Arts & Entertainment
How queer Baltimore artists are building strong community spaces
Fruit Camp is home to tattoo artists, musicians, herbalist, and more
Fruit Camp, a tattoo and art studio in the Remington neighborhood of Baltimore, opened with a bang in February of 2020. “We had a big opening party. It was really fun. Everybody came,” says Geo Mccandlish, one of the co-founders. “It was the last rager I went to,” they said.
The pandemic shut down their shop—alongside the world—for months, but the shop survived. “We just put our stimulus checks into keeping the rent paid,” says Emi Lynn Holler, the other co-founder.
They had built the space without loans, on a low-budget, do-it-yourself ethos with hands-on help from their community. “The deeply punk shoestring budget background worked really to our advantage,” says Mccandlish.
While it wasn’t ideal, it was fitting. Mccandlish and Holler’s artistic partnership has almost always lived at the crossroads of community, DIY, and extraordinary circumstances. A decade ago they met as residents of the Bell Foundry, an arts co-op and co-living space, where sharing knowledge, making community, and living cheaply were key to getting by.
It was there that Holler gifted Mccandlish their first tattooing machine and taught them how to use it. And it was where the two of them—who also do printmaking, fiber arts, and other creative activities—started imagining co-founding a space of their own. That dream felt more urgent in 2016 when Baltimore condemned the Bell Foundry and evicted the residents, including Mccandlish, during a nationwide crackdown on artist co-ops after the Ghost Ship fire in Oakland.
Holler had by then moved to Massachusetts to pursue formal tattoo education and certifications.
“Living inside that level of precarity,” Mccandlish explains, “made us want to figure out a hybrid,” between the unique, collaborative Bell Foundry and a licensed, commercial space. “We wanted to find a way to create more safety,” says Holler.
But they didn’t just want to create safety for the two of them. When looking at spaces, they opted to lease a bigger studio—a two-story, double-row house with room for tattooing on the first floor and small studios on the second. Mccandlish said the prospect of a larger project felt “tantalizing and precious” because they felt “if you have access to something, you try to make sure that every resource that is a part of it is also shared.”
Today, in addition to tattoos, Fruit Camp holds studios for musicians, fiber artists, an herbalist, a massage therapist, and a doula. “We’re able to incubate and hold nontraditional pathways to different kinds of creative practices,” says Mccandlish.
You can consider Fruit Camp a queer business by several definitions. For one, every member of the studio identifies as queer, in some way. It also looks queer. “It’s campy and it’s pink, and we have a lot of gay art hanging around,” explains Mccandlish.
Holler says sometimes they get asked about losing potential patrons by being openly queer, but that isn’t a worry. “I think it only strengthens us,” they say. “It brings people to us who also want to find each other in that world.” They pause, “I feel like it boils down to we keep us safe and we take care of ourselves.”
Mccandlish emphasizes that “queer is the political meaning” and the “orientation to” which they do their work as a community space and business. Their shop practices are explicitly queer and trans-friendly—in addition to being “anti-racist, anti-sexist, liberation-oriented, and accessible.” For example, the shop requires masking and has consent-forward and trauma-informed practices in place. They also use cost-sharing instead of a traditional profit model with those who work in their space. “The point is not to make as much money as everybody can, the point is to work enough with a low enough cost overhead that everyone can survive without overworking.”
That is a continued goal, not a static place, they explain. “Some of our goals, we haven’t reached yet, like turning into a true worker co-op.”
But they are already making big strides in the community. For example, some patrons tell them that they are the only tattoo studio they feel safe using, due to the universal masking policies. To their knowledge, they are the only shop in Baltimore that has the policy.
Fruit Camp also has a big community name. One day Mccandlish logged onto a community Facebook group and saw an anonymous post asking about queer-friendly tattooers or tattooers who would tattoo someone who has HIV. The post said, “I’ve been turned away from five different shops.”
Immediately Mccandlish went to the comments to write that Fruit Camp would be happy to tattoo them, but instead, they found the comment section full of that recommendation already. It warmed their heart. “That feels like a very minor way that [our work] is so important.”
(This story is part of the Digital Equity Local Voices Fellowship lab through News is Out. The lab initiative is made possible with support from Comcast NBCUniversal.)
Arts & Entertainment
Sci-fi has long been at vanguard of LGBTQ representation
Story lines now criticized as ‘woke’ is weird
Since I was a teenager, I have liked sci-fi because of the depth with which it explores social issues. At the time, I didn’t know that I was autistic and queer, so I couldn’t see myself in other autistic and queer people. Instead, I saw myself in androids, mutants, telepaths, and sometimes aliens who were portrayed as minorities persecuted by the human majority. It was a universal language for talking about alienation, systemic discrimination, conversion therapy, segregation, and internalized self-hatred.
Now, when so many sci-fi stories are being criticized online as “woke,” it seems weird for me. This is especially true when we are talking about franchises, such as the British TV series “Doctor Who” and American franchise “Star Trek,” both of which have always been remarkably progressive by the standards of their own time.
Let’s take a closer look at “Doctor Who.”
In June 2026, the BBC cancelled the planned Christmas special, saying that viewers would have to wait longer for the next season after internal studio issues, and now the BBC is looking for new production partners. “Doctor Who” is the longest-running science fiction television series in the world, originally airing from 1963 to 1989 before returning in 2005. The future of the franchise is currently unclear, and many people online immediately began blaming “wokeness” for what had happened to their favorite show.
After all, the Doctor, an alien Time Lord who can regenerate and literally change faces, had traditionally been played by white men. But the last, Fifteenth Doctor was played by Ncuti Gatwa, a Black Scottish-Rwandan actor who has publicly identified as queer (and the doctor himself was first presented as queer character after a queer romantic episode where he kissed a man), while the Thirteenth Doctor was played for three seasons by Jodie Whittaker, the first woman to portray the Doctor. In 2023, the series also introduced Rose Noble, a trans feminine nonbinary teenager and supportive character played by transgender English actress Yasmin Finney.
But despite popular stereotypes online, “Doctor Who” did not suddenly “go woke.” The program has existed in two main eras: the classic series, which aired from 1963 to1989, and the modern revival, which has been broadcast on BBC One since 2005.
Even in the 1960s, one of the program’s earliest stories, “The Daleks” (1963–64), presented an obvious allegory for fascism, racial purity, bigotry and the horrors of war. Throughout the classic era, the Doctor frequently opposed militarism, authoritarian governments, and dictatorships. Many fans have also pointed to moments of queer coding and subtext throughout the classic series.
However, openly queer characters appeared as soon as the modern revival began.
The 2005 revival introduced Captain Jack Harkness, played by John Barrowman, one of the first openly queer recurring characters in the “Doctor Who” universe. He openly flirted with people regardless of their gender and later became the lead character of the spin-off series “Torchwood.” “Torchwood” went even further with LGBTQ representation, featuring multiple queer characters, including trans and nonbinary characters whose identities were treated as a normal part of the story.
“Doctor Who” has always been remarkably progressive for its time. The franchise doesn’t suddenly change its values, it’s always been “woke.”
The same happened with the American franchise “Star Trek.”
It is widely known as one of the most openly left-wing and progressive television franchises ever broadcast. The original series, which aired from 1966-1969, was created during the Cold War and featured the utopian United Federation of Planets, a society without poverty or money that can be characterised as socialist or even communist. It also featured Lt. Uhura, played by Nichelle Nichols, a Black woman serving as a highly respected bridge officer at a time when Black women weren’t portrayed in positions of authority on American television. The series also included one of the first interracial kisses in modern American television, between Capt. James T. Kirk (William Shatner) and Uhura in the 1968 episode “Plato’s Stepchildren,” a moment that had a significant cultural impact.
Gene Roddenberry, the creator of the franchise, said that he had wanted to include openly queer characters as well, but believed it would have been impossible to keep the show on the air because it had already pushed social boundaries in so many other ways.
Today, many viewers — including Elon Musk — claim that “Star Trek” has only recently become “woke.” In reality, I think it actually became less radical than the original series. Even queer characters are not a recent addition to the franchise. One of the earliest major queer characters appeared in “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine” (1993–1999): the Trill officer Jadzia Dax, played by Terry Farrell. In the 1995 episode “Rejoined,” she shared one of the first same-sex kisses in the history of the franchise.
However, for some reason, it was the openly gay couple Paul Stamets (Anthony Rapp) and Hugh Culber (Wilson Cruz) in “Star Trek: Discovery” (2017–2024), together with the trans Trill character Gray Tal, played by trans actor Ian Alexander, that triggered a major backlash among conservative parts of the fandom. That backlash reached another peak with “Star Trek: Starfleet Academy,” which features the canonically gay Klingon cadet Jay-Den Kraag. The actor has spoken about receiving abuse and threats because of the role, despite the fact that there was nothing especially ideological about his character. He was simply a gay character whose sexuality was only one aspect of who he was. In fact, considering the ideals of the original “Star Trek,” I was more surprised that the franchise still includes relatively few trans or polyamorous characters, and that they are not part of the lead cast. After all, the franchise was created to imagine a future that was ahead of its time.
So why do conservatives and anti-LGBTQ people continue to watch franchises that have always been deliberately progressive? And why do they keep claiming that these shows have only recently “gone woke”?
A more logical explanation is that parts of the audience have become less willing to accept the same kinds of progressive ideas that these franchises have embraced for decades. In other words, it is not the shows that fundamentally changed. Some long-time viewers have become more conservative than they were in their youth, while newer conservative audiences have joined them and begun criticizing franchises without knowing their real history.
In many ways, geeks have changed more than these shows have. Sci-fi hasn’t “gone woke.” Some of its fans have simply become less comfortable with the same progressive values these franchises have promoted for decades.
JR.’s Bar held a “RuPaul’s Drag Race: All Stars” watch party followed by a live drag show on Friday, July 17. The Vitamin C weekly drag show was hosted by Citrine with performers Brooke N Hyman and Rosie Beret.
(Washington Blade photos by Landon Shackelford)










The 2026 Rehoboth Beach Pride Festival was held at the Rehoboth Beach Convention Center on Saturday, July 18.
(Washington Blade photos by Daniel Truitt)













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