LeShay: What got you into ballroom?

YONI: What got me into ballroom was actually a person. His name is Mikey Ninja.

I grew up dancing in Minnesota. I did a lot of hip-hop when I was younger, and I was part of a hip-hop crew called New Black City for a really long time. I met Mikey when I was in high school, and he had already been a part of ballroom for a while. He was part of the House of Ninja.

The creator of the House of Ninja was Willi Ninja, who was one of the people I would definitely credit with bringing ballroom into the mainstream and international world. Mikey or Willi would go to places like Asia to teach classes, and Willi worked with artists like Madonna.

Mikey was part of that lineage of ballroom. Ninjas are very technical and very sharp, which connects to the concept of being a ninja. That's kind of the energetic marker of the house.

I remember Mikey teaching me and my girlfriend in our really small apartment. It gave very much New York. I always say I had a very New York beginning because it was just this tiny apartment, and he was showing us how to vogue. That was around 2017 or 2018.

It wasn't until 2021 that Mikey and another Ninja named Raven, along with some other people in ballroom—Chachi, DiMera Versailles, and others—started hosting Vogue Nights at the Saloon.

That's honestly where I ended up meeting my business partner, Don. We became best friends, and we were part of the same Kiki house together. I would say that was the resurgence of ballroom back into the Twin Cities around our generation.

When I first learned about ballroom, I didn't really know if there was anything happening here. There wasn't really anything going on then. It was just this session we had with Mikey, and that was it. But I would watch videos and was obviously very intrigued. Then in 2021, it really came back and people wanted to create more structure around it.

LeShay: How has ballroom shaped who you are, both creatively and personally?

YONI: That's a good question. Creatively, I think ballroom is such a paracosm—I actually just learned that word recently. It's kind of like a world that you build in your mind, this creative world or wherever you get to go.

I feel like people probably create this whenever they're in a situation they don't really want to be in. They go inside their minds and craft this palace of a place. I think that's what ballroom was for many people, but it wasn't just imaginary. It was real.

For me, ballroom has shown me the furthest extent of creativity through a Black, queer, and trans lens, which is on such a different level from many other perspectives. When you're not thought of in pretty much any mainstream or systemic way, you have to make a way for yourself.

I think that's a very Black thing in general. We've always made something out of nothing. I've always admired that about being Black, but I feel like it adds another layer when you're coming from the perspectives of trans and queer people.

Ballroom has pushed my creativity and made me think, How can I build this world? How can I make this experience and embody it? That's something ballroom has really shown me: how to embody my personality more, how to speak up more, how to take up space, and not be ashamed of it. That's the energy that everyone comes with.

A lot of times we're going to work, figuring things out, and we think that that's the real world. But I think the world that we've created—the world that's actually supporting us and uplifting us—is the real world. That's our true reality.

A lot of times people think it's just a fantasy or that it's extracurricular, but I think the reason it has such an impact is because it gives people the experience of being themselves for the first time. That's who we truly are.

So I feel like it's pushed me to expand my creative mind, continue to push those edges, and bring that into my own work in general. It inspires me both creatively and personally.

Personally, I've always been very connected to the concept of chosen family. I was raised by a village of people who were not all my blood family. Some were, some weren't, but I think my parents instilled that in me.

Ballroom is a really big part of that. If you don't have your biofamily, there are still people who will uplift you, love you, and support you no matter what.

I think that's what ballroom has enriched in my life: being able to have people see me for who I am and accept me.

LeShay: I remember going to the Barbie Kiki Ball you guys had a few years ago. That was actually my first ball, and it was life-changing. I remember coming home from work, already feeling so stressed, but then going out that night and feeling like I finally had a space to simply be. It was beautiful.

YONI: Oh my God. That's amazing.

LeShay: What inspired you to create Vogue Down Minneapolis? I feel like you touched on this a little bit already.

YONI: So, me and my co-founder and business partner, Don 007, started this together. We met in 2021, like I said, and we both ended up being in the same Kiki house, Old Navy.

That was our gay mother, Chachi Jamir Versaage. She was basically teaching us how to vogue, how to walk runway, and how to participate in ballroom. We were hanging out with each other a lot, and we kind of just had this feeling that we wanted other people to experience what we were experiencing.

There were a lot more spaces for the actual performance, but there weren't a lot of spaces for education about it.

We had talked about it, and another one of our founders, Zora, who's a performing artist and has her own music out, was involved as well. We all decided to start booking dance studios and hosting sessions. We were like, We don't know too much, but we know enough to say, "Hey, this is what we know. We're going to share it with you."

We wanted other people around our age to also have these experiences that we were having. Education and wanting to share those experiences was a really big motivation for us.

It just exploded from there. It's become something so much bigger with so many different facets, but I think that was always the heart of it: we wanted to teach people.

We did our sessions, and then we got the opportunity to do a month-long teaching residency at the Cowles Center, at a Black-owned dance studio called Body Prayers. For a month, we did classes every week. We would do Vogue 101, and different people from our collective would come and teach. People would just come to learn.

That really solidified our desire to be involved in education and to share the experience and history of ballroom and vogue. That was kind of the general motivation.

LeShay: When you first started, did you notice any gaps when forming this community in the Twin Cities? What were some of the challenges you faced, or what surprised you the most? I feel like, at first, ballroom was very niche. Nobody really knew about it. It was very underground, and then it just kind of rose up.

YONI: Yeah. I'm from Minnesota, and my business partner and co-founder is actually from Cincinnati. I think I was kind of used to the ways that Minnesota operates.

First, I think any space that is so white always has a disconnect from culture, especially from Black people. That was definitely a challenge—having to navigate white spaces because those are the majority of spaces owned here.

Something we were very adamant about was making sure that we had the right partners. For example, we had a partnership with Lush. Lush had gone through a whole history where there were issues with the old owners, and I've had friends who had to work there in the past. There were experiences of Black and Brown performers being treated really poorly.

That was something we were very adamant about speaking on when they reached out to us to do programming with them. We were like, Cool, we'll do programming with you, but you need to understand that we know what we're talking about and we know what we're doing. We're not going to bring our community anywhere that they're going to be disrespected.

Especially in queer nightlife in general, there are only so many places to go. I think one of the biggest challenges is the monopoly on actual space.

There was an era after George Floyd and after all these different things happened where everybody wanted to give out space. They thought that was all they needed to do. They didn't understand that, even though they were trying to pay back or do their part, there are so many layers to reparations and to actually supporting Black and Brown performers and creatives in this city.

We're the ones with the culture. Y'all might have a space, but we have the culture and the people come here for us.

That's something we've always been aware of. It was very important to us to stand firmly in that and say, No, we know our worth. You're not going to play us.

We were also very young. We were coming into industries where a lot of the people we were working with were older than us. I don't see that as a frustration anymore. Now I'm like, It's fine. You want to underestimate me? Cool. We're still going to get the job done.

I think we surprised a lot of people with the way we carried ourselves. My business partner Don is actually a financial analyst. He has a really in-depth understanding of finances, and that would surprise people. They'd be like, Oh, he knows his numbers.

And it's like, Yes. You're not about to play us at this door.

So I think that was one of the bigger challenges: working with outdated systems. People have been in these positions of power for a really long time, and they get comfortable there. They get comfortable taking advantage of people and mishandling younger people and younger organizers who are coming up.

We've had to learn who our genuine partners are, how to navigate those relationships, and how to continue speaking up for ourselves and advocating.

I think genuinely being in a partnership and building our collective has created a safety net for us. It's not just one of us showing up. We're showing up as a group. You're not going to play games when you see all these people behind this.

Those are some of the challenges we've faced early on and still sometimes run into, but now we have a lot more years under our belts and we're better able to know what we're getting ourselves into.

LeShay: I really like how you touched on people wanting to make more spaces for Black and POC folks, but I feel like they have to be educated about it and not just make it a performative thing. I've been noticing that a lot.

But also with Vogue Down and other organizations in Minnesota, I feel like over the past two years there's been an increase in Black and POC spaces. I've really enjoyed that, especially this summer. I feel like I've been outside every day. There's just so much going on.

YONI: Period. Yeah, no, literally.

LeShay: Ballroom has deep roots in Black and Latinx queer communities. What has it meant to cultivate that culture here in Minnesota, and what do you hope people who are unfamiliar with ballroom understand about its history and purpose?

YONI: Honestly, it's meant so much. I don't think we really realized what we were creating.

We had a vision where it was like, Okay, we just want to have a space for other people to come around. But this turned into a community hub in a way where people were able to find community.

Minnesota is a trans refuge state, and so many people in our collective are transplants—people who have moved here. My business partner is a transplant as well.

People are moving here and searching for their own communities. It was very hard, specifically for Black, Latinx, BIPOC, queer, and trans communities, to actually find their people.

Again, the gay spots are the Saloon and Gay 90s—and Gay 90s isn't even really gay anymore.

LeShay: Straight 90s.

YONI: Literally straight 90s. They need to change the name.

So I think what it's meant is truly being a space for people to find other people like them.

Every time we host an event, have a class, or partner with an organization, we get to see that. We do a lot of partnerships with colleges. We'll go out and do mock balls and events and teach people about ballroom.

We love doing our partnerships with people, but honestly, it just means a lot to see people's faces light up because they're like, Oh, I'm not the only one.

And I think that goes farther than ballroom. Not everybody is necessarily on the floor, but it's more than being on the floor. It's seeing other people fully express themselves, and that makes you feel more confident being who you are.

Minnesota, again, is so white. I always like to tell people when they come here—especially my friends we've hosted from out of town—that it's very much a curated city. You have to know the things, and you have to know the person to get into the right things.

There are pros and cons to that. There isn't necessarily a built-in culture around it, but we're building the culture. That's a lot to hold, but at the same time, it's so rewarding when we have those moments.

Whenever the going gets hard, we're always reminded of our impact. People always tell us, Oh my God, I'm just so grateful that you all exist and that you're doing this type of work.

And again, I think the work we're doing is very multifaceted. We're not just focused on having the event or having the performance. We're like, No, we want to teach people about it. We want to share the history. We want to have moments where people can exchange with each other.

Our partnerships are a really big part of that because we're not trying to reinvent the wheel. There are other organizations out here doing the work too. Why not collaborate with each other and uplift each other's missions?

LeShay: I've been talking about this all summer. I feel like people are starting organizations and having events that people are already having. Just collab, bro. Literally, just collab.

There's no reason why we need, like, ten book clubs in the Twin Cities.

YONI: No, for real. It's so insane.

I think sometimes there's a scarcity mindset in organizing. Maybe that's everywhere, but I can only speak from my experience in Minnesota. Sometimes we feel like there's not enough to go around, or like, I have to be the first one. I have to be the only one. I need to put my name on this.

Honestly, I don't even care to be in the forefront. As long as the work is actually being impactful and we can find easier and more sustainable ways to do that, why don't we do that? Why don't we actually go with that plan?

LeShay: I really love how you mentioned word of mouth and how people aren't always able to get into events unless they know someone. It reminds me a lot of when I was doing Noname Book Club here.

When I first started talking to Noname about having a chapter here, I was talking about how there are a lot of white people in Minnesota. Everyone was like, What? I didn't know y'all had Black people out there.

And I was like, no, it's a word-of-mouth thing. I can get Black folks to come to book club if I mention it to them, and then they bring their homegirls or homeboys. But outside of that, you really can't get anyone to show up.

YONI: Exactly.

LeShay: Ballroom has become more visible through mainstream media and fashion. What are your thoughts on that visibility? What misconceptions about ballroom do you wish people would let go of?

YONI: I think ballroom is a generational thing. This always happens.

Ballroom originated as an underground culture, and I think it will always have that root no matter what. Mainstream media and mainstream figures pick and choose when they want to bring it back into the fold, but ballroom is always happening.

I kind of love that aspect. My friend made a video talking about how ballroom can sometimes feel like a secret society, and it's like—it literally still is in some ways.

What's crazy about it is that Blackness and Brownness are still very much central to ballroom.

There are mainstream moments where I'm like, It's cute here and there, but I honestly hate seeing people treat it like it's just a trend. I know some of the girls need to be paid, though.

The mainstream things I do appreciate are the things that are genuinely led by ballroom people. I love seeing shows like Legendary and seeing so many different houses represented.

But there's always going to be pros and cons when something enters the mainstream because people want to commodify things so quickly.

I love seeing things like Pose. Obviously, there are issues with Ryan Murphy, but the stories we were told in Pose were really important. It gave people context.

It's easier now for us to talk about who we are because we can say, Oh, have you seen Pose? Have you seen Paris Is Burning? Have you seen Legendary?

Now we can say, Oh, Beyoncé's Renaissance. Have you seen FKA twigs? There are all these different ways of giving people context.

Mainstream culture is going to move on to another fad or trend, but ballroom is going to still be here regardless.

Because we make ourselves the celebrities. We don't need celebrities to make us celebrities.

They're honestly coming here to learn something from us. They're coming over here to learn something from the femme queens. They're coming over here to learn something from the butch queens. They want that energy, but they can't fully replicate it because they're not always coming from a genuine place.

When people do it from a genuine place, I can get behind it. But if you're not, I just can't get down with it.

I need you to do your research. Please come back to the history. People always want to jump straight into the fun shit, and it's like, No, you need to understand the context behind why this is so impactful and empowering.

You have to really get into the story of it all.

One of the biggest misconceptions is that people don't understand that ballroom is the originator of so many things—specifically Black queer culture, period.

Even when I'm having conversations with people, they'll say things like, Clock it, or You're throwing shade, and I'm like, Bro, do you even know where that comes from?

You're not even using it in the right context.

That's something where I'm like, Y'all need to give ballroom more credit in general.

All of these things that you're saying come from somewhere. And, of course, the people benefiting from these things are often not the people who actually created them.

That's why me and my business partner are always big advocates for people doing their research and really learning. This is also a part of queer and trans history, period.

You have to really get into it to understand that so many people in ballroom are also advocating for us in legislation, doing health work, mental health work, and being on the front lines supporting our communities.

But this is our moment and our space to be the celebrity and connect with our people.

LeShay: I feel like doing something like a class to educate people would be really fire. Maybe even with a professor or something.

A lot of people take classes like that at universities, but they're still not aware of the real-life things that are going on.

YONI: Oh, okay. No, that would be fire. That's something we should definitely look at.

LeShay: That would be really dope. I'd attend. I'll sign up.

YONI: Okay, here we go. We got our first person.

LeShay: How do music, fashion, and movement come together in ballroom to create something bigger than performance?

YONI: I think that's the beautiful part of ballroom.

An analogy I always tell people is that ballroom is like hip-hop's older sister. Ballroom and the culture around drag balls have a long history in Harlem, New York. I need to double-check my dates, but there's a lot of history and connection to drag balls.

Presentation has always been very important. Pageantry in general is about showing off, being competitive, and having that type of edge.

What ballroom does that's similar to hip-hop is that it has different sectors and pillars. Hip-hop has MCing, DJing, dancing, and all these different elements. Ballroom has an MC, a DJ, dancers, fashion, language—it's a culture.

It's fully hitting all these different areas, and I feel like it has changed the game.

Again, going back to the power of Black queer and trans creativity, there's an ability to reach those edges that no one else is really thinking about.

If you're seen in everything, you don't necessarily have to have as strong of an imagination. But when someone is never seen, when they're never given opportunities or uplifted in the same way, they have to really work for it. They have to get creative.

I see the impact of ballroom everywhere.

All of these people within ballroom are also in these rooms. They're in fashion houses. They have brands. They're musicians. They're artists.

It's a whole world. We're building a whole world.

I think ballroom continues to be on people's mood boards and continues to have an impact because we're starting to get more visibility and more resources.

But even within this administration, things are starting to roll backward. They're trying to remove access and people's ability to be seen.

You just can't snuff us out, no matter how much you try. We're always going to be there, regardless. Even if we have to go underground, we can.

It's like, We didn't want you to be here in the first place. We can do that too.

LeShay: What does Vogue Down Minneapolis look like five years from now to you? And what advice would you give someone who's interested in ballroom but nervous about showing up for the first time?

YONI: What I see for Vogue Down in five years—my dream and my hope—is that we have a space.

I want us to create an institute that can really be a community hub, almost like a community recreation center. A space where there are different resources you can access, mentorship, and somewhere you can feel reflected and connected to other people like you.

I think there are people, especially within the queer community, who are doing that work. But we also have to be realistic and ask, Who is this space prioritizing?

It's most likely prioritizing white queer and trans people. And that's completely fine. Y'all do y'all's thing. We're meant to do our thing, too.

A really big vision for me is wanting to see more Black and Brown queer and trans children and young people being able to find spaces where they feel represented.

That's what always hits home for me. When I'm able to come across youth and they're able to say, Whoa. Wait. I'm not alone. I'm here. There are people who are older than me who are living their lives and expressing themselves.

Because some people, especially in our community, don't make it past a certain age. That's such a sobering realization.

So what do they need in order to get there?

They need community. They need resources. They need to feel like the skills and gifts they have are real and that someone is actually pouring into them.

That's always something that's really important to me. Whatever uplifting the youth looks like, that's something I hope Vogue Down is able to do—and our whole community.

Ballroom has also shown me the power of multigenerational community.

We have the whole concept of being a star, legend, icon, pioneer. You're getting this notoriety based on how many years you've been in the culture. There are OGs who are a part of it who have lived through things that we can't even fathom.

So I think the full circle that I would really love to see is everybody being in those spaces together and learning from each other.

As far as advice for someone who's interested in ballroom but nervous about showing up for the first time: do your research.

Google is your friend. Get on YouTube. That's where all the clips are. There are interviews. It's not just footage of balls. There are interviews with the people who originated these things.

There's so much information out there, and I think people should genuinely do their research and look things up.

We're a generation that has so much access, and I think we forget that. We have something at our fingertips. We can literally go and learn about something.

Then reach out. Look on social media. Find groups. If you're in a specific area, ballroom has a reach. There are people out there, even if it's just you and one other person.

I would also say: make what you want to see.

That's the only reason Vogue Down exists. We made what we wanted to see.

I think people are waiting on other people to be their saviors. Going back to that conversation we were having about not having to reinvent the wheel—if there's someone across the street from you who's voguing and you want to vogue, go over there and ask them how to vogue.

Go over there and connect. Be in community with people genuinely.

I think that will make it so much easier for us to continue to grow.

LeShay: I feel like because we live in such a digital age, people are scared to reach out to people directly. But that's really how you get shit done.

Literally, talk to your neighbors.

YONI: Literally.

LeShay: I also like the idea of a rec center. I feel like it would be so much more accessible to youth, especially since a lot of the events you guys have are usually 18+.

YONI: Mm-hmm.

LeShay: That would be so fire.

And YouTube, too. I always tell people that YouTube is our biggest archive because there's everything on that app. Libraries as well. There's so much information out there that we have access to, and people don't even know it.

LeShay: This is my last question. If you could leave readers with one message about ballroom culture, what would it be?

YONI: I think with ballroom—and this is the second part of it—I don't want to sugarcoat things either.

We have to recognize that we are actively living within oppressive systems, and sometimes those oppressive systems can show up in the spaces that we create ourselves.

But I think we have to have grace and understanding. That's why going back to the history of why things were created is so important. You have to understand the context.

For example, there have been issues with a specific category called Realness.

Realness was created because you have to think about the time that ballroom was created. This was the '70s and '80s. People were not very accepting of us then.

They're not always accepting of us now, so why would you think they would have been accepting of us then?

So many people had to blend in. They had to force themselves into heteronormativity.

Obviously, we're in a generation where we're able to express ourselves a little bit more and be different. But we shouldn't shame our elders or the people who came before us for the ways they had to survive.

I think we have to be inclusive in these conversations.

That's why I want there to be more multigenerational connection points. We're living in different times, but we can come together and learn from each other.

It's about giving each other grace and understanding that ballroom was also created as a tool to fight against those systems.

At the same time, there have been ways that we've been affected by those same systems. So how do we challenge that? How do we make room for each other and give each other grace?

Be harder on the systems, not harder on the people.

LeShay: That's beautiful. That is really beautiful.

I wanted to share a few black queer films with you guys, given that the homies pride issue “homisexual” is coming up. Lately, I’ve noticed that I want to immerse myself more in stories that reflect my own experiences, culture, and life. Black queer love, black queer resiliency, black queer struggle, and even the cuntiness of it all have all been depicted in the majority of these films. I hope you all appreciate these as much as I did because I think it’s critical that our stories be respected, presented, and seen by everyone.

Pariah (2011) Directed by Dee Rees

Theme: Authentic identity vs. social/familial conformism.

Pariah (2011) is a powerful coming-of-age film that centers on Alike, a 17-year-old Black lesbian living in Brooklyn. As she grapples with the challenges of family expectations, her sexuality, and her identity, Alike confronts her deeply religious mother and ultimately learns to embrace her true self.

PUNKS (2000) Directed by Patrik-Ian Polk

Theme: community & belonging

Punks (2000) bursts with energy as an R&B-infused romantic comedy about four tight-knit Black gay friends navigating love and relationships in West Hollywood. Directed by Patrik-Ian Polk, this indie gem is acclaimed for its honest, stylish, and frequently funny exploration of friendship, dating, and queer life in Los Angeles.

The Watermelon Woman (1996) Directed by Cheryl Dunye

Theme: Archival research, Romance, LGBTQIA+ storytelling

Cheryl Dunye’s groundbreaking 1996 mockumentary follows a young Black lesbian video store clerk in Philadelphia who, while searching for her own identity and love, sets out to make a documentary about a forgotten 1930s Black actress known only as “The Watermelon Woman”.

Tongues Untied (1989) Directed by Marlon Riggs

Themes: Explores the intersection of race and sexuality, featuring voices like poet Essex Hemphill.

Tongues Untied (1989) poetically explores the Black gay experience in America, confronting racism and homophobia. Blending personal testimony, poetry, and performance, it breaks the “silence” to celebrate Black men loving Black men, creating a powerful portrait of marginalized identities.

Rafiki (2018) Directed by Wanuri Kahiu

Themes: Religion, traditional conflict vs individualism, and identity

Rafiki (2018) is a vibrant, tender Kenyan drama following two young women, Kena and Ziki, who fall in love despite their families being political rivals and the harsh criminalization of LGBTQ+ relationships in Kenya.

HEY MY GAYS, DYKES & DOWNLOWS!

With Pride Month around the corner, Homies is putting together a special Pride issue dedicated to Black queer creatives everywhere.

Submissions for the Homies Pride Edition are officially open!

This June, we’re centering Black queer stories, our love, our lives, our culture, and the many ways we show up for ourselves and each other. We’re especially looking for work that speaks to queer resilience, identity, joy, struggle, visibility, and everything in between.

Let this be a space to archive ourselves, celebrate one another, and take up the space we deserve.

What we’re looking for:

• poems, short stories, essays, and think pieces (1000 words max)

• photography, digital art, painting, design

• music + playlists

• fashion tips, cultural commentary

• book/film/music reviews

• underground artist spotlights

• mutual aid calls + community events

Got something dope? Send it my wayyyy!!

Issue’s theme: Black queer resilience, identity, & visibility.

Email your work to: submissions@homiesmagazine.com and please include: a short bio, a photo (if comfortable) & social you’d like to be tagged :)

Submissions close Sunday May 17th at 11:59 PM.

We can’t wait to experience what you share!

Who is HOMIES

HOMIES is a Black literature and arts magazine born out of love, resistance, and the undeniable brilliance of our people.

We are a home for Black writers, photographers, musicians, painters, poets, designers, and dreamers. A space that honors the softness, rage, joy, and complexity of being Black across generations and diasporas.

We highlight Black creativity through essays, fiction, visual art, film, music, mutual aid spotlights, and event listings. Whether it’s a photographer capturing neighborhood beauty, a poet reclaiming language, or a mutual aid fund feeding our people, we believe it’s all art, all necessary, all worthy.

HOMIES isn’t just a magazine. It’s a love letter. A digital stoop. A soft place to land when the world feels too heavy. A reminder that we’ve always been creating, always been connecting, always been showing up for each other.

We’re trying to bring HOMIES off the screen and into your hands. Printing physical copies means folks can swap them, share them, and keep them forever but printing ain’t cheap!

If you love what we’re building and want to see Issue no.2 in print, consider sending a few bucks our way. Every dollar helps us keep the art alive and in the streets.

HELP FUND HOMIES

HEY HOMIESSS⭐️

It’s been a while since our last release, and we’ve missed you. The wait is over, submissions for Issue No. 2 are officially open! 

This issue centers on love, gathering, home, and belonging , the quiet moments that hold us, the people who make us feel seen, and the spaces that remind us we’re never alone. 

We’re asking: what does home, love, and belonging look like to you?

We want this issue to feel like grandma’s house on a warm Sunday morning filled with laughter, warmth, and the scent of something sweet in the air. Like a big hug from the community, soft and steady.

What we're looking for:

• poems, short stories, essays, and think pieces

• photography, digital art, painting, design

• music + playlists

• fashion tips, cultural commentary

• book/film/music reviews

• underground artist spotlights

• mutual aid calls + community events

Got something dope? Send it my wayyyy!!

Issue’s theme: home, love & belonging

Email your work to: afroreadscollect@gmail.com and please include: a short bio, a photo (if comfortable) & social you’d like to be tagged :) 

Submissions close Saturday November 22nd at 11:59PM. 

We can’t wait to gather your stories again! ⭐️

Who is HOMIES

HOMIES is a Black literature and arts magazine born out of love, resistance, and the undeniable brilliance of our people.

We are a home for Black writers, photographers, musicians, painters, poets, designers, and dreamers. A space that honors the softness, rage, joy, and complexity of being Black across generations and diasporas.

We highlight Black creativity through essays, fiction, visual art, film, music, mutual aid spotlights, and event listings. Whether it’s a photographer capturing neighborhood beauty, a poet reclaiming language, or a mutual aid fund feeding our people, we believe it’s all art, all necessary, all worthy.

HOMIES isn’t just a magazine. It’s a love letter. A digital stoop. A soft place to land when the world feels too heavy. A reminder that we’ve always been creating, always been connecting, always been showing up for each other.

Every February and September, the world turns its eyes to New York Fashion Week. Cameras flash, designers debut collections, and the city becomes a moving runway. But here’s the truth that often gets buried under sponsorships and press releases: much of what we call “fashion”, what’s hot, what’s timeless, what’s aspirational started with us. Black people. Black fashion has always been the foundation, the pulse, the blueprint.

Fashion isn’t just about clothing. For Black folks, it has always been a language, a way of saying: I’m here, I matter, you will not erase me.

The Roots: When Style Became Political

In the 1960s, style and survival were inseparable. The Black Panthers didn’t just wear berets and leather jackets because they looked good (though they did); those outfits became uniforms of power and resistance. Wearing an afro wasn’t just a hairstyle; it was a declaration of pride in a world that called our natural hair “unkempt.”

At the same time, Motown redefined glamour. Diana Ross and The Supremes sparkled in gowns and matching looks that made TV audiences see Black elegance front and center. James Brown was shouting “Say It Loud I’m Black and I’m Proud,” and his cape wasn’t just showmanship; it was royalty. Our style choices weren’t small; they were revolutionary.

Funk, Disco & The Freedom of the 70s

The 1970s carried us into funk, disco, and soul. Platform shoes, bell bottoms, paisley prints, it was about feeling free. Black musicians like Chaka Khan, Parliament-Funkadelic, and Earth, Wind & Fire weren’t just making hits; they were creating entire style movements. The clothes were loud because the times demanded it; joy, survival, and self-expression needed to be seen from across the room.

The Hip-Hop Era: 80s & 90s Takeover

By the 80s and 90s, hip-hop cracked fashion wide open. Streetwear wasn’t a trend; it was a way of life. Run-DMC in Adidas tracksuits and gold chains turned sportswear into luxury. LL Cool J in Kangol hats. Aaliyah in oversized Tommy Hilfiger and baggy jeans, mixing tomboy and sex appeal with ease.

And then there was Dapper Dan in Harlem, remixing Gucci, Louis Vuitton, and Fendi long before those fashion houses ever acknowledged him. He dressed everyone from Mike Tyson to Salt-N-Pepa, showing that luxury could belong to us too, even if the industry tried to keep us out. Today, brands collaborate with Dapper Dan, but let’s be real: he was decades ahead.

Hip-hop style made its way from block parties in the Bronx to Paris runways, and it never left.

Gender Norms & The Power of Defiance

Black fashion has always been about defiance, not just against racism, but against gender boxes, too. Think about ballroom culture: Black queer and trans folks strutting in gowns, suits, and everything in between, creating categories and worlds where freedom of expression ruled. The ballroom scene birthed voguing, which Madonna made mainstream, but it started in Black and brown queer communities that dared to be fabulous when the world tried to make them invisible.

Even outside of the ballroom, we see this in everyday Black queer fashion. Studs, butches, femmes creating our own codes of style that challenged and remixed masculinity and femininity before “genderless fashion” became a marketing buzzword. What fashion week is just now calling “progressive,” Black people have been living.

Appropriation vs. Appreciation

Here’s the part that stings: so much of what gets applauded on Fashion Week runways was born in our communities, without credit.

Cornrows, acrylic nails, oversized fits, bamboo earrings, durags, all mocked when worn by us, all praised when adopted by white celebrities. Black women were called “ghetto” for long nails in the 90s; today, nail art is a billion-dollar industry. White models walk the runway in braids and the press calls it “bohemian chic,” while Black girls get sent home from school for the same styles.

Appropriation isn’t just theft, it’s erasure. And it’s why celebrating Black fashion on our terms matters so deeply.

Black Fashion Now

Look around today, and the influence is everywhere.

• Telfar Clemens transformed his “Bushwick Birkin” into a global must-have, proving that luxury can be both affordable and community-driven.

• Kerby Jean-Raymond of Pyer Moss uses his runways to tell stories about Black history, joy, and struggle.

• Beyoncé’s Renaissance tour wasn’t just music; it was a masterclass in Black futurism, with looks that blended disco, ballroom, and sci-fi.

And still, Black youth on the ground thrifting, remixing Y2K fits, making streetwear luxury continue to be the heartbeat of what’s next.

Because the truth is simple: without Black culture, without Black music, without Black style, there is no fashion.

Closing: The Blueprint

Fashion Week might have the lights and cameras, but the runway has always started with us. From Sunday church fits to block party looks, from ballrooms to BET, from Harlem to Lagos, Black people are the trendsetters.

As the world watches NYFW, remember: Black fashion is not just history, it’s our present and our future. It’s resilience, rebellion, and joy stitched into fabric. It’s how we’ve always told the world who we are, even when the world tried not to see us.

And at HOMIES, we honor that truth: Black fashion is the blueprint. Always has been. Always will be.

We’re trying to bring HOMIES off the screen and into your hands. Printing physical copies means folks can swap them, share them, and keep them forever but printing ain’t cheap!

If you love what we’re building and want to see Issue #1 in print, consider sending a few bucks our way. Every dollar helps us keep the art alive and in the streets.

HELP FUND HOMIES

HOMIES INSTA

This week’s theme is Community, the people who hold us, shape us, and remind us that none of us are ever truly alone.

Crooklyn (1994) - A nostalgic, tender story about family life in Brooklyn, seen through the eyes of a young girl.

Do the Right Thing (1989)- A neighborhood, a conflict, and a test of community bonds.

Cooley High (1975) - A coming-of-age film about friendship, love, and Black youth joy.

Songs in the Key of Life by Stevie Wonder - An album that overflows with love, spirit, and the collective soul of Black community.

The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin - A timeless call for justice, love, and collective liberation.

You Don’t Know Us Negroes by Zora Neale Hurston - Essays on everyday Black life, culture, and community ties

We’re trying to bring HOMIES off the screen and into your hands. Printing physical copies means folks can swap them, share them, and keep them forever but printing ain’t cheap!

If you love what we’re building and want to see Issue #1 in print, consider sending a few bucks our way. Every dollar helps us keep the art alive and in the streets.

FUND HOMIES

We’re trying to bring HOMIES off the screen and into your hands. Printing physical copies means folks can swap them, share them, and keep them forever but printing ain’t cheap!

If you love what we’re building and want to see Issue #1 in print, consider sending a few bucks our way. Every dollar helps us keep the art alive and in the streets.

FUND HOMIES PHYSICAL COPIES

Yo, homies!

I’m starting a Black literature and art magazine!! And I want you in it :) (if you’re a homie ofc)

I’m calling in Black writers, artists, photographers, poets, musicians, and any and all creatives who need a space to exist, express, and be seen. This mag is for us, by us.

Who is HOMIES?

HOMIES is a Black literature and arts magazine born out of love, resistance, and the undeniable brilliance of our people.

We are a home for Black writers, photographers, musicians, painters, poets, designers, and dreamers. A space that honors the softness, rage, joy, and complexity of being Black across generations and diasporas.

We highlight Black creativity through essays, fiction, visual art, film, music, mutual aid spotlights, and event listings. Whether it’s a photographer capturing neighborhood beauty, a poet reclaiming language, or a mutual aid fund feeding our people, we believe it’s all art, all necessary, all worthy.

HOMIES isn’t just a magazine.
It’s a love letter.
A digital stoop.
A soft place to land when the world feels too heavy.
A reminder that we’ve always been creating, always been connecting, always been showing up for each other.

What we’re looking for:

• poems, short stories, essays, and think pieces

• photography, digital art, painting, design

• music + playlists

• fashion tips, cultural commentary

• book/film/music reviews

• underground artist spotlights

• mutual aid calls + community events

Got something dope? Send it my way.

Submissions are OPEN NOW and due by JULY 27TH @ 11:59 PM.

Email your work to: afroreadscollect@gmail.com
Please include:

• a short bio

• a photo (if you’re comfortable)

• any socials you’d like to be tagged :)

Oh, and!
We’re also holding space for community care. If you or someone you know needs support, whether that’s a mutual aid boost, visibility for a cause, or just a lil love, we got you. This isn’t just a mag, it’s a community.

Can't wait to see what you all create and send my way :)

With much love,
Shay