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William Shatner’s message for LGBTQ fans: ‘Keep on queerin’
World’s largest Star Trek convention features cosplay, queer stars
LAS VEGAS — STLV, the annual Star Trek Las Vegas convention — hosted by Creation Entertainment — this month brought together fans of all ages, abilities, and affections for the many incarnations of the 59-year-old science fiction franchise, from the original TV series to new streaming shows and online games.
Boldly going among them were dozens, if not hundreds, of LGBTQ Trekkies and Trekkers alike, living the ideal that predates DEI by more than 50 years: An anagram that Trek creator Gene Roddenberry devised as the basis of Vulcan philosophy (as well as an early merchandising opportunity).
I.D.I.C.
“‘Infinite Diversity In Infinite Combinations,’” TrekCulture podcaster Seán Ferrick told the Los Angeles Blade. “This is the type of community that is tailor-made for embracing,” said Ferrick, who identifies as pansexual. “The truth is a lot of the world doesn’t do that.”
Ferrick traveled from Wexford County, Ireland, to attend what he called “the biggest Star Trek convention of the year on the planet,” and to judge a cosplay competition.
“They might be wearing Vulcan ears or they might have Ferengi teeth or something, but this is a tailor-made community about spreading love and joy,” he said. “So, when I walk into something like this, what I see is, for a large part, the world as it should be. There is hope out there. I stand at something like this and I see nothing but hope.”
This was the first Star Trek convention this reporter has attended since 1978, and some things have not changed. There was a huge amount of Trek-related merchandise for sale, from tribbles to jewelry and model spaceships. Actor and first-time author Nana Visitor of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine sold out copies of her groundbreaking book about the women in front of the camera and behind the scenes of the franchise, Open a Channel: A Woman’s Trek. And the only people who stood out in the crowd of thousands were the ones not wearing a costume. Three fans put together amazing Vulcan outfits that will appear in an episode that has not even streamed yet, just based on what they saw in a trailer. Some folks even dressed up their dogs.
David’s homemade Starfleet uniform resembles a miniskirt but is called a skant. Male actors as well as women wore them on Star Trek: The Next Generation, and he was hardly the only man wearing one at STLV.
“There is nowhere else I would probably walk around in a dress,” he said. “I came last year for the first time and this was the most comfortable I’ve felt.” That was especially true, given that on this day, the temperature reached a high of 109 degrees in Las Vegas.
David is a gay man from Sheffield in Northern England who said he used to call Los Angeles home. He described his skant as “Pride for Star Trek” and was gratified by the reception of other convention-goers to his cosplay.
“There’s just no judgment. No matter whether someone’s costume looks really homemade, whether it’s really professional, everyone still appreciates that you’re part of the fandom.”
Peeved at Paramount
Judgment, however, was on the minds of some stars who identify as LGBTQ. They talked with the Los Angeles Blade about their fears that Skydance’s purchase of Paramount, the company that produces Star Trek, would change the franchise’s legendary embrace of diversity, to further appease the Trump administration as it works to eliminate DEI.
“We only have to look at the parent network of this series alone, where Star Trek lives now, where they have bent the knee in order to sell this studio to a right-wing, Trump-loving owner,” said out gay actor Wilson Cruz, who played one of the first out gay characters in the franchise in Star Trek: Discovery and was a trailblazer when he played Rickie Vasquez on My So-Called Life. Cruz was blunt in his criticism of the Paramount sale to Skydance.
“Shari Redstone had no problem selling out the entire company and everyone who works there, and all of the people who have been on screen representing people of color, the LGBTQ community,” said Cruz. “She has completely turned her back in order to keep her family richer than they ever need to be.”
Cruz is also worried for queer representation in the current era, and not just on Trek.
“I think in this moment in history, it means a lot more to me now than it even meant eight months ago, which it meant a lot to me then, but given the fact that we’re going to start seeing less and less of us on TV, we’re being erased,” he said. “And because we are being erased, because we are being shamed again, it’s really important to celebrate the success of the representation that we have had, to remind people why it’s important for people to be able to see themselves, to have their lives mirrored back at them, to inspire them through our stories, that that kind of storytelling has value and relevance and has even more relevance today.”
In between signing autographs, Cruz voiced gratitude for the fans who say his portrayals reflected their lived experiences.
“I’m incredibly moved every time somebody comes by, whether they’re talking about Rickie Vasquez or Hugh Culber, that I’ve been able to give people a voice and a story that they can identify with that makes them feel like they belong, in a moment where there’s so little of that.”
“I’m very fortunate to be part of two major things,” said Cruz’s Discovery costar, out gay actor Anthony Rapp. “Rent and Star Trek have these profound communities of fans around them. I say ‘fan.’ I mean, it’s not a word that I have any animosity toward. But it doesn’t quite speak to the level of connection to these pieces of art.”
As for the deal Cruz railed against, Rapp said it was “too upsetting to engage too much.”
“I’m on a little bit of a media brown-out because of having two toddlers. I’m certainly aware that Colbert was canceled, which is very upsetting. I heard Wilson mention something about Trump getting them to agree on a certain kind of media coverage,” he said, referring to the installation of an ombudsman, “who will receive and evaluate any complaints of bias or other concerns” at CBS News, according to The Hollywood Reporter. “I mean, that’s insane.”
Out actors Cruz and Rapp, who appeared on Star Trek: Discovery from 2017 until 2024, were among the more than 100 actors and creative types on hand who gained fame thanks to Trek and other sci-fi projects. They joined iconic fan favorites William Shatner, Scott Bakula, Kate Mulgrew, Jeri Ryan and Edward James Olmos — all of whom played captains of various fictional starships — in meeting their fans, face to face, for a price.
Those fans, dressed in every conceivable and even inconceivable cosplay creations, stood for hours in long lines for a signed autograph and to pose for photos with their heroes. They packed ballrooms to hear behind-the-scenes stories at a wide variety of panel discussions and presentations. The best seats cost $1,400, with photos and autographs costing anywhere from $25 to $300 apiece.
Meeting the Captain
This reporter was next in line to ask Shatner a question at his one and only appearance on stage, as he rhapsodized at length about nature, the planet, and beyond.
“We all belong to each other, and all of us belong to the rest of existence, the world, the universe,” said Shatner. “We are linked chemically and electronically with the word ‘quantum’ attached to it. ‘Quantum’ is the study of the small particles called atoms. We should all never forget the awesomeness, the incredible forces that we have no idea about that work everywhere in the universe. It also suggests that we are caretakers of our earth and we must, without question, care for the water, the air, the earth.”
It was at that point that the 94-year-old actor decided to end his hour-long talk, 10 minutes early. So, unable to ask him a question, I joined a queue with hundreds of attendees, who paid to have a moment with the original Captain James T. Kirk. There he was, seated on a chair at the end of the queue, as a fast-moving assembly line of fans stood by him for a very quickly posed photograph, and swiftly moved along.
I had literally just enough time to utter one sentence, and so I asked him, “What message do you have for queer Trek fans?”
“Keep on queerin’!” said Shatner, with a smile captured in a photograph.
That was a welcome message for two groups that celebrated their marginalized status in society: The Lambda Quadrant and the SyFy Sistas.
Tamia, the SyFy Sistas podcast host, spoke at their panel about how in the past, there was backlash directed at Black fans, at “people that look like us and didn’t want us in the room,” she said. “That’s not what Star Trek is about. But I think it’s changing.”
“Many, many people come up to us at the table and say that historically they have not felt comfortable expressing their full and true selves, even here in the fandom,” said Ursa Wright of the Lambda Quadrant, a group dedicated to promoting queer representation in fandom. “We are the one table in the whole place with big rainbows everywhere. So, people, for a long time, they come up and they tell us they did not actually feel safe. Like, they can wear their Star Trek outfit, but nothing overtly expresses that they would be gay, or whatever it is, because they still didn’t feel comfortable, because no one else was in the space doing the thing. Which, in our year of the Lord, how are we still there, where people feel that?”
Boldly LGBTQ
The Blade asked queer fans what Star Trek means to them.
“Accepting everyone,” said Sarah from Southern California. “Everybody is who they are.”
“Being free,” said Rachel from Nebraska. “To express anything and everything.”
“Togetherness,” added David who hails from Nova Scotia.
Boyfriends Anthony and Ryan said “acceptance” and “tolerance.”
“Star Trek is what this world needs to strive for,” said Tom Noe of Pleasanton, Calif., a straight ally whose partner is pansexual. “Acceptance of all races, sexualities, regardless of what they are.”
“It is a different way of looking at the world, and I appreciate that,” said Jess from Upstate New York. She was wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with a rainbow and the face of an omnisexual alien character from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, and the words, “Friend of Garak.” When asked why she chose to wear that top, Jess said, “Because I’m gay.”
“Sounds Gay, I’m In,” was the message on a shirt worn by a gay fan from New Jersey who asked to be identified as Sandra. “Because here is the only place I feel safe to be out. I’m not out with my family or my co-workers,” she said. “Star Trek makes me feel like there is hope that eventually I can live free. But I don’t know how it’s going to happen in the next couple of years.”
“Let’s just say I have not been able to go to the entire convention without seeing a Trump hat,” said Kyla, an out transgender nonbinary fan who was visiting Las Vegas from just outside Sacramento. They said didn’t feel comfortable using the casino hotel’s strictly binary restrooms without an escort. “But I have felt more safe here than I have on the strip,” she conceded.
“We have nonbinary characters. We have same-sex characters and relationships, and we need more of that,” said a pansexual fan who goes by the nickname Hoops. “As the kids would say, Star Trek is very woke. Like, it just means you have a heart and, like, compassion,” she said.
“There’s so much hate and so much bigotry and homophobia and transphobia. All of that,” said Hoops. “We’re just here to care about other people. And we just want to love other people. And why do you care who someone’s in love with or who someone takes care of? Or how they identify? What they’re wearing? If they’re wearing a skirt or pants? Does it really matter what path they’re taking? And in Star Trek, nobody cares about any of that.”
TrekTech
STLV also offered fans a chance to explore strange new immersive tech that allows them to virtually tour the Starship Enterprise, created by OTOY and The Roddenberry Archive.
“We think about this stuff a lot,” said OTOY CEO Jules Urbach about LGBTQ+ representation in his digital exploration of the franchise, which started with the first film in 1979 and only grew after he became childhood friends with Roddenberry’s son, Rod, 40 years ago. “It’s really part of representing everything. And that’s a big part of Star Trek.”
OTOY’s latest short film reunites two iconic characters using “digital masks:” Kirk visits Spock’s deathbed in “765874: Unification,” with actors Sam Witwer and Lawrence Selleck in the roles originated by William Shatner and the late Leonard Nimoy, respectively.
“This is pretty magical,” Urbach told the Blade. “We’re really happy with how it turned out and how people interpreted it.”
At star-studded panels, fans watched that short film and also learned of new shows in the pipeline and potential new movies. Next month, Paramount debuts a new audio drama podcast that tells the untold story of arch villain Khan Noonien Singh’s life in exile, featuring the voices of Naveen Andrews, best known for his role in Lost, and of gay icon George Takei, among others.
“It’s never far from the minds of the people creating these shows that how important representation is, how vital it is,” Kirsten Beyer, executive producer of Star Trek: Khan and a nine-year veteran Trek producer and writer, told the Los Angeles Blade in a phone interview following the convention. “And never, ever more so than now.”
Queer Stars, Allies
During a panel discussion with her out queer costar Jess Bush, Celia Rose Gooding of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds told the Blade she’s hoping to see more LGBTQ representation in the show, now in its third season streaming on Paramount+.
“As a queer person, I would love to see more of it,” said Gooding, who plays Uhura and is preparing to film the fifth and final season starting next month. “I can neither confirm nor deny what we’re going to get because we haven’t seen a single script yet. But I think for so many reasons, it’s important for marginalized group to see themselves in the future.”
“I’m a Greenwich Villager, so the LGBTQ world is my world, and it’s our world,” said Michelle Hurd, who played Raffi on Star Trek: Picard. In the series finale, written and directed by showrunner and LGBTQ ally Terry Matalas, Raffi is portrayed as the bisexual first officer who had a relationship with her bisexual captain, Seven of Nine, played by actress Jeri Ryan. “We’ve been here, we haven’t gone, we’re not going anywhere, and we’re going to be here until the end of time. And art is the way that we can convey those sort of stories. I hope that we continue to tell those stories more and I hope that this world continues to open its eyes, its arms, its hearts to the fact that love is love is love is love.”
Out gay actor and author Jonathan Del Arco — who played a Borg who became an individual named Hugh in both Picard and originally on The Next Generation — chose the convention to launch his children’s book about the search for belonging, identity and acceptance, Freddy the Alien. He told the Blade it was inspired by both his own childhood and his Trek career, and about the timing as immigration raids are in the news.
“It’s a really important time to make kids feel included, and it’s tough,” said Del Arco, who attended the convention with his husband, Kyle Fritz. “We live in Los Angeles, and you can’t help but be surrounded by the immigrant experience, so you don’t even need the book to have that conversation. It’s happening all around,” he said.
In a panel discussion, Del Arco revealed that although nothing was written about Hugh’s orientation, he chose to play him as having fallen in love with Evan Evagora’s character, Elnor,
“I decided when I found out I was getting killed, and I had this young man on the ship, I figured it would be kind of cool if Hugh had found love for the first time, only to die. And he did.”
Andrew Robinson played a Cardassian named Garak on Deep Space Nine and confirmed to the Blade he “always” considered his character was something other than heterosexual, such as an omnisexual, even though his orientation was never revealed in the series. However, in 2024, he played Garak once more, in an episode of the animated series Star Trek: Lower Decks, created by LGBTQ+ ally Mike McMahan. This time his character was in a same-sex relationship with Dr. Julian Bashir, played by Alexander Siddig.
“I’ve never played an alien before,” said Robinson. “And one of the things that occurred to me was, there are certain hang-ups that they don’t have that we have. And one of them was the whole thing about sexual identity.”
Terry Farrell, who played Jadzia Dax on Deep Space Nine, spoke about a 1995 episode, “Rejoined,” in which her character had a romantic relationship with another woman. Some Southern TV stations, primarily in the so-called “Bible Belt,” refused to air that episode. Many transgender fans have embraced Dax as someone who shares their experience of living in more than one gender, and “Rejoined” featured the first same-sex kiss in Trek.
“What I was most proud of was, in that episode, nobody talked about the fact that we were both women,” said Farrell. “I have goosebumps right now. Love is love. It doesn’t matter what package you come in. If that’s your one life, enjoy it, be you. It’s such a struggle in our culture to just be yourself. And clearly it can be dangerous to be yourself. And that’s horrifying to me.”
For the most part, this was an inclusive and entertaining event for one and all, especially for the many attendees who used wheelchairs and scooters to travel around the incredibly large convention space, which was located a considerable distance from the main casino hotel. But it’s only fair to point out that there were some issues, such as the lack of all-gender bathrooms.
Observers also noted that although this 23rd convention organized by Creation Entertainment was expanded to five days for the first time, it was not as well attended as 2024’s event. That’s in line with a trend that reports say has hit Las Vegas hard this summer, with tourism down 11 percent from a year ago. A spokesperson for Creation did not respond to an email request for comment on attendance.
The Blade also asked for comment on what were described later as “inadvertent” slights to the one and only Black woman to appear on a panel of Star Trek writers at the convention on the evening of Saturday, Aug. 9.
Once the four men and two men were introduced, the host — “Inglorious Treksperts” podcaster Mark A. Altman — had to be reminded that he had not invited Star Trek: Strange New Worlds story editor and episode writer Onitra Johnson to join them; she was still backstage, waiting. After finally being introduced, she was seated at the end of the stage next to legendary out gay screenwriter and author David Gerrold, who three times answered questions intended for Johnson. The third time, members of the audience interrupted him, shouting, “Let her speak!” which prompted Altman to blame “bad acoustics” in the ballroom.
While fellow Treksperts podcaster Daren Dochterman called these repeated slights “inadvertent” in a face to face conversation with the Blade on Aug. 10, neither he nor Altman, nor Creation, officially responded to messages from the Blade seeking comment.
a&e features
From Media Matters to massive queer ragers: the rise of Tara Dikhof
The Washington Blade sits down with the DJ and drag star on her summer tour, rise to prominence, and how Musk helped shape her path.
Before becoming the “full-time party girl” with the power to turn any room with Instagram Reels into a dingy dance floor packed with queer people — at least for a minute or two — Tara Dikhof was much like a lot of queer Washingtonians: upset at how the first Trump administration quickly began attacking marginalized communities’ rights, and in need of a creative, constructive outlet.
“I used to be a journalist at Media Matters, where I worked on our online extremism and LGBTQ program,” Tara Dikhof told the Blade when asked how she became the actualized drag performer she is today. “I did extensive work documenting how the right wing media ecosystem poisons the debate on queer issues — and spreads virulent lies about LGBTQ people online.”
Media Matters is a nonprofit that describes itself as a “progressive research and information center” with the goal of “monitoring, analyzing, and correcting conservative misinformation in the U.S. media.”
Tara, who, while working at Media Matters lived up to that goal. She wrote — or assisted the media watchdog with — more than 150 articles for the web-based organization. While she covered a wide variety of topics, she became a leading voice covering Joe Rogan during her tenure as a senior researcher for the LGBTQ Program at Media Matters.
“I think some of my most impactful work from my time at Media Matters was when I was the leading journalist reporting on Joe Rogan’s extremism and right wing misinformation. I broke the story that he was encouraging young people not to get the COVID vaccine,” Dikhof said. “I reported that the presidential debates hadn’t asked a question about LGBTQ issues since the 2000s. I also led a study looking at TV news reporting on anti-trans violence, showing that TV news stations, cable and broadcast combined, collectively reported on anti-trans violence for less than an hour almost every year.”
In addition to media coverage, Dikhof also worked on the inside as a Truman-Albright Fellow and policy analyst at the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, working to improve the health and safety of Americans.
That effort was recognized from both sides of the political aisle. She and her detailed research appeared in a slew of outlets, includingDemocracy Now!, The Atlantic, and even the Blade’s West Coast sister publication, the LA Blade, among others. While her work began making headlines informing people about the dangers of under coverage of LGBTQ issues, it also garnered attention from staunch anti-LGBTQ voices.
One of those voices — and the one Dikhof ultimately credits as the reason she bowed out of the media watchdog world — was Elon Musk. Musk, the CEO of Tesla, founder and chief engineer of SpaceX, and owner of X, was not pleased with coverage of the platform’s questionable practices under his leadership. The app relaxed censorship policies, dissolved its Trust and Safety Council, and reinstated thousands of previously banned accounts — many of them far-right accounts found to be pushing harmful misinformation and disinformation.
“He was trying to silence fact-based journalism that revealed that his platform X was running advertisements next to Nazi content,” Dikhof said. “When you’re facing lawsuits against the richest man in the world, unfortunately, the facts don’t matter as much.”
She said it led to her being let go from the media watchdog organization — something she had worked so long to help grow awareness about the dangers of growing authoritarianism on platforms and across the airwaves.
“That was incredibly devastating. I dedicated my entire adult life to the progressive movement, to trying to stop right wing misinformation, and to have that drop out from under me was defeating, to say the least. But you can’t keep a powerful girl down.”
She didn’t stay down for long. She tapped into the drag and DJ world after leaving the nation’s capital. Since then, she has expanded on her drag journey and opened for some of the world’s biggest performers — from Aliyah’s Interlude, to Violet Chachki, to massive pop superstar Chappell Roan. It seems the Dikhof rocket has taken off and doesn’t look like it’s slowing down.
That switch, she explained, has her feeling like she is doing more for the LGBTQ community than she could at Media Matters.
“I started throwing parties and community events for queer people in Boston, and I now throw parties for over 1,200 people a month,” she said. “I honestly don’t feel like I’ve ever had more of an impact on queer and trans people than I am now. I believe, from the bottom of my heart, that getting a group of LGBTQ people in a room together and letting them radically express themselves through dance and movement and to build new friendships and to find the love of their life — is a radical act.”
Her goal is simple — provide a place for LGBTQ people, specifically trans people, to let down their hair — or in her case, giant wigs and fantastical headpieces — and just dance.
“I’m just trying to give people a space to exist, which for a lot of queer and trans people right now is not something they can do. They don’t feel safe at work, they don’t feel safe at home, they don’t feel safe in public, and the one oasis that they can access is the gay club. It’s a place where they can dress however they want, they can love whoever they want.”
That radical act, she explained, should be as inclusive as America is diverse. She sees the waves of conservatism that have hit the federal government — and state offices around the country swinging to the right — reflected in the nightlife scene she encounters. LGBTQ clubs have long been a proxy for the social standards in mainstream America, which often focus heavily on young, white, cisgender men.
“It is one of the most connecting things we can do while we’re on this planet. My guiding light is, I am trying to build dance floors that are multigenerational and multiracial. I’m trying to start a new chapter in queer nightlife, where dance floors aren’t just dominated by white, buff gay men.”
While in-person nightlife has led to a diverse dance floor thumping with bops from Slayyyter’s new release “Wor$t Girl In America” to gay club classics like Ariana Grande’s “Into You” — with wild-haired Dikhof at the helm in looks that could make even Cher do a double take — her rise has also been immensely assisted by some of the very platforms she once called out while living in Washington.
She has amassed quite the following — 142,000 followers on Instagram, 2.6 million likes on TikTok, and thousands of streams on SoundCloud.
Despite this growing and visibly powerful media presence, she has hard limits on when and where she deems it appropriate. The dance floor is not always one of those places — not just due to the growing data on the harm social media causes to users’ health, but also to stay true to her goal of helping the LGBTQ community become a stronger, more accepting place.
“Social media promises connection and relationships, but it’s not true. What we actually need is a way for people to put their phones down and connect with others in real life,” she said. “I’m trying to build a coalition that represents the true power of the LGBTQ community, where we can all exist in harmony together. At a lot of my parties, I have a no-phones policy, because what I want people to do is disconnect from social media, disconnect from our system of mass surveillance, and just be present for a few hours.”
“For my party, Feral, which is [a] no-phones LGBTQ rager, at the door before anyone enters the party, we tell them our party’s policies, and we make sure they have a verbal yes agreeing to them,” she said. “Those policies are no phones, no photos, no videos on the dance floor, treat yourself and others with respect.”
She sees this intentional inclusivity as a major way to combat the hate trickling down from the Trump-Vance administration and regurgitated by mainstream media organizations that feed into that bias.
“I believe that we can create, and we can continue to build radical change in this country on the dance floor. So much mainstream media has consistently allowed conservative media to set the terms of debate for LGBTQ rights. Mainstream media outlets like the Washington Post, outlets like New York Times, put trans rights up for debate when we can all agree that human rights are not something that we can debate.”
She continued, explaining that the bias mainstream media imposes — like with The New York Times’ consistently criticized coverage of transgender people, which often has little or no actual transgender voices in its reporting — frames these issues as cultural debates rather than basic human rights.
“These mainstream outlets don’t debunk those claims. They don’t push back on them. We need to say that lesbians belong at the gay club. We need to say that we don’t tolerate anti-Black discrimination at the gay club. We need to say that trans people deserve to be loud and messy in the gay club, just like everyone else gets to.”
She explained that what she is trying to do is simple in theory — make the space truly a dance haven for everyone in the community.
“What I’m really trying to do is I’m trying to open a portal of transcendence. I’m trying to create magical moments where all of the problems in the world drop out of your mind.”
Dikhof attempts to do this, she explained, by tapping into that deeply human — and animalistic — need for connection.
“Humans are primates and primates are animals that need physical touch. We need community spaces, and increasingly, with social media, late stage capitalism, and a horrible economic outlook, people don’t have a public forum to connect with others. There have been nights where I have taken a $3,000 loss, but it’s part of it.”
To her, the value queer nightlife gives to the community can’t be measured by ticket sales or ad clicks — it’s measured by acts of queer joy and defiance that echo the community’s need for broader survival in an era of book bans and hostility for the sake of cruelty.
“All we need is a room for four hours, a DJ, a working sound system, and a community that cares about protecting each other. If you have that, you can create total bliss. I think the beauty and transcendence of queer nightlife is something that Republican lawmakers will probably never understand.”
She sees the dance floor as just as important for queer people as the Senate floor. Not separate from politics — it is politics.
“I do believe that having queer community spaces is an integral part of political organizing. We cannot let the bastards steal our joy. Getting out of the house and being loudly queer is a form of resistance.”
“Right now, I’m really living my wildest dreams and I’m hungry. This is just the beginning for Tara Dikhof. We’re living in a society where we have Paleolithic emotions, medieval institutions, and God like technology, and I am going to use that God like technology to the best of my ability.”
Tara Dikhof is currently on her summer tour, starting at Project GLOW for Queer Chaos in Washington. She will return — after crisscrossing the country — to perform at Bunker on June 20 during Capital Pride weekend.
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)
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