@TRANMAGAZINENYC
âTHE PARTY WE LOVE TO HATE AND HATE TO LOVEâ @PAULSDOLLS PARTY!
WRITTEN BY ROXY PIPER
Picking an outfit for Paulâs Dolls starts as soon as you wake up, even though the party doesnât really kick off until midnight. At least, your planning should start that early. You owe it to Paulâs Dolls to not show up looking busted. Thatâs part of the appeal of Paulâs Dolls. Paulâs Dolls is a fixture of late twentieth-century nightlife, so much so that Amanda LePore makes regular appearances, and arrives on time.
Donât mistake this as derogatory; the second time I went to Paulâs Dolls was because Amanda LePore was coming. I sat in the front of the bar, Paulâs Casablanca, at the curve of the bar near the door. I wasnât waiting for anything, I had brought my trade friend as backup, but it was the only seat in the bar. To my left, Amanda walked in in a stunning red outfit (I say outfit because Iâm unsure where exactly an outfit becomes jewelry), and she was pumped and cinched the way God intended. Inexplicably, in a manner befitting someone who has been stunned with an otherworldly aura in real life, I raised my hand to give an anxious wave to Amanda, who obviously did not see me in the crowd of people and did not wave back. I immediately cursed myself and my anxious wave, berating my lameness. Paulâs Dolls makes you do that sort of thing.
Spectacle is not what is on offer all the time, but it is what is intended. Itâs what is advertised. Paulâs Dolls wants you to come so you might see Amanda LePore and Vera Westwood, or one of the many decorated party photographers might take a picture of you, or the odd celebrity or fancy car. Thatâs why itâs a perfect party for trans people. Of all the minority groups one could target as valuing the attempt at spectacle, it would be trans people, trans women especially, Dolls in particular. Dolls understand and value the beauty in an attempt.
Getting to the party early causes the magic of it to fade a bit. When the entrance is empty save for the doormen, it reveals the bar to be indistinguishable between other low-light establishments one might find on the isle of Manhattan. However, as the night passes and the sun becomes inconceivable, the dolls descend.
And descend, they do. In Uber Blacks and limos, on the subway, on a bus if youâre really nasty, or on the PATH if youâre downright despicable, dolls of various race, shape, size, and gender pounce on the glamour of Paulâs Dolls with a tempered eagerness. They are always dressed immaculately, according to whatever aesthetic they subscribe to. I show up in my scrappy Brooklyn couture, jeans and a floral tanktop, and a fringe brown leather jacket, all of my items impeccably thrifted or found for under ten dollars at Primark and nominally uninteresting. The twink smoking a cigarette next to me wears Maison Margiela and Tom Ford, showing his toned and smooth midriff with nary a blemish. Somehow, impossibly, we inhabit the same space. Those wearing designer will claim it was thrifted, but this is doubtful. How often do you find Margiela in L Train Vintage?
Outside, my friend and I run into a twink named Hardy. As many of the twinks here, he is almost imperceptible in his thinness. Thinness, at this party, is next to Godliness, and everyone is trying their best to be pious. He wears a black sweater and skirt, black shoes to match. His hair is pushed back by an ornate black headband. He looks like Princess Diana, but resents the comparison. I venture to ask Hardy, after bumming him a cigarette, whether heâs been to Paulâs Dolls before. He answers immediately.
âYes, I have, unfortunately.â
We all laugh, as if there is a tacit understanding between us of the nature of this party. He muses with lackluster about the deterioration of the party as itâs grown. One notable critique was the regrettable amount of straight, cisgender people that flooded the bar. We began to break this down over our cigarette, engaging in the time honored tradition of going to the party just to complain about the party. The complaints, however, are earnest. This is a space that we valued, that we see as inclusive of our people. It is a space that has lifted many of us up. We are all in agreement that the party is fun, could be fun, but there are detractors that bring the mood down.
There are two main factors we pinpoint as responsible for the straight element, which were the popularity of the party and the influx of straight friend spillover. We couldnât do anything about the party getting more popular, understanding that popularity is important. If not to us, it was important to the ever-present and ever-stunning host Linux. Additionally, we could do nothing to stop the straight-friend spillover. What was there to do, tell the gay guys not to bring their straight girlfriends? Thatâs Forest Whittakerâs daughter over there, youâre gonnaâ tell her to leave? Hardy bids us adieu, telling us happily that he has a table inside and owes us free drinks. We try to link up with him later, but he avoids us, and we never get our free drink.
After Hardy disappears, we talk to a British girl named Teddy wearing a soft Audrey Hepburn hat and lacey two-piece nightclothes to match. The clothes look vintage, and that is confirmed when she tells us everything sheâs wearing is her motherâs. She is visiting for the first time, and has never been to Paulâs Dolls. Between her swaying, slurred speech, she assures us sheâs having a fantastic time. When I ask her what her profession is, what she does for work, she responds simply that she doesnât work.
âIâm a professional daughter,â she says plainly. My friend and I exchange a glance, a knowing laugh, and Teddy lets out a giggle. At the very least, everyone seems to be working under the rules of irony. When I ask Teddy what she does creatively, she predictably says she makes music. Itâs understandable, we could have sniffed this out ourselves. She kind-of looks like a transitioned Beatle, impossibly chic. Getting distracted by another attendee, she wanders away, and we are once again left alone.
Once we had our fair share of smoking on the patio, we head inside for a drink and a dance. The music is loud, the DJ has his shirt off and is sporting his impressive physique. Over in the corner, Amanda LePore is in an open-chested bustier and gold metallic nipple pasties, with glimmering jewels and her similarly glimmering blonde hair, taking photos with admirers. She is sitting at a table of equally impressive people, both in their aura and beauty. Gartruche is to the left of Amanda, working a Fosse-esque flapper-style dress, elbow-length fishnet gloves, and black skullcap. Their makeup is simple, a large winged eyeliner swimming in a flawless, milky base. They carry around a large black orb on a chain.
They are all talking to Dylan Mekhi, an associate designer at Helmut Lang. He is in an ankle-length trench that gradiates white, black, back to white from the top down. He is wearing a white headwrap. This corner of the room is resplendent, and teems with prestige. Itâs a palpable energy.
To my left, I spot Robyn DaBank and introduce myself. They are half naked and smiling radiantly. Itâs hard to notice anything else because they look so happy. Out of ignorance, I ask if they have been to the party before, and they politely inform me they have DJâd the party before. They said this without a hint of pretense, which instantly made me feel comfortable. I ask what their favorite memories of the party are, and like most of the people Iâve asked tonight, itâs less about the moments and more about the atmosphere. They tell me about a time the audience applauded a moment in their mix, and they tell me with such a euphoric glow itâs admirable. After speaking to so many people tonight that had an ironic love of Paulâs Dolls, here was somebody showing me the true beauty of an event like this. The people, the music, and the happiness that comes from community.
I began to reflect a bit on the past night after speaking with Robyn. Were we too harsh on Paulâs Dolls? I asked myself, is it the party or is it us? Beyond the irony, there were countless people in attendance with stories of amazing nights with their friends and stories about community. There are not many spaces for people like us, and those spaces are shrinking as Conservatism rears its ugliest head yet. We need to cling to these spaces and nurture them. People have a contrarian tendency, an instinct to dislike the popular trend, but brought down to brass tacks Paulâs Dolls is the rare space that celebrates trans people and doesnât charge a cover to do it. Not only that, but it is a space that is monitored carefully by a team of nightlife professionals that keep the space as safe as they can, an unfortunate rarity for queer nightlife.
Near the end of the night, we go outside on the patio and speak to Gartruche about the party. They are kind, warm, and glowing with dopamine. They speak with a nonchalant passion about Linux and the party she has created. They smile as they describe how Linux is a âno-holds-barred kind of party girlâ which Gartruche can relate to. I can relate as well. This comes across even more when we ask them their least favorite aspect of the party. At first they hesitate, but assert their feeling that the party has become too focused on social media, too focused on photos and interviews. Itâs a bit ironic, considering we are interviewing them.
When asked about their outfit, they shrug, âItâs just another night for me.â The weight of this response is impressively chic. They continue that they donât want to go full Club Kid, and try to stick to Linuxâs vision of Paulâs Dolls being a âhouse partyâ vibe. When asked to describe the party, they smile wide.
âItâs easy, itâs light, itâs a-clowning around town⊠itâs the best of all Goddamn New York city!â
-Roxy Piper
Instagram @scandalmouth
Check out our BEST DRESSEDâ and will see you tonight at SUSANNE BARTSCHâS âON TOPâ!