Self-Isolation with Club Quarantine: Dancing with Drag Queens, Party Chickens, and Charli XCX

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Yes, that is the chicken that Paris Hilton dressed up in an outfit on The Simple Life.

Within the cold, corporate realm of Zoom video conferencing lies the hottest club the Internet has ever seen. Hundreds of tiny screens give you a glimpse into the quarantined lives of partiers the world over - somewhere a baddie is voguing in their neon thong and matching angel wing harness, while a drag queen performs a song from her bathtub. Someone else checks their phone... Now suddenly a farmer is holding up a chicken, reminiscent of the one that Paris Hilton once dressed up on The Simple Life. Like ChatRoulette, the screen changes again and we see a shirtless hottie cooking spaghetti and hitting a bong. 

Page after page of video screens showcase people twerking, pole-dancing, making out, and sliding around in a kiddie pool in their living room. Others are just vibing on the couch, with a glass of wine and a virtual background of their choice. Then there’s the infamous chat - blowing up with saucy flirtation, track ID requests, “afterparty” and exclusive “club bathroom” invitations, and endless love and support for everyone online. It’s the epicentre of queer nightlife in this precarious time. 

Welcome to Club Quarantine, the virtual gay club we never knew we needed. We had the chance to catch up with Club Q founders on what it’s like maintaining one of the hottest queer Internet dance parties every night of the quarantine.

Before every DJ (and everyone else, too, honestly) was doing an Instagram live stream from their livingroom, four Toronto-based artists and friends, Ceréna, Casey MQ, Brad Allen, and Mingus New, were video-chatting on the first day of quarantine and debating the serious implications that social distancing would have on the artist community. They would no longer have a space to perform, an audience, or a source of income, for that matter. However, it didn’t take long before a few friends hanging out online became a nightly congregation of hundreds of people from all over the world, featuring iconic live drag performances, celebrity DJs, and heaps quarantined cuties shaking their booties.  

Now, every night at 21:00, the Club Q page drops a Zoom meeting code and password to join the party - and until midnight, you are no longer dancing alone in your bedroom. You’ve got a reason to dress up, run into some friends, and casually flirt with strangers. No guestlist, no cover, and no need to leave the house. It’s an important space for queer people to find friends and comfort in this surreal time. Not only is it incredibly convenient, Club Q has revolutionized nightlife accessibility - people whose disabilities normally prevented them from going out can now take part from the safety of their homes.

The Club Quarantine hosts have a big job. If you’re wondering whether the hosts ever get tired, organizers Ceréna and Brad Allen have assured us that yes, they’re exhausted. Every night, they have to book new lineups with a minimum of three artists, maintain a safe and open space for all attendees, and deal with any technical difficulties that may occur. They spend their days scouting Instagram for LGBTQI+ artists who could stream live performances from their homes, and behind all the virtual backgrounds, they’re constantly moderating the chat to shut down bots and trolls who “come out to play.”

In fact, cybersecurity has become a major concern on the Zoom platform, which has faced objection from governments in the wake of security loopholes allowing hackers to spy on meetings and access files. How can you ensure having a safe space in a virtual world? The majority of Club Q participants are marginalized people who are at a high risk. Organizers are well aware of the risks involved with using this platform, and have implemented chat monitors to maintain some level of control. Meanwhile, they are also keeping participants informed of the “dark underbelly of the internet that we may not be aware of, but have to deal with.” 

Nightly performances have featured Charli XCX, Tinashe, and Pabllo Vittar alongside lesser-known artists - everyone gets the same level of enthusiasm, and everyone gets paid. Party hosts are prioritizing the showcasing of local talent, giving budding artists essential monetary support, and in some cases, the opportunity of a lifetime. RedBull Canada made a donation back when Club Q had a mere 1000 followers on Insta (they now have over 41k), and the organizers have set up a PayPal account where you can tip performers and help keep the party going. Speaking of which, when asked about the future of Club Quarantine, Ceréna and Allen are determined to keep going, “It’s like learning how to run a large organization.” Thanks to huge levels of community support, the operation can continue to run smoothly.

In the midst of this crisis, the queers have reclaimed the Internet to keep an isolated community alive. Support Club Quarantine by donating here.

Be sure to catch our previous Also Cool guest, Frankie Teardrop’s set live on Club Quarantine TONIGHT, raising funds with LIP for Hot Crip. See you on the virtual dancefloor!  

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“Drifting on a Dark and Empty Sea of Nothing”: Death, Depression, and Pup’s Morbid Stuff

If a musician can get to their third album, it will be their best. The first album is the beginning, everything leading up in the artist’s mind until they express it. The second album is a disappointment in comparison: a failed promise of potential, unused or unsure. But failure is unavoidable if you want to get anywhere worth going. If a band can push through the discomfort of the sophomore slump, they will get somewhere creatively they were previously unable to reach: London Calling by The Clash, Let It Be by The Replacements, Dookie by Green Day, Dig Me Out by Sleater-Kinney, The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance, 24 Hour Revenge Therapy by Jawbreaker, Third by Big Star, Double Nickels on the Dime by The Minutemen. Birth, death, rebirth. Genius.

Morbid Stuff is the third album by Toronto pop-punk band PUP, an acronym short for “Pathetic Use of Potential.” I heard it for the first time when my soon-to-be ex-partner played it over the speakers in our basement apartment in Kingston, Ontario, shortly after it was released in April 2019. It was good, I thought, but not great, or particularly meaningful to me. PUP always felt like a band I should like, but didn’t. It’s not because I don’t love pop-punk - I have a Green Day tattoo, and a pretty deep-cut one at that. Something about the way PUP sounded just didn’t resonate. They reminded me of a Canadian Blink-182 for millennial bros: a little too overproduced, a little too clever. I thought their album covers and merchandise were gauche and garish. Definitely not for me, a punk snob proudly perched on her high horse. 

My partner and I broke up two months later, on the first day of July. It was a difficult but necessary split. I moved back in with my mom, in Ottawa, Ontario. A friend I’d fallen out of touch with invited me to see PUP play at Bluesfest a few days later. I said yes, just grateful for the invitation. 

Walking into the festival, I saw hordes of teenagers moshing in a field to the band screaming and shredding, still full daylight outside. “This is a weird way to see PUP, but whatever,” lead singer Stefan Babcock said. Something began to click in my brain about the band. I danced to the music, too-quiet on the festival speakers, sang what lyrics I knew, and felt part of me returning to myself. 

I listened to the album almost every day after that; its jangly riffs opposed with lyrics describing a terrible, all-encompassing malaise. It was comforting to hear, right after I woke up in the shower, or in the middle of the day walking around the suburbs, or late at night on the bus ride home. I texted lyrics from it to friends at random, as a way of keeping in touch. The album gave me something to hold onto while I was “drifting on a dark and empty sea of nothing,” as the song “Kids” goes, grieving what I lost, unsure of where I was going next. 

Unfortunately, Morbid Stuff only became more pertinent to me in September, when my step-father passed away after living with Alzhiemer’s for the last five years of his life. I felt like I had already grieved him so much: when he was diagnosed, when he became unable to carry on a conversation, when he had to move out of our family home and into a long-term care facility. My family agreed that it was for the best, that he passed when he did, before things got even worse, but that didn’t make it any easier. Grief is not a linear process, and neither is healing.

I have long sought out music and movies and writing that are “sad,” “uncomfortable,” or “a bummer.” It’s the main way I have coped with living with anxiety and depression for the majority of my life. It’s the reason I love The Mountain Goats, Fleabag, Chris Gethard, The Bell Jar, BoJack Horseman, the movies of Ingmar Bergman, Normal People by Sally Rooney, the entire genre of emo music and now PUP; a band that makes music about the harsh realities of choosing to be alive in a world that often feels like a nightmare. 

Alienation, frustration and loneliness are central themes of PUP’s body of work, as they are for the majority of their pop-punk predecessors. But this loss, anger and fear is expressed most strongly on Morbid Stuff. “See You At Your Funeral” makes me think about how badly it hurts when something is over, even though you know it’s for the best. “Kids” makes me think about how depression, often characterized as feeling “blue,” is more akin to nothingness. “Bare Hands” makes me think about how good it can feel to let someone manipulate you, even when you know they shouldn’t. “City” makes me think about how sometimes you choose to live somewhere you hate because the person you love is there. And “Full-Blown Meltdown,” with its full-blown metal breakdown consumed by a Satan-summoning power riff, makes me want to punch something really hard, in a good way. 

My favourite song on the album changes depending on the mood I am in and the weather outside. Right now, it’s “Closure,” a song firmly in the middle of the record. “Closure” is a song about looking for something that doesn’t fully exist, but that one can search for and find in fragments. What do you do when someone or something you love isn’t around anymore? More than anything, grief feels like disbelief, aimlessness, a forced re-routing. And if that’s what grief is, then closure is the off-brand Band-Aid that refuses to stick to your skin, making the pain worse in its irony. As Babcock sings, “I’m looking for something to keep this scab from coming off.” 

It’s easy to try and keep the scab in place with things that feel good on a superficial level; it’s much harder to find something that will actually make the Band-Aid stick. You do not get better through consuming art about mood disorders alone. When I saw PUP for the second time this year in October, I was comforted by the fact that the day before I had gone to therapy, for the first time in years. The day after, I finally asked my doctor about trying antidepressants. Therapy has been amazing for me; antidepressants were a total bust. But I am trying things that have worked for other people. I have shed the idea that I am above known solutions. I no longer think that I must fix myself by myself. 

In interviews, PUP have made it clear that by writing about mental illness, they are not seeking to fetishize it. The lyrics of “Full-Blown Meltdown” deal with this in particular. “Self-destruction is alluring,” Babcock sings, a sentiment that had me hook, line and sinker as a sad teenager. These days, however, I am more interested in self-preservation and sincerity. As alluring as destruction and nihilism are, they not only hurt you, but everyone around you. Artists are still sold the myth that the only way to make great art is through suffering, a pain that is the key to their genius that must be maximized and exploited. It is a foundational myth of art, and rock music in particular. It is a lie that needs to be unmasked immediately. In the words of music writer and poet Hanif Abdurraquib, “No one is making their best work when they want to die.” 

If a musician can get to their third album, it will be their best. Or will it? Third albums are both preceded and followed by a body of work. The best album doesn’t have to be the third; it can come at any point in a career. The most important thing, for artists and non-artists alike, is simple: keep going. Joni Mitchell’s Blue is a fourth album. Elliott Smith’s Figure 8 is a fifth album. Prince’s Purple Rain is a sixth album. Guided By Voices’ Bee Thousand is a seventh album. Bruce Springsteen’s Tunnel of Love is an eighth album, and it is my favourite, even if it is no one else’s. ABBA Gold is a GREATEST HITS album and yet, it is the best one. 

You can do good no matter where you are.

Alanna Why is a writer, musician and avid library-patron based in Ottawa. You can follow her on Instagram and Twitter @alanna_why.

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Vice Versa's Queerantine: "Magic does happen on the gay internet"

Photo provided by Vice Versa Productions, by Bouchra

You may know Vice Versa Productions from their iconic lesbian* event series BLUSH, or maybe you saw us on the dance floor during our collaborative event back in January. Either way, they’re hosting another queer dance party with LSD Night called Queerantine this week. But this time, it’s on the Internet.

Avery, Vice Versa Productions’ co-founder talks about Queerantine, how you can support their community & the magic of the gay internet.

Buy tickets here, check out the Facebook event here.

Photo provided by Vice Versa Productions, by Bouchra

Malaika Astorga for Also Cool: Tell us a bit about how Vice Versa Productions got started, and why you're hosting Queerantine.

Avery for Vice Versa Productions: Hi! Thanks for having me. I'm Avery, one of the co-founders of Vice Versa Productions, along with my beautiful co-producer, Élyanne. About a year ago, Élyanne sent me a Facebook message asking if I wanted to collaborate on a burlesque show with an entirely queer cast. I replied, "I've already booked NDQ for this exact concept and was about to ask if you wanted to help me host." From there, a synergistic magical queer baby was born. We run two bi-monthly events, Queerlesque Night, (the aforementioned queer burlesque show), and BLUSH, (a lesbian* dance party), and have tons more ventures planned. Queerantine is our effort to bring the queer community together during this crazy time and raise money for our most vulnerable. The Vice Versa mission is to build connections throughout the queer community, and this event is our way of doing that when people really need it the most.

Also Cool: You're known for your iconic BLUSH dance parties. How would you describe your parties and performances to someone who really wants to come, but is too shy/hesitant to dive into the world of queer nightlife? 

Avery: I always get the same comment from people after a BLUSH: "That was so cute!" If I had to describe it succinctly, the vibe we're trying to create is a supportive, safe space where artists can experiment, and queers can dance and mingle, and no one feels judged. I wanted to make a high concept dance party with more than just a DJ, but that feels welcoming to, say, a "baby gay" who wants to kiss her first girl on the dancefloor under soft pink lights. 

The focus is really on getting people to dance, that's why we have gogo dancers and bring a wide variety of queer DJs. BLUSH started out as a disco party, but now the only rules are no techno and no top 40. When I created BLUSH, I was coming from the queer party scene. In Montreal, it often ends up being very alternative, borrowing from the 90s club kid and Berlin fetish scene aesthetics, meaning it's a very "see and be seen" atmosphere. I love dressing up to the nines when I go out, but I think that vibe can be really alienating for people, especially younger people and people who are new to going out.

Photo provided by Vice Versa Productions, by Bouchra

AC: How do you choose your performers and keep the party safe(r) for party-goers? 

Avery: We run half on an open call-out, and half on a "I've been listening to this person's SoundCloud for seven days we must book them," basis. Open call-outs allow us to discover new artists and to uphold our mission of fostering new queer creatives. Queerantine was booked entirely through an open call. It's so exciting because DJ Trinidaddy, who I've been trying to get the funds to bring from Ottawa forever, reached out through the call out, so I'm finally getting the chance to work with him. Magic does happen on the gay internet. We strongly encourage any queer artists, especially QTBIPOC, who wanna dance or DJ for us to reach out and introduce themselves because we're always looking for new talent. 

To make the space safer and more inclusive, we make sure to focus on booking QTBIPOC and offering free entrance to indigenous folks and reduced rates to folks of colour. I personally feel alienated when I attend a lesbian party, and a (cis-presenting) man is DJing. I can only imagine the alienation felt by QTBIPOC when the entire line up at party is white. You can't expect marginalized people to feel welcome in a space if you're not supporting marginalized artists. We're putting our money where our mouth is, so to speak. On a more surface-level version of safety, I've always got my Naloxone on me. The entire team has taken PLURI workshops, which is an organization that promotes consent in parties and cruising spaces. Check them out if you're interested in learning more about safer partying tactics!

Photo provided by Vice Versa Productions, by Bouchra

AC: How are you integrating these values and priorities into Queerantine?

Avery: Hosting a party online is a huge learning curve. How do you moderate creeps without policing? How do you support sex-positivity and individuality without exposing people to things they don't want to see onscreen? It's a real balancing act. So as far as my PLURI training goes? We'll see… 

As far as making the space inclusive, we have a $5 suggested donation to QTBIPOC, who are disproportionately affected by the COVID-19 as opposed to the suggested $10 for white people. All of the money raised after paying the artists in our lineup is going to Taking What We Need (an organization that helps low-income trans women) and to queer artists and sex workers on a $100 per person, no-questions-asked basis. For more information on how we're distributing funds, check out our GoFundMe or reach out to us on Facebook!

AC: What kind of community have you found through these parties, and how have they changed your lives for the better?

Avery: I think parties are a crucial part of building queer community. The lack of a specific lesbian* bar in the city leaves a gap to be bridged in the lesbian* community, which is even more prevalent now that we're confined at home.

BLUSH has helped me build the kind of space that I have always searched for in Montreal, and we're always getting feedback from people who feel the same. We're trying to build bridges between the lesbian* community and the queer community, the Franco community and the Anglo community, and that's not always easy, but it's definitely super rewarding. Our company exists at the intersection of these things that often present a lot of friction to each other, so making that space is a huge personal win. It's hard to meet other queer people, especially other lesbians* because the tropes about them staying home are tbh. Plus, not everyone feels like they can have an authentic connection from dating apps, so we're trying to make something that will inspire people to get out and build community. It's funny to say that now since we're hosting a party online. However, I think there's still the possibility for a meetup in the world of Zoom, or at least to feel close to the friends you're isolated from.

Photo provided by Vice Versa Productions, by Bouchra

AC: Time to address the elephant in the room, how has COVID-19 affected your personal lives, and your event organization? What are the positives that you hope will emerge from this situation?

Avery: Oof, this is a big question. The crisis has really pushed us to reevaluate our goals and work on building a more solid foundation for our company. We had a lot of exciting plans lined up before COVID-19 that we have to put on hold. Still, we're using the time to work on building our social media and fostering relationships with artists. It's a time to slow down and reframe and focus on our company's main goal: building community.

AC: How have you been finding community and comfort lately? On the Internet and IRL.

Avery: I'm a huge extrovert and require human connection to keep my energy up, so it's been hard to stay motivated during all this. I've been having lots of video calls with my dear friends and dove into the queer rave paradise that is Club Quarantine (editor’s note: stay tuned for an upcoming feature) last weekend. It's exciting to see queers take the forefront in community building during crises. Shout out to my beautiful, patient girlfriend who puts up with my bullshit in our 3 ½ every day, and for not judging me when I put on the same playlist for the 4th time in a row. (I'm just really feeling it right now, okay!?)

Photo provided by Vice Versa Productions, by Bouchra

AC: Okay, back to the fun stuff. Tell us a bit about the performers who are a part of Queerantine. 

Avery: I'm actually screaming this lineup is SUCH a dream! To me, this lineup exemplifies what I love about Vice Versa parties. It features three DJs who I've been absolutely dying to work with, and two DJs that I got to discover through putting this event together, as well as a sexy mix of veteran and virgin gogos. 

Starting the night off, we have DJ Sac Banane, who mixes local underground artists and queer artists from across the globe, and who might change my mind about techno. Am I ready!? Next, we have DJ HeidyP, coming all the way from Portugal, which is absolutely insane! Heidy and I have been in contact trying to line up a BLUSH during one of her returns to Montreal, so I'm so happy it's finally working out. Then we have DJ LYKX who is going to bring all the reggaeton and dancehall my (and your!!) heart desires. We also have DJ Trinidaddy, who I was gushing about before, one of my absolute DJ coupe-de-coeurs. Finishing off the night, we have Montreal-based powerhouse and multi-talented icon, Janette King, doing a DJ set. Our gogos come from a wide variety of backgrounds, burlesque dancers, strippers, drag artists, musicians, and general hot people, you can check them out on our insta and give them some love.

Photo provided by Vice Versa Productions, by Bouchra

AC: How are you supporting/paying your performers for this event? How do you suggest others support event coordinators, performers and creatives during this time?

Avery: We have a GoFundMe where people can donate to receive the Zoom link. It's pretty similar to a normal party with payment, but usually the money we make goes back into the company to pay future artists or towards venue rental. What's different about this one is that we'll be donating the excess to other queer artists and SWs who have lost their principal incomes as a result of COVID-19.

As far as supporting artists, absolutely donate, there are lots of options, including Queerantine, the Also Cool artist fund, Taking What We Need, and many more. Creatives don't choose these careers because we plan to get rich, we do it out of love. So, come out to the online events, watch people's live streams, commission people, buy art from people's Patreons, their Bandcamp, their Etsy, their merch websites, if you have the means. Now is the time to show the creative people in your life that you support them.

AC: Lastly, if you were to describe Queerantine's party vibe as a party-goer, what would they look like?

Avery: You know how we all found out we were queer because of Tumblr (or MySpace if you a freak)? It's kind of like that, but with better fashion and way better music taste.

Photos by Bouchra, provided by Vice Versa Productions

Queerantine

Facebook Event I GoFundMe/Tickets

BLUSH Instagram I Vice Versa Productions

Malaika Astorga is a Mexican-Canadian visual artist, writer, editor, & event coordinator. She is one of the co-founders of Also Cool, and wants to go to as many online dance parties as possible.

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So, I'm an Adult Now? Exploring Identity with Modesty Sanchez

Visual by Malaika Astorga

At 20 years old, I’m considered by most to be an adult. I try my best to be one: I go to college; I have a part-time job; I have an internship; I have some idea of what I want to do (even if I have no idea on how to achieve it). Yet, I still feel as if I’m simply “playing” at adulthood. Like, at any minute, someone will just start laughing at me. When I come home to visit family, my childhood bedroom feels the same as I’d left it, and looking at my childhood mementos sends a sliver of nostalgia down my back. Recalling these childhood memories makes me feel like I haven’t matured past my youthful antics and emotions. At the same time, clutching these feelings also seems so frivolous and pointless in light of the more pressing “adult” problems I’m facing now. This contradiction convinces me that I’m not ready to tackle adulthood. 

This past decade has seen me through elementary school, middle school, high school, and the first half of college. With so much growing up in such a short span of time, I never truly processed my exodus from childhood into young adulthood. I now find myself feeling a subtle, yet omnipresent, attachment to my childhood self. This attachment flares up when I discuss politics or other seemingly adult topics, or when I go to job or internship interviews. The child, still very much inside of me, says that I don’t have the right to have an opinion about these things, or that I am never qualified enough. I can’t shake that I might be seen for what I believe I am: a child with undeserved responsibility. 

To make matters worse, I actually want to return to my infantile happy-go-lucky days. Growing up and maturing has, of course, involved becoming more cognizant of our present circumstances – political, personal, environmental, etc. While it’s great to be more knowledgeable of my surroundings, I find myself craving the years when I wasn't expected to be aware of life’s tribulations, of society’s injustices, and of familial hardships. This yearning for the care-free spirit of childhood also contributes to my personal sense of under qualification for adulthood. It’s hard to prepare for the future, for a career, when I’m still being weighed down by the desire to have my responsibility-free self again. It leads to the belittling and questioning of my abilities because I still can’t help but perceive myself as a 10-year-old kid who isn’t expected to have a care in the world. 

Of course, this kind of imposter syndrome varies from person to person. One friend of mine revealed she doesn’t feel burdened by feelings of inadequacy because, being the youngest of three, she tried her best to match up with her older brothers by being independent. As a child, she was always cleaning, doing laundry and so on, without being asked. As a result, she felt prepared to leave her small town to go to college in a big city. What were once arbitrary chores seamlessly translated into incumbent responsibilities in her young adulthood. On the other hand, another friend feels that her sense of under qualification stems from the societal expectation that young adults should have everything figured out once they’ve reached a certain age; almost as if childhood was the training manual on how to lead a flawlessly functional adult life. She added that this expectation has left her confused and lost because she always thought that adults had everything figured out growing up. But now she’s here, unsure of where to even start, and wrongfully afraid to ask for help because of how she’s constructed the idea of adulthood in her head. Like many of us, she feels as if she’s the only one who is unprepared for the reality of being an adult. A third friend has a different stance on her own imposter syndrome. She consistently undercuts her own achievements by falsely claiming she was undeserving of her success: either it was up to someone else; she had extrinsic motivations to accomplish it, or; it wasn’t her true desire to do it, regardless of any pride or gratification may stem from her accomplishing it. 

The phenomenon of imposter syndrome is not unique to me personally, but it’s reasons for existing so strongly within me seem to be. Whatever the reason for my present sense of inadequacy –from not enough responsibility, from being too aware of my present circumstances (both personal and societal), from simply not being properly confident in my own abilities and credentials, or a combination of all three– I know that it has resulted in a ubiquitous, underlying yearning for my childhood when not much was expected of me. When I go into work, or when I interact with professionals, I can’t help but hear my 10-year-old self in the back of my head questioning: “Why am I doing this?” “What gives me the right?” and “Who said I had the credentials for this?” Maybe she’ll never go away… Maybe I’ll never be able to fondly look back on my childhood without this sense of nostalgia overpowering my ambition for the future. Regardless, time doesn’t care, and will not wait for my childhood and adulthood to reconcile. I’m going to have to accomplish what I can, and learn to accept that the past will never again be my present circumstances. 

Modesty Sanchez is a writer and editor based in Boston, but is originally from Long Beach, California. She is Lithium’s Sex & Love Editor, the literary editor of The Haloscope Review, and a contributing writer to a myriad of online magazines. When she’s not doing any of these things, she can be found reading, traveling, going to concerts, or watching anything by Pheobe Waller-Bridge. You can see more of her work here: modestysanchez.com

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Introducing Nailed by Bonnebez

Photo by Malaika Astorga, Nails by Nailed by Bonnebez, Modelled by Gab Bois

Francis Hétu is the artist behind Nailed By Bonnebez, a custom nail business operating on Instagram since late September. We commissioned a pair of Also Cool nails from him for this article, and he created the pastel-rainbow-Sagittarius of our dreams. Check out the nails modelled by Gabbois, and photographed by Malaika Astorga.

Green nails for Gina Gates by Nailed by BonneBez

Another one of Francis Hétu’s standout creations—a pair of green stiletto nails glazed in cat-eye polish, adorned with gemstones—is fit for a glamorous Wicked Witch of the West. The green set was intended for the hands of drag queen Gina Gates. The nails are rich in colour, almost aquatic. With one look at these nails, you feel like you’re swimming in a pool of glitter. Crafting this kind of fingertip magic is a regular task for Hétu. 

While he creates nails for drag performers, he is an artist in his own right. “He’s always been meticulous about his looks and his makeup,” said drag queen Taylor De Vil. “You get the same thing with his nails.” De Vil owns a few pairs already. She said that Hétu always makes sure she likes what he is creating for her: “It’s a collaboration between two creative minds.”  

Hétu listens to the needs of his clients, and when they land on a concept after exchanging ideas, he gets to work on virgin nails—a blank canvas for his art. “I rarely, rarely do simple designs, because it bores me,” he said.

After making a prototype for himself, Hétu made his first pair of nails for his friend and drag queen, Ben Addiction. Addiction said that Hétu truly listens to the needs of his clients, and qualified his nails as demonstrating amazing craftsmanship. “He’s an amazing artist and a really sweet guy to work with.”

Addiction added that custom nails are the final touch to any look. “If you’re going to have a custom pair of nails on your hands, I want my customers to say ‘oh my God, these are unique,’” said Hétu. 

Photo by Malaika Astorga, Nails by Nailed by Bonnebez, Modelled by Gab Bois

In 2018, fueled by a strong desire to try drag, and a if-not-now-when? attitude, Hétu entered the Sherby Drag Race at the (now-closed) bar Les Grands-Ducs de Wellington in Sherbrooke. “I said to myself that another opportunity might not come up and who knows what tomorrow will bring?” reminisced Hétu. “You can’t push back on what you dream about, and if you don’t seize it, you might just lose it forever,” he added. 

While Hétu doesn’t perform anymore, in starting Nailed by Bonnebez, his main goal was keeping in contact with the drag community, and to give back. On making his his first pair of nails, he said he “was just so giddy to see so many stones and crystals shining in [his] face.”

Hétu is a self-taught nail artist, but has been watching the Ontarian YouTuber Simply Nailogical for a few years. “One thing led to another and I delved deeper into nail art tutorials,” he said. “I keep my natural nails too short to sport nice nails, so I started off with practicing on clear press-on nails.”

“When I wear nails, it just clicks,” said Hétu. “You move your hands differently, you look in the mirror differently. I would [find myself] pointing a lot.” Hétu said the nails are a form of expression within themselves; no different from your hairstyle or clothing. They are a statement. “You are loud as fuck,” he said. “I’m gonna wear them and represent me.”

It’s important for him that his nails be reusable in this time of climate crisis. You simply have to dip your hands in warm water and remove them carefully. This kind of outlook has made him stand out in the community. “I think it’s really important to encourage small businesses,” said De Vil, “especially when they’re LGBTQ+ friendly, but even more importantly when it’s your friends’.”

Hétu hopes that someday, he’ll happen to be at a drag show and see his nails on a performer: “That would be a dream.”

To order your own custom pair of nails, send Hétu a DM on Instagram and detail the idea you have in mind. Hétu will reach back with design ideas and pricing. Check out the “Measuring” highlight on his page for instructions on how to measure your nails. 

Victoria Lamas is a Montreal arts journalist. She is the former copy editor and current arts online editor at The Link. She writes about the queer art scene, emergent visual artists, and hip hop.

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Letter from the Editors January 2020

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Illustration by Malaika Astorga

Well, it’s 2020. It’s kind of weird to think that a whole decade went by, but it happened!

Over the past ten years, we’ve seen the rise and fall of indie zines, online blogs and well-intentioned internet cliques. Also Cool came from the frustration of scrolling endlessly searching online for something with substance. After ignoring article after clickbait article, we knew that we needed to do better. We craved genuine, thoroughly developed content that actually resonated with our identities, values, and those of the people around us. We are an all-femme, racially diverse team, and we are over with having our identities used as buzzwords for clickbait article titles. We want to write from our personal experiences because they are important; not because they’re trendy. Our work is important because we put the time, effort, research and creativity into it; not because we happen to fit someone’s social justice narrative. We’re committed to amplifying marginalized voices through fostering a music and arts platform that emphasizes collaboration and community, instead of competitiveness.

Our team comes from backgrounds of expertise in grassroots community organization, independent journalism, show promotion, social media content curation and media production. Our team is currently made up of Zoë Argiropulos-Hunter, Malaika Astorga and Maya Hassa.

Zoë is a music promoter, radio DJ and musician, who strives to facilitate a platform for marginalized artists through safe-space and community-centred advocacy. Malaika is a Mexican-Canadian visual artist, writer and queer-femme. Her work prioritizes creating and promoting Mexican representation in Canadian media, after growing up with virtually none. Maya is a music journalist from Chicago who fell head-over-heels in love with Montreal’s unique DIY culture. She works to promote underrepresented and underground artists through her writing.

Also, hey, we’re the ones writing this first letter from the editors! We’re still growing our team, and welcome applications of all kinds to get involved.

Also Cool is originally the brain-child of pals Zoë and Malaika. We’ve been best friends since we met at a hardcore show in 2015. Malaika designed a poster for Zoë’s high school band, and the rest is history. Growing up together in our hometown’s music scene, we’ve always had our hearts set on giving back to communities and circles that have given us a space to be ourselves. More importantly, we wanted to inspire change so that others could have that same feeling of belonging within industries that are notorious for gatekeeping. And so, Also Cool is here for anything that is, you know, also cool! No matter where you’re at in your creative career, we want to work with you. We believe in fostering long-term relationships, and in providing resources that aren’t always readily available (like writing an email pitch to a magazine, for example 👀 ) It’s scary to put yourself out there, but we’re here to help and to grow our community online and IRL.

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Illustration by Malaika Astorga

This is our first official hello to the next decade, and we’ve hit the ground running. In the coming January weeks, we’ll have our first rollout of online content. We’ve also got some majorly cool Montreal events on the rise. First, we just hosted a lesbian* dance party in collaboration with BLUSH on January 10th. If you missed it, no sweat! We’ll be co-presenting Age of Aquarius: An Aquastellar Experience with the LUX MAGNA music festival on January 24th. We’re so excited! It means the world to us that you care about the arts and music community just as much as we do. Mark your calendars!

We also want to say a massive thank you to The Diving Bell, Hot Tramp MGMT, Mata Mate, Backxwash, Schwey, Maryze, and La Fièvre for being a part of our first fundraiser in November. Thank you to everyone who came to that event, and thank you to everyone who has messaged us since to get involved with our project, or has shown support. We love you, and we are endlessly grateful for you.

You can find us on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, or via #alsocoolmag. You can also listen to what we’re loving over on our Spotify. If you’re off social media (honestly, we envy you) you can also subscribe to our monthly newsletter here to stay up to date with everything we think is Also Cool.

We can’t wait to see what 2020 has in store, and we hope that it has been kind to all of you so far! Happy New Year!

XO

Also Cool

All photography & illustrations are by Malaika Astorga.

*BLUSH is an event by and for wlw which encompasses lesbian/bisexual/queer women, trans, and non-binary people. We welcome straight allies and male-identified people, encourage them to be aware of the space they are coming into and the space of privilege that they occupy.

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