PAPER Infiltrated OUTLOUD Festival Because of Course We Did

A regular at work asked me the other day if I thought pride had a weird vibe this year. I didn’t disagree, necessarily, but I asked if he meant pride, overall, or Pride™, the one with cops and corporate floats (but not as many anymore, given, you know, the impending fall of civilization). Both, he said, but especially the event, which had just removed Kathy Hilton as its Grand Marshal (does no one remember Aspen?) and boasted the Pussycat Dolls as its headliner (the ever-looming spectre of that godforsaken hat…).

My personal relationship with Pride is one that predisposes me to agree with him. There comes a point in every faggot’s life, you see, where he outgrows the initial need for Pride, unable to hold space for the rainbows and palatability and The Greatest Showman’s “This is Me.” Between that and the overwhelming wave of corporate pandering that followed Obergefell (and boosted pride into an economy all its own), it’s hardly surprising that a lot of the queers I hang out with don’t tend to view Pride as much of a priority. Admittedly, I probably wouldn’t have gone to the festival at all were I not writing this. I moved out of West Hollywood over a year ago, and given the option, I’m going to choose not to spend money on a ticket, especially in a world where Madonna could announce show at any point.

And he’s right; on the other side of it, Pride did have a weird vibe this year. It’s no secret that the energy around us is generally pretty bleak. Specifically where queers are concerned, support for same-sex marriage is down to 65%, drag bans continue to ravage the country, and trans people keep fucking dying while none of the powers that be do anything to stop it.

The prevailing mood this year was one of defiant joy, basking in the excesses of queerness despite it all. For a glorious, libidinal moment, the sun shone a bit brighter, the kisses were kinder and flirtier and more frequent, and “Runway” was the best song ever made.

We’re all gonna die anyway. Why not do it while bitching about pop stars?

Friday, June 5

6:14PM: I get off work, and my coworker asks me what’s in store for my night — “pride, darling,” I tell her — and then she asks for specifics. It’s the first time I’ve actually verbalized my exact itinerary, and I’m exhausted listing it out. There’s a sushi place next door, and I’m friends with the staff, so I head over there to grab dinner. “Fish is bold with the night you’re about to have,” my coworker warns me. No matter, I tell her — I’ll be on my best behavior tonight. I am working!

7:23PM: A quick change and freshening up before I head out for the night. My look tonight is cowgirl chic, a cropped rhinestone denim shirt and cutoff jorts.

8:35PM: I forcefeed my friends Ava Max songs in the Waymo and fill them in on her career thus far, dating back to when her trademark was the asymmetrical hair.

9:12PM: Arrival on the OUTLOUD grounds, where I meet up with a publicist to get my wristband. I’m technically outside the will call window, but people let you get away with these things when you are writing for PAPER Magazine. I hear Maude Latour playing from outside; she sounds fab. Having followed her career for a bit, I’m loving how much she’s locked into the sound and the popstar she’s meant to be.

10:02PM: Jess Glynne takes the stage, opening with “Rather Be,” a work of divine inspiration. That voice is just beyond — I love this specific brand of British white lady. The hair is fierce too, tied up in a pony barely containing her massive curls. She seems like a nice person, and she is very talented, so I will not comment on her outfit.

10:22PM: Cowboy Carter jersey count: 2.

10:26PM: “Hold My Hand.” I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard this song past the Jet2 holiday meme, but I like it! Desperately need her and Sigala to hop on a track together and soundtrack a Love Island opening number. Her dancers are wearing white tutus over black slacks.

10:31PM: A man at the barricade passes out, and then I run into a guy I hooked up with a while back, and it’s all just a lot. The fest’s main DJ takes the stage.

10:41PM: An “Abracadabra” remix I haven’t heard before but I note as “pussyyyyy.”

10:43PM: “Golden.” Can we let this movie die.

10:55PM: “My Life Would Suck Without You.” One thing that is important to know about me is that I do not fucking play about Kelly Clarkson.

11:00PM: Ava Max hits the stage, wearing a dress with a red corset atop a massive yellow tutu. A red headpiece ties things together. My friend and I land on “Gaga Biden inauguration, but make it Mother Mary.” She opens with “Born to the Night,” which is one of the songs I played in the car. It is one of the moments in her discography where she flirts with excellence — “Maybe You’re The Problem” being the other major standout in this arena. Her career is so fascinating to me.

11:07PM: Ava does away with the headpiece, which she is calling a hat. Someone next to me is wearing a “Sweet But Psycho” t-shirt; I love that she has card-carrying stans. Absent the headpiece/hat, her crimped hardfront blonde wig stands out as especially tragic. I post a story making fun of the wig.

11:14PM: “Kings and Queens,” during which there’s an overwhelming poppers smell.

11:37PM: Is this bitch interpolating Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes. I check my phone, and I’ve gotten the address for a warehouse party we may stop by later.

11:42PM: Speaking of interpolations, “Million Dollar Baby!” Her earpiece starts to have issues, and she does begin to unravel. “One second, while I change my plaque… my pack… mwahahaha. Just don’t have sex right now. Hahahahahahahaha.”

11:52PM: After her penultimate song, “The Motto” (apparently a Tiësto collab, but I came of age in the 2010s, so “The Motto” is of course YOLO), she says “bumblebee out!” She clarifies that she’s been joking that her look resembles a bumblebee. Maybe that’s what they look like in Albania? Anyway, she closes with “Sweet But Psycho,” and I’m not too proud to admit she did her thing. We head out to my friend’s house party.

12:06AM: Cowboy Carter jersey count: 3. This one’s wearer bedazzled the fuck out of it. Werk.

1:09AM: I run into a friend who I tend to run into in random situations — very “Ariana, what are you doing here” — and the conversation turns to Lady Gaga. The guy he’s with is a “LoveDrug” stan, a type of person I am now learning exists.

1:43AM: I’m smoking a joint on the balcony, and I meet a guy who tells me this is his first Pride. It’s really earnest and sweet and a great reminder of why all this stuff matters. I’ve so heavily curated my world that I forget how precious and rare it can be, early in one’s faggotdom, to experience these types of spaces.

2:25AM: My friends and I head out to the warehouse party.

2:47AM: Arrival, and we’re on the list because I know one of the hosts, and I don’t know when saying “I’m on the list” is going to get old. I don’t catch the DJs’ names, but it’s mostly a mix of deep house and techno. Over the course of my time there, I think multiple DJs have sets, but who’s to say really. In any case, it’s fierce, and I create a new persona, a different identity, and it’s all very safety in numbers.

3:17AM: I run into a good Judy, and we fag out a bit — I tell him about Ava’s unraveling, he brings up Salina EsTitties, we unpack All Stars and agree she should be on Traitors. He grabs my shoulder: “love you, I’m gonna go get laid.”

3:34AM: The host I know pulls me into the green room, and we hang out there for a bit. I meet some of his friends, and I tell them I’m writing this diary, which makes me feel like if Carrie Bradshaw was Jordan Firstman.

4:02AM: More dancing, and my first makeout of Pride. Everything feels so fluid in June.

4:27AM: Back in the green room, I’m meeting more people, and we’re talking about Pride and the diary. “Wait, have you met Saturn?” someone chimes in. He’s referring to Saturn Risin9, a DJ and performance artist with a set at OUTLOUD tomorrow (today? Saturday.). And I haven’t met Saturn, which quickly changes. She asks me about the piece, and I tell her it’s a diary, very casual, very queer, very cunty. I say I wrote a similar one for Madonna at the Abbey. I schedule a text to the fest publicist for the morning to set time up.

5:00AM: The sun is rising as the host and I leave the party; the girl working the door hands me a Hi-Chew, which I promptly forget about. We’re in a Waymo, and we listen to Madonna and Slayyyter and “Sexonthebeat” but especially Madonna. I get him talking about Housewives. We get back to his, and we sleep for maybe three hours.

SATURDAY, JUNE 6

10:43AM: I head back home to get ready for the day. I have to be onsite earlier than him (“I’ll just try and get there before sunset,” he tells me).

12:24PM: Thai takeout and Love Island bring me back to life. Give my girl ten!!!!

1:01PM: A journalist friend of mine posts his coverage of the Confessions II premiere at Tribeca, and I press him for more details. We exchange voice memos for a bit because Gen Z will do anything but pick up the goddamn phone.

3:32PM: I find parking in West Hollywood (!) and race over to the OUTLOUD grounds for my first interview. My look today is a Heaven by Marc Jacobs baby tee I bought off fellow PAPER contributor Andie Kirby. The Queen of Melrose walks past me, smoking a cig.

3:45PM: I’m chatting with MNEK, who I knew was British because my Drag Race practice does include UK, but I’m always caught off guard by British accents for some reason. After spending the bulk of the eight years since his last album, Language, as one of the most in-demand writer/producers in the game (ever heard of a lady by the name of Zara Larsson?), he tells me how excited he is to step back into solo artistry. He describes his new era as “large,” characterized by “big, expansive sounds.” It’s abundantly clear talking to him how much unmitigated joy he gets out of the musical process and how genuinely excited he is to be back onstage sharing his art. Outside of his own music, he’s listening to Zara, of course, as well as Kehlani, Naomi Scott, and fellow performer Jae Stephens. As we chat, he quickly reveals himself to be the belle of the ball, with a few different friends coming up to say hi. One of them has a power fan, which we both take a moment to bask in.

4:25PM: I’m whisked away to meet DJ Mia Moretti, who’s debuting her new song with Uffie later today at the SUMMERTRAMP Pleasure Dome (which is the best possible name for a stage, by the way). Outside of the Uffie moment, she tells me she’s most excited for “her roller girl,” which is baffling until she brings over a girl evoking the Julianne Moore Boogie Nights roller-girl fantasy, wearing roller skates. I think her name was Fannie. Moretti’s energy is ecstatic — “it’s pride! We’re in a park! We need more park parties in LA,” she tells me. Her plan for the weekend is to post up at SUMMERTRAMP (“that’s the vibe”), but she hates making a schedule. Uffie comes over, and we all head to her trailer. “Get ready for summer, for house music, for cosmic journeys…and beyond. We need it.”

5:31PM: My hag arrives onsite, and I slip her an extra VIP wristband. We run over to the OUTLOUD Speakeasy, which everyone collectively describes as “the gay Backrooms,” a little tent tucked away behind a pupusa track. My friend felipe.mp3, who you may know from making the “CRANK” / “Trolley Song” mashup, is DJing there. He’s playing “Sexy Drag Queen” by RuPaul and thank God for that.

6:01PM: Hag and I stop by the Tubi activation to play cornhole (we flop) and get t-shirts that say “I Got My A$ Ate While Watching a Tubi Original.”

6:27PM: Salina EsTitties likes my Instagram story making fun of Ava Max’s wig.

6:35PM: Frost Children hit the stage, and they fucking obliterate. There are some faggots on the barricade with PCD hats (they’re the headliners tonight) who have no idea what to make of them. I’m always going to be mildly bitter about how the timing of my coming of age worked out; I turned 21 in summer 2020 and was relatively sheltered for most of my upbringing. But this feels of a piece with what hearing Cobra Starship in the club must have felt like.

7:10PM: I run backstage to chat with Leland, who’s DJing at the SUMMERTRAMP Pleasure Dome (get used to the full government name) later. He tells me about his fluid ethos when it comes to DJ sets like this one: “I have my little road map, but I don’t really know the order. And I’m just gonna wing it.” Among other things (the man stays busy!), he composed songs for Stop! That! Train!, which I was able to catch a screening of earlier this week. One of those is a safety instructional number performed by the train attendants: “I have a fantasy of writing a song for Delta [Airlines], so I was like ‘this is my audition.’” We talk about the importance of Pride, and he brings up the “real agenda…to push us back in the closet.” He tells me about his first Pride, which was WeHo, and how affirming that was for him in terms of experiencing the chosen family we all talk about so much (as well as some making out with friends and strangers). Outside his very busy schedule — he teases “a lot of music coming out,” which I’m choosing to take to mean new Troye — he’s been listening to Slayyyter, Ryan Beatty, Kacey Musgraves, Tove Lo, and Kim Petras’s Detour. (Same, girl.)

7:31PM: The OUTLOUD publicist asks me if I want to talk to Ashlee Simpson, and I ask her if she has any other stupid questions. Simpson (who looks fucking fabulous, by the way, in an ethereal flower-child manner that stops me in my tracks) tells me this is her first pride performance; she went to OUTLOUD last year to see Maren Morris and decided then that she wanted to perform here. And look at God! She teases a “special friend” coming out — spoiler alert, Lance Bass — and talks about how meaningful this performance is for her. It’s an earnest sort of allyship that might be offputting on paper, but her energy is so light and genuine that I’m hanging onto her every word. She’s giddy with excitement, in a near constant state of motion (hence the blurry portrait).

“I believe so much in being your individual self…I’m here for that world I want, for our youth and everyone to be able to be so confident and love themselves for who they are, you know?” She tells me she’s in the studio all month, with the whole month of June blocked out; the new music, she says, is “fun” and “fresh,” “keeping that rock ‘n’ roll vibe, as well as a little dance, too.”

7:47PM: I meet Jeff Consoletti, OUTLOUD’s founder; he’s wearing a bedazzled PCD tee. He tells me he caught their rehearsal last night, and I ask if Nicole is doing any Sunset Boulevard, and he confirms that she is not. We agree this is probably for the best but a shame regardless.

8:00PM: Saturn Risin9 hits the stage for a DJ set, which opens with an acapella version of Beyoncé’s “Sweet Dreams.” She asks the crowd if her visuals are onscreen — they are not — before laughing off the tech issue with a sly “...amazing. Remember Mariah Carey on New Year’s Eve when she said ‘amazing?’” (I, for one, already knew.)

8:32PM: I pay $25 for a barbecue sandwich, and it is the best thing I have ever tasted.

8:43PM: FLO performs “Leak It,” and for a moment all is right in the world. These divas are fucking everything.

8:51PM: I catch up with Saturn in her trailer. We laugh about the Mariah moment (“I had to, darling”), and she says that was “playful” but uses it as a springboard to talk about trans visibility at pride: “I think sometimes the effort gets lost in the execution… it’s like, okay, I did the thing, that’s enough.” When she talks about the tech issues (which also extended to the decks themselves) it’s less bitter than resigned. There’s a shrug with which she talks about it all, an air of disappointment aimed perhaps most at her own expectation that things might have gone smoother. Of all my conversations over the weekend, this is easily the most frank and disarming. She hesitates when I ask about her relationship with Pride: “...I appreciate Pride… it’s a sort of family gathering that I think we need because we [the queer community] are not brought together… personally, I’m not the biggest champion of the rainbows and Target having their little corner in the store.” She uses the metaphor of Pokémon to talk about Pride: “every year, we should power up. There should be more education, legislation and protections every year. We should be sharpening our community tools and our life tools because they [the proverbial ‘they’] didn’t give us anything.”

I ask her about Club Kid, in which she features as “Saffron,” a role Jordan Firstman wrote for her. She’s effusive about Firstman, who she describes as a “great director” and commends the film’s “normalcy.” Her first viewing of the film was at Cannes, an experience she gets starry-eyed about when I bring it up. “Darling, the Cannes experience was the Mariah moment,” she says. “This is happening! I’m in a major movie!” She says she’s been listening to Britney (“I never stop because I know that she will come back and save us all”), her own music, but mainly DJ sets. “We love Mez Monty, we love SUCCUBUS, we love… those are cute for now.”

9:20PM: I run over to the SUMMERTRAMP Pleasure Dome™ to catch the end of Leland’s set, and I forget to note any specific songs but it’s faggy and jubilant and debaucherous and wonderful. By the bar, I bump into a friend, who’s on edge at the thought of hearing “Jai Ho!” tonight. I respond that I’m most anticipating “Hush Hush; Hush Hush,” which is pronounced Hush Hush Semicolon Hush Hush.

9:33PM: Cowboy Carter jersey count: 4.

9:40PM: Cowboy Carter jersey count: 5.

9:45PM: Ashlee Simpson takes the stage, and immediately, she’s fucking taking it. All that excitement I saw in her earlier is on full display here: she is loving every minute of this performance, and the crowd is eating it right up. Saturn is behind me getting her goddamn life.

10:09PM: I forgot how much I love “L.O.V.E.”

10:26PM: “Pieces of Me” and the vibe in the crowd is that of a megachurch. I’m involuntarily screaming it up an octave. I did not know I had these notes in me, but these things tend to happen when you access a higher power.

10:34PM: I run to grab drinks for myself and my hag, who has been holding a spot close to the front. Ashlee is a whole thing for her and it was best to let her have that. I run into the same friend from earlier, who confirms that “Jai Ho!” is on the setlist.

10:44PM: Reunion with hag.

11:00PM: The DJ exits the stage; it’s PCD time.

11:04PM: …well it was supposed to be at least.

11:09PM: Melody Thornton has locked Nicole in her trailer.

11:14PM: Still no sign of the Dolls, presumably because Audra McDonald has joined Melody as backup.

11:20PM: “Be careful what you wish for, cause you just might get it…” — the Dolls have taken the stage to “When I Grow Up.” There are three of them these days (crash course: there were six, then there were five in the 2020 edition which excluded Melody, and the two who aren’t present this time around found out when “Club Song” came out). Nicole is, of course, in the middle. They’re all wearing tracksuits dip-dyed with the primary colors; Nicole has her hood on and looks like either a penis or a bloody tampon, depending on who you ask. I note that I like the yellow one, and I think that still may be true, but only in small doses, as I will soon come to learn.

11:30PM: Kendrick’s “DNA” serves as a transition into “Bottle Pop.” Okay.

11:32PM: “Run The World (Girls)” plays, except they have swapped out “girls” for “gays.” Please just call me a faggot instead. Also take those tracksuits off already.

11:34PM: I was kidding, put them back on. They’re all wearing variations on a Beetlejuice fantasy, adorned with rainbow flags. Nicole gets a full jumpsuit, with rhinestones, and Miscellaneous Dolls #1 & 2 were forced to go to Target. Nicole dedicates “I Don’t Need a Man” to everyone except “[her] fierce lesbians” because “they already know they don’t need a man.”

11:36PM: Nicole has let Miscellaneous Dolls #1 & 2 belt!

11:43PM: Miscellaneous Doll #2, the blue one, takes the stage for a DJ set she dubs the “Don’t Cha Disco.” This lasts, apparently, for five minutes but feels like an eternity and closes with her covering “We Found Love” for some reason. This show is supposed to end at midnight by the way.

11:48PM: Miscellaneous Doll #1, the yellow one, comes out to “Walk For Me” to her solo moment, which is also just a bunch of faggot songs. “Gimme More” now says “gimme, gimme gays,” and she pulls out some choreo from the Air-otica sequence in All That Jazz. She closes her set with the following monologue, which she delivers like a completely sane and sober person: “How you feelin’ out there?!?! My chosen family!!! I might…go have a beverage. And have a little breather. A margarita…” (“margarita” and “breather” rhyming, naturally) “Some Tajin on the rim! [she scowls] It’s too spicy!!!!!”

11:53PM: Nicole puts #1 out of her misery with her own solo section: “Who’s ready to queen out with the queen doll?”

11:56PM: There’s a straight couple in front of us; the man has the woman on his shoulders, which would ordinarily be annoying but it’s just Nicole’s solo section. That said, he is clearly not strong enough to hold her, and his back quickly gives out, which leads him to grind on me while bent over. He hoists her back overhead. Nicole asks if we’re ready to get wet and all of a sudden she and her dancers are firing water guns into the crowd. The couple is rocking back and forth, and it is all very precarious.

12:00AM: Someone asks the girl to get down, and she pretends not to listen. Hag and I back her up, and the girl finally gets down, and everyone in a mile radius cheers. The Dolls do “Buttons,” which they briefly mash up with “Sports Car;” I am taking this as their equivalent to Madonna singing “Born This Way” on the MDNA Tour.

12:07AM: “Stickwitu,” literally no notes, perfect, died, dead.

12:10AM: “Hush Hush Semicolon Hush Hush” occurs, sort of, but I have a couple of prevailing notes. First, she (let’s be honest, PCD is a Scherzinger project) started the number after the beat kicked in, but you have to first experience the initial drama and heartache for that to mean anything. Second, she fucked up the words quite literally immediately. Third, the transcendence of this song is tied to the interplay between “Hush Hush” and “I Will Survive,” but this arrangement took the low-hanging fruit and was mostly an “I Will Survive” cover. Next!!!!

12:13AM: “Club Song,” during which the straight girl flips off the Dolls while they say “don’t bring your boyfriend to the club.” Girl, don’t!!!

12:16AM: “React,” which is a great fucking song, and they do chairography which will always hit. “Pretend we have water here,” offers Nicole. Well, maybe if you didn’t waste all the water on your solo number!

12:19AM: The National Anthem, “Don’t Cha.” And afterward, freedom from our hostage situation. I’m supposed to meet some friends out but I cancel.

1:11AM: Hag has not yet listened to Detour, so I play her that on the way home. “Jeep” at this hour goes fucking crazy. Or at any hour. Listen to teeeeeccccchhhhhnoooooo.

SUNDAY, JUNE 7

11:17AM: I get out of bed, pay too much for a salad, and catch up on RHORI because I’m talking to Rosie later.

1:41PM: I shoot a text to Seth Rogen’s gay assistant: “I’m writing another PAPER Diary and would love for you to be a recurring character if you’re doing anything for Pride today. Not sure if you read the Gaga one but you’re mentioned there as well.” I cut the sleeves off my Tubi shirt and crop it; I’m pairing it with a fringy cheetah skirt I bought from Crystal Methyd.

3:20PM: Seth’s flamer of an assistant responds: “I burned the Brain Dead shirt, so you tell me.” We try to make plans to meet up which do not come to fruition, but it feels wrong to write one of these without including him.

3:23PM: Today was the parade, which is not a thing I care about, or maybe I would if I hadn’t had the weekend I’ve had and I wasn’t about to have the day I’m about to have. Regardless it makes parking a real bitch, and I park on a permitted street despite not having a permit and hope for the best because it’s Sunday. As I’m walking through the Street Fair outside the festival grounds, I am 90% sure I pass Brian Jordan Alvarez, who looks self-conscious, which means it’s probably him. A DJ is playing “Bucky Done Gun,” and I am the only person who knows this song, and you will have to pry 2000s M.I.A. out from my cold dead hands.

3:31PM: This is the part of the day where I’m interviewing/watching Rosie and Countess Luann, and it’s a whole thing, so that’s coming under separate cover. You’re welcome.

4:13PM: I realize that PAPER Cover Star Meg Stalter is about to perform out on one of the public stages off the festival grounds. My understanding is that the show was fucking colossal. Hag informs me that she mocked the awkward flexing Taylor Swift does before performing “The Man” in the intro to Song of the Summer “Prettiest Girl in America”: “You’re making me feel like… like the prettiest girl in America.” She and others describe the set as pop as performance as pop. A reverse reverse Warholian experience. SRGA (Seth Rogen’s Gay Assistant) texts me “Meg stalter unreal rn.” Jeff, the founder, tells me today that she’s one of his favorite bookings.

5:55PM: A call comes out: “Report to the stage, F-A-Gs!” This can only mean one thing — Lushious Massacr has arrived. She takes the stage, enveloped in luxurious silver, to Adele’s “To Be Loved,” which she’s sprinkled with many of her usual isms. Don’t do it, little girl. Brick. Woman.

6:04PM: Lushious, consistently a prophet: “if you have a big penis, can you do me a favor and fuck a big girl tonight? Make some noise for the diabetic girls!”

6:11PM: A Lushious Massacr performance is something of a hybrid between cabaret and church. “The billionaires, the fascists, the Epstein class…these people think we’re some sissies,” she preaches, “that we’re just gonna sit there and take it. And a lot of people are gonna sit there and take it. Make some noise if you’re getting pounded!” Uproarious applause. “Mke some noise if you’re ran through!” Even louder. “Pound a doll tonight. Better yet, let the dolls pound you tonight!”

6:29PM: I run backstage to meet Willa Ford at her trailer. Her team tells her I’m here whenever she’s ready, and she calls out to give her a minute to change. “You wanna see some real tits?” Which brings us to her Playboy spread, and her manager bemoans how the cover fell through in favor of Jessica Alba — “she didn’t even show anything!”

6:36PM: Ford emerges in a highlighter-yellow and white number, this draggy layered tulle fantasy. She’s got the same yellow in strands of her hair to match, as well as in her eyeshadow. This bitch is in drag, so I don’t mind when she does the interview while still in glam.

Meg Stalter had the trailer before her, and she and her team have a recurring bit about her breaking the AC and clogging the toilet. Her mood is overwhelmingly joyful; she later admits that she saw Trixie Mattel (out of drag) and had to resist the urge to go up and fangirl.

It’s her second show back since her return to music following a 22-year hiatus. “I popped that cherry with a smaller crowd, and it was amazing.” She’s there to promote her new record, Amanda, but she’s also self-aware enough to know to bookend her set with “I Wanna Do Bad” (both the original and her newly-released String Orchestral Version). “For so long, I didn’t wanna touch any of it,” she says of her aughts output, initially promising but derailed by, among other things, her follow-up single to “Bad” dropping on the same day as Mariah Carey’s Glitter if you know what I mean. “I’ve reclaimed it, I’m loving it,” she adds.

As we’re chatting about this new era, she brings up the peculiarities of the community’s relationship with pop stars and divas. “They could be your harshest critics, but also could be your best fans,” she tells me. “They just want to know that you care and that you’re getting effort.” I ask her if she thinks those are two sides of the same coin, and she agrees: “Nobody else will tell you sometimes. A lot of times artists have a lot of yes men…the community will hold you accountable.”

6:54PM: I sprint from Willa’s trailer up the steps of the West Hollywood Library, where I’m meeting Jae Stephens, who’s performing after Mel C at SUMMERTRAMP: Beyond Pleasuredome. “I felt its energy permeating during soundcheck this morning,” she says of the debaucherous stage (which I really haven’t given a lot of space to but feels somewhat like a parallel universe. A vibe indeed!) “Something is brewing here.”

It’s her first pride, and she’s fittingly amped. “I performed at The Abbey for a Grammy pre-show that OUTLOUD was promoting,” the pop/R&B star says, “and that was kind of me being like, hey guys, can I do Pride? Like, please?” Like Ford, she’s drawn to the intensity of the popstar-faggot industrial complex. “I’m excited to see if everybody lives up to their reputation of being really rowdy. I want some talkback, I want some hecklers, I want to get up in people’s faces.” She mentions that she’s excited to see headliner Jade, who shared a soundcheck slot with her, which she describes as “battling to see who could sing louder. She won.”

Stephens wears her own merch for the chat, a cheeky promotional tie-in I always appreciate from a pop girl, especially when she’s selling it as well as this. Talking to her, it’s evident how, to dabble in Twitter parlance, hungry she is for stardom — very Gaga IKEA parking lot realness. And you can’t help but notice the spark in her eyes as she talks about her upcoming album. She teases a song called “Sugar Trap,” which she declares as her song of the summer.

Except, of course, “Midnight Sun.” It is never-ending, after all.

7:14PM: Speaking of the SUMMERTRAMP Dome, Ribbed For Her Pleasure, I run over there to catch Isabella Lovestory’s set, which from what I can tell is great, but there’s a lot of surrounding chaos because, I guess, Mel C wanted to clear out the whole backstage area with the trailers and the sidestage viewing. Ok. There is a cocktail with Casamigos and I don’t really remember what else in it beyond blue curaçao called the Casa Pride, and I order it because I want something a little different, especially for the SUMMERTRAMP party.

7:35PM: Mel C takes the stage to “Say You’ll Be There,” but honestly there’s a lot going on this whole time, and I haven’t really incorporated the Spice Girls into my popstar practice, so I don’t pay much attention to any of this. I spend some amount of this time with Countess Luann.

7:51PM: I run into a friend, wearing the Confessions II veil. Safety in Numbers Summer!! I sit down in a hot pink pool float (I don’t remember what animal, a flamingo perhaps?) with him and two other girls; we talk about how bad the fucking Pussycat Dolls were, and how it was the best night of our lives.

8:02PM: Lushious walks by, regal as ever, in a gorgeous rainbow number. The way that drag queens, especially those who operate with her sort of pageanty glamour, move within spaces like this, will never get old to me. She floats through the crowd, with a warm grace that renders her almost as a head of state. I’m able to snag her rep and ask to snap a portrait; again, saying you are with PAPER Magazine gets you places, and I always feel so cunt saying it. I cry the first time I see the developed photo.

8:38PM: Jae’s up, and we’re allowed backstage again, so I watch her from sidestage so as not to wade through the crowd (and for less embarrassment while I eat my $20 beef shawarma). That same energy that was so infectious when we spoke is on full display when she’s onstage. She’s got a red jockstrap on, and it’s all so good, and I just want to be on the record saying that this girl is a superstar.

9:03PM: I head back over to the mainstage to try and catch the end of Confidence Man’s set, but I run into a few different friends along the way so it’s kind of a lost cause by the time I get there.

9:23PM: The same DJ from Friday night is on before Jade. At some point today, it’s become clear that Nithya Raman is going to end our national nightmare and edge out Spencer Pratt in the mayoral race. She mentions this to an electrified crowd, to some of the biggest cheers I hear all weekend.

9:31PM: The Blue Man Group are up on the barricades dancing to the “Berghain” remix.

9:45PM: I squirm to a good spot for Jade. There’s this daddy nearby who takes an interest in me, and I do make out with him a little before it starts to get overbearing. He will go on to describe me as “intoxicating,” which I am claiming, though.

10:00PM: Jade takes the stage to “IT girl,” and it’s immediately evident we are in the hands of a consummate professional.

10:09PM: She gives her obligatory “I love gay people” speech, closing by saying she’s “gonna put [her] whole puss into this performance. Lushious is a couple rows in front of me getting her life.

10:16PM: There’s this guy who’s kind of slinking up to everyone in his orbit and dancing on them unless his partner (?) is literally holding onto him.

10:39PM: “Would I be a twink? I think I’m vers…” as if those are mutually exclusive. She does a Little Mix medley that opens with “Touch;” I fall to my knees.

10:50PM: While introducing “Church,” she gives a speech about the importance of allyship: “all are welcome in the church of Jade.” A chorus of “ally!” and “talk Valentina!!!” from the crowd.

10:51PM: The organ intro to “Church” starts, and she admits she was supposed to do her speech over it. A list of queer trailblazers is behind her, notably including Derek Jarman. OK girl!!!

10:56PM: “Angel of My Dreams,” a mass baptism event.

11:25PM: As I’m walking back to my car, a faggot walks by singing “Angel of My Dreams.” A block away, another calls out, “I was just thinking that!” Miraculously, I have not been ticketed.

11:47PM: I arrive at the W for Symone and LP Giobbi’s Femme House party, with hag set to arrive shortly after. As I’m walking into the elevator, Crystal Methyd walks out, and I almost mention that I bought my skirt from her, and she almost seems to maybe recognize the skirt as her own, but we move.

11:54PM: I quickly run into the House of Avalon’s Grant Vanderbilt, who’s sporting a t-shirt from Avalon housemate Rylie’s brand PRETTY BBY that reads “I’m trans and I have a gun.” Obviously I snap a pic.

12:00AM: A friend, the one I kept having frantic pre-Abbey phone calls with, comes up to me and shoves his phone in my face to show the time. “Eight hours til Donna.” I keep forgetting this Confessions II film is imminent. One thing at a time, people!!!

12:21AM: I step outside on the balcony, where I catch up with Felipe, who DJ’d today out on the main strip. My hag arrives as I bump into Symone, a vision as always in Acne Studios. Along with two other ladies, we get into a Housewives kiki, as I fill them in on Rosie and Lu. One of the ladies refers to Summer House as “watching the kids.”

12:43AM: Back inside, I run into drag queen Judy, who’s wearing a deconstructed Jean Paul Gaultier number. After she signs her Polaroid, she thinks for a second before also signing my arm. “Gonna be worth a lot someday.”

1:00AM: Symone takes the decks, playing a high-energy pop and house set that keeps people moving right up until 2AM.

1:08AM: The dancefloor is a raised platform in the middle of the room, containing the decks, while behind Symone a smaller group dances on floor level, a booth babe orchestra pit. “Pretty Ugly” plays and I hop up. Bitches love an elevated surface.

1:32AM: I will never stop dancing. I’ve migrated to the pit by this point, where I’m dancing with a stranger, and we quickly get to business making out. I feel so free!!!

2:03AM: The party’s wrapping up, and I’m leaving the bathroom when I hear my name. It’s Symone calling out — “where are you going?” I tell her I don’t know, you tell me, and she ushers me into an elevator. We head into their suite, and it’s already abuzz with people, finally having the conversations they couldn’t have on the dancefloor. Old friends catching up, new sparks flying and catching fire, and probably at least three people talking about the goddamn Pussycat Dolls.

2:07AM: Grant and I step away for a smoke; he tells me that the same designer for Reba’s iconic red “Fancy” dress also designed the dress for the “Teardrops on My Guitar” video. We wax poetic on who Taylor Swift used to be.

2:34AM: The missus (hag) and I have settled down by a table with a bunch of pizzas, which I do not eat because of my crippling dairy allergy, but which I understand were excellent. We’re talking to the boy from earlier for a bit, and somehow The Brutalist comes up. I bravely do not bring up Kim Petras.

3:57AM: The lights are on at Amoeba as I head out of the party. I shouldn’t have stayed out this late; I have to work tomorrow. Fuck I mean today. Plus, Donna at 8AM!!!

9:49AM: I get my ass out of bed with precisely enough time to get ready, watch Confessions II, and get to work on time.

10:23AM: I hear “Danceteria” for the first time.

10:24AM: He’s the DJ. Hide the cocaine.

Photography by Taylor Lomax