it’s about comfort, too. Also, for me, it’s about living a certain kind of existence of fantasy. Fantasy, like the ideas people think are just ideas—I can just bring them into my life and make them a reality.
With clothes and gender, it’s very important that my message gets across, which means that I am not going to wear the sluttiest girl’s clothes, because usually, that’s what we see. When I go to the extreme, I’m going to give you the highest form of femininity that you can possibly think of. Like queens and princesses. I’m always inspired by Marie Antoinette and all the old guard of New York high society—Daisy Fellowes, all those bitches. I can’t be in a position of threat either, or position of risk. I can have my clothes threaten other’s people’s existence. I can’t have my clothes put me at risk of people being threatening toward me.
Rumpus: Has that ever happened to you?
Barnes: Every now and then… Nowadays it’s just people—those kind of people—just start laughing. I say “those kind of people” because I’m just like, “you are the very few of society that just don’t get it.” Which is the funny thing. At this point in my life, I can say, “no one else is laughing—you are the only one.”
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Photographs © Kate Warren.
