Arts & Entertainment
The skin game
Baltimore-area gay tattoo artist competes on new reality TV show

Nicky Hennerez, a gay Glen Burnie, Md., resident and tattoo artist, is on the new reality competition show ‘Best Ink.’ It debuts Tuesday night on Oxygen. (Blade photo by Michael Key)
Watch any gay porn and you know the, ahem, actors there are pretty inked up. And it’s not hard to find heavily tattooed arms on any given night at Town or the Hippo.
“I think gays like tattoos as much as the straight world,” says Nicky Hennerez. “It’s funny you mention porn because I notice the gay porn stars who have them, the tattoos are usually really bad … they have all these tribal tattoos, which don’t mean anything, and they’re usually just not well done.”
And he should know — the 29-year-old Glen Burnie, Md., resident competed last August and into early September in a California-based reality show the goal of which was to find the country’s most talented tattoo artist. “Best Ink” debuts Tuesday night at 10 on Oxygen. He’s the only gay contestant of the 10 on the show. It runs for eight consecutive weeks and, of course, Hennerez isn’t at liberty to divulge any details except to say the shoot was “just awesome.” The only downside? Being separated from his boyfriend of two years, Josh Crossney.
“They took away our phones and everything,” he says. “I was missing him so much. We only got to talk, like, a couple times and even that was monitored. That part sucked but otherwise, it was a blast.”
Hennerez had tried out for a reality show once before in New York back in 2010 but didn’t make the cut. He saw the “Best Ink” notice for participants on Craigslist and, on a whim, started the process. He’s been tattooing for about four years. He started an apprenticeship in 2006. He was in to get one himself and the shop owner was impressed with his sketchbook and said he should learn the art.
Hennerez, who’s been out since he was 16, says during the shoot he was fine with being out and nobody in the cast or crew made a big deal about it. He says during promotional efforts with the network, it’s become a bit tiresome, though.
“We’re shooting all these commercials and online clips and stuff,” he says. “They keep asking me, ‘How does it feel to be a gay tattoo artist?’ I’m thinking, ‘They’re not asking everyone else how it feels to be a straight tattoo artist.’ So I kinda had to shut it down. But it wasn’t even an issue when we were taping.”
He always wanted tattoos as a teen but his mom forbade it until he was 18. He’s glad now she was adamant about it because he says he would have regretted the tattoos he wanted at the time. But on his 18th birthday, he got his first, a skull and crossbones on his arm. It’s now hard to say how many he has now — could be anywhere from 16 to 20 depending on how you count. Some have been added to and others blend together. He has them on his arms, neck, rib cage, back, thighs, legs, one calf, fingers and part of his hands. None yet on his chest — he says that’s on his “next” list because it “looks kinda bare there.”
“When I was younger, it was totally an image thing,” he says. “I was like a little punk rocker with crazy-colored hair and this crazy image thing. Now I just find it completely therapeutic. It’s such a milestone every time you get one. You get it more for a reason and you end up having these deep conversations with the artist. The more you get them, the more you start to feel good when you get them. I find they don’t hurt now for me. I know that sounds weird, but I really like the experience.”
Crossney lets Hennerez work on him. Crossney has about 10 himself now. They met in Hennerez’s old tattoo shop in Pasadena, Md., but bonded recovering from a car accident they were in together (neither was driving) in Dec. 2009. One of Crossney’s friends ran into a parked snowplow trying to avoid a drunk driver.
Hennerez says the shop in Pasadena (the now-closed Positive Image) was somewhat homophobic and his co-workers would crack anti-gay jokes at his expense. He’s much more comfortable at his current shop, Tattooed Heart in Glen Burnie.
And though he’s nervous about how he’ll come off on the show, he says the experience brought out his competitive side.
“I’m definitely a competitive person but I don’t like to let on that I am,” he says. “I act like I don’t care even if I do, so I internalize a lot of it. But I was definitely striving to win … it was very fun overall. I loved my castmates, they were amazing and it really changed my life. It gave me so much more confidence.”
Just as humans have always had meals, queer humans, too, have enjoyed meals. Yet what is it that makes “queer food” distinct?
At the beginning of May in Montreal, the Queer Food Conference 2026 sought not to answer that question, but to further interrogate it. The conference united scholars, activists, artists, journalists, farmers, chefs, and other food industry professionals for three days of panels, workshops, discussions, and, yes, meals, in an inclusive, thoughtful, contemplative-yet-whimsical environment, taking a comprehensive view of the landscape of queer food.
The two organizers – Professor Alex Ketchum, at the Institute for Gender, Sexuality, and Feminist Studies of McGill University in Montreal, and Professor Megan Elias, Director of Food Studies & Gastronomy at Boston University – met in 2022 when Elias acted as a peer reviewer for Ketchum’s second book, “Ingredients for a Revolution,” a wide-ranging history of more than 230 feminist and lesbian-feminist restaurants, cafes, and coffeehouses from 1972 to the present in the US.
Elias, taken by the book and its exploration, invited Ketchum to speak at one of Elias’s courses, at which pastries were served and feminist bread making was baked into conversation. Elias floated the idea of co-organizing a queer food conference – and a hot 24 hours later, Ketchum said yes, with plans sketched out, from grants to topics to speakers. In parallel, the duo started to conceptualize “Queers at the Table,” a book based on their work (published last year).
The conference, the book, the research: their work is, in part, grounded in the question: What is queer food? True to queer theory, each has her own nuanced response as drivers of their research, challenging the traditional and looking beyond norms of food studies. Ketchum’s view is that it is grounded on food by and for the queer community, in specific histories, and especially in the labor behind the food. Elias posits that queer food is at the intersection of queerness and culinary studies, beyond gender norms and binaries, back to the societal basics of queer food as part of queer humans always having meals. “Queer food destabilizes assumptions about food, gender and sexuality, making space for a wider range of relationships to food,” she says.
The academics’ professed enthusiasm, however, rarely reached beyond small circles.
“I regularly attended big food studies conferences, but almost never saw presentations about gender identity beyond women’s roles,” says Elias about her prior work, and when her students would ask for additional literature about sexuality and food, results had been sparse. Ketchum echoed this gap: When she was in graduate studies, she received hesitation from leadership about her chosen field of study. By 2024, however, queer food as an area of study and practice had grown, whether in popular culture or well as in publishing, setting the stage for the first Queer Food Conference in 2024 in Boston. Their aim at that even was to launch the subfield of queer food studies into the mainstream, so that fellow academics, students, and those interested in the space could convene, “creating space for others to build,” says Ketchum. “People were enthusiastic.”
Once Ketchum and Elias published “Queers at the Table” in 2025 (notably, gay author John Birdsall also published a book examining queer identity through food last year, “What Is Queer Food?”), they laid the foundation for the 2026 conference in Montreal. This edition was an “embodied” conference, inclusive of various ontologies in queer food studies: theory, labor, art, taste, an interdisciplinary, expansive grounding.
Topics ranged from cookbooks and influencers to farming and land movements, bars and cafes, brewing and baking, history and sociology, writing and printmaking, healthcare and community, and centering marginalized – especially trans – voices.
Naturally, food was centered. The conference’s keynotes were not academics, but the chefs themselves who created the food with their own hands that attendees ate over the three days. “Not to disregard a pure academic space,” says Ketchum, “but to not have food in a room when we talk about food would be wild.”
Jackson Tucker, a Distinguished Graduate Fellow at the University of Delaware, said that “What I found [at the conference] was a genuinely diverse gathering: scholars who did grounded social research but also practitioners, organizers, and people who had never thought about an academic conference in their lives and didn’t need to. That mix is the soul of this whole project for me. Without the people who are out in the world doing queer food, the conference wouldn’t exist.”
Ketchum – her home being Montreal – also worked to fold in community-driven events so that attendees could get a taste of queer food in the city outside of classroom walls; for example, attendees participated in a collaborative evening pizza-making class at a queer-owned pizzeria.
The interdisciplinary nature of the conference led to sharing of research, thoughts, activities, and planning. There was a “value of bringing people together of different backgrounds, which leads to richer discussion,” she says.
Elias picked up on this theme: “I saw people bonding and connecting and believing in Queer Food Studies,” – one of the central goals that Ketchum noted, further legitimizing a nascent field. As both professors continue their research and leadership, they envision a continued layering of centering the queer experience and community through the shared value and study of food.
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Gay Men’s Chorus celebrates 45 years at annual gala
‘Sapphire & Sparkle’ Spring Affair held at the Ritz Carlton
The Gay Men’s Chorus of Washington held the annual Spring Affair gala at the Ritz Carlton Washington, D.C. on Saturday. The theme for this year’s fete was “Sapphire & Sparkle.” The chorus celebrated 45 years in D.C. with musical performances, food, entertainment, and an awards ceremony.
Gay Men’s Chorus of Washington Executive Director Justin Fyala and Artistic Director Thea Kano gave welcoming speeches. Opening remarks were delivered by Spring Affair co-chairs Tracy Barlow and Tomeika Bowden. Uproariously funny comedian Murray Hill performed a stand-up set and served as the emcee.
There were performances by Gay Men’s Chorus of Washington groups Potomac Fever, 17th Street Dance, the Rock Creek Singers, Seasons of Love, and the GenOUT Youth Chorus.

Anjali Murthy, a member of the chorus and a graduate of the GenOUT Youth Chorus, addressed the attendees of the gala.
“The LGBTQ+ community isn’t bound by blood ties: we are brought together by shared experience,” Murthy said. “Being Gen Z, I grew up with Ellen [DeGeneres] telling me through the TV screen that it gets better: that one day, it’ll all be okay. The sentiment isn’t wrong, but it’s passive. What I’ve learned from GMCW is that our future is something we practice together. It exists because people like you continue to show up for it, to believe in the possibilities of what we’re still becoming”
The event concluded with the presentation of the annual Harmony Awards. This year’s awardees included local drag artist and activist Tara Hoot, the human rights organization Rainbow Railroad as well as Rocky Mountain Arts Association Executive Director, Dr. Chipper Dean.
(Washington Blade photos and videos by Michael Key)































Equality Prince William Pride was held at the Harris Pavilion in Manassas, Va. on Saturday, May 16.
(Washington Blade photos by Landon Shackelford)















