Now that the season finale of the Go-Go for the Gold has finally aired, I figure it’s a good time to discuss my experience behind the scenes to provide some insight into what it’s like to be on a go-go dancing competition reality show.
It’s no secret that I had been involved with Hey Qween for years before the casting. I had been flying out to Los Angeles to appear as an on-screen lap-dancer on Jonny McGovern and Lady Red Couture’s talk show series, Hey Qween and Look at Huh. I was grateful for every second of screen time they gave me. While I offered Jonny and the Hey Qween family my adoration and loyalty, they were never beholden to include me in anything. I always understood that there were a lot of boys out there: more popular, beautiful and talented. But the folks over at Hey Qween would always call me back out.
I took my job seriously as a lap dancer, but the party didn’t stop off screen for me. My own self-destructive lifestyle took its toll on my mind and body. It’s easy to get caught up in the pitfalls of nightlife. Hey Qween kept me uplifted and carried me through some of my darkest moments. They provided a family and a support system. They believed in me when I certainly did not in myself. I was passionately driven to prove myself worthy of being attached to the brand that I’d admired way before I began sober living.
After the passing of Lady Red, I was called to come out to the studio in LA for a full Hey Qween interview and Look at Huh with Jonny to polish off the season that they were in the middle of filming. During the interview, I was faced with my entire biography (including my early days as a stripper). I remember seeing old photographs of myself and feeling sad that my best days were behind me. Being a go-go dancer used to be so much fun. Somehow, I’d lost touch with magic of queer nightlife.
At the time of the interview, I was still finding my groove. I was newly sober and feeling the weight of all the wasted time- all those years lost to alcohol abuse and self-medication. When I returned home, I hit the ground running. I suddenly had something to prove (both to myself and to Hey Qween, who lifted me up when I needed it most). That Hey Qween interview became the blueprint for recapturing the magic that I knew I still had within me. I planned to retrace my steps back to my roots as a nude go-go dancing acrobat and figure out how to have fun again.
Preparation
After I found out that Jonny was casting a competition reality show for go-go dancers, without a clue as to what I was preparing to take part in, I began to collect my outfits and polish up my moves. All the nightclubs where I used to work as a dancer closed during the COVID-19 pandemic and never returned to full capacity. I was way out of practice. I hadn’t been a full-time go-go dancer in six years. I was definitely coming out of go-go retirement for this competition.
I saw this as my opportunity to prove to Jonny and the producers of Hey Queen that I have greatness in me, not just promise (as we learned in my Hey Qween interview).
Getting my audition tape and costumes together in less than two months was stressful and annoying. It became clear to me that costume designers do not take go-go dancer costumes seriously at all, so I ended up having to construct most of my own custom looks myself. Fittings must be precise and forgiving at the same time. In short, the observation that male dancers only need to pack a g-string and a dream to do the job is entirely false. Costumes for go-go dancers are heavy, cumbersome, and require a ton of extra accessories. I expect to see a lot more custom looks coming out of Go-Go for the Gold in future seasons. Drag designers, be ready.
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Execution
When I arrived on set, I had just spent a week filming another program. I was deeply entrenched in this vacation lifestyle of shooting reality television full time. I was sleeping on bunk beds, showering in shared spaces, and dealing with other people all of the time. The office was a lifetime away. So, I was feeling very confident about being in front of the camera. I was totally immersed in the world of reality programming.
As I met my castmates, I just kept to myself and head in the game. I was not promised anything by production. If I focused on my own presentation and allowed people to self-identify to me, I would know how to work with everyone on their own terms. The castmates would be my colleagues for the next week, so I didn’t want to force anything. We were assembled in order to make good show together. We were paid daily to perform a job. A part of that job is giving yourself over to the “reality” aspect of on-camera bonding. Fortunately, as I’ve come to realize, competition reality shows are emotional rollercoasters to film for everyone. There are a lot of tears, some of which don’t even make sense, but it’s an incredible bonding experience for everybody involved. It’s like a summer camp that is simultaneously: fast and slow, dramatic and boring, exciting and exhausting.
The scale of the production felt safe. Not too big, not too small. If I made a complete fool out of myself, there was still a sense that this in a passion project, intended to be fun and inclusive. I felt comfortable being who I am and appreciating the differences in other people. The heat of the competition was amplified by the fact that we all got a long well. None of us wanted to go home because that meant our little crew of go-go boys was losing a unique and valuable individual. At least, that was my impression.
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In hindsight, I completely understand why people show up to set ready to put on a persona for the camera. Shows like RuPaul’s Drag Race encourage their reality stars to be grandiose but strike them for their grandiosity if it isn’t playing well for the camera. It’s a delicate and unpredictable balance. Since I was already competing for the attention of the camera, my strategy to get the most out of this competition was to just be the most compelling version of my on-stage persona that I possibly could. It’s fun, plain and simple. People want to smile. People want foolishness, and foolishness is what I do. Someone must be the stripper who brings levity to the room. I’m not going to take myself too seriously on camera. We’re fun on camera. All the sweating would occur behind the scenes.
If I were a producer on Go-Go for the Gold, I would want the contestants to keep people entertained for as long as possible. So, I made sure that I looked incredibly different in every episode so they would be excited to see me each time. Since there was no clear directive on what to wear and what challenges we’d be taking part in once we got out to the stage to film the actual competition. So, I stuck with a general schedule of costumes, intended to display diversity of my stage presence.
While I was there, I wanted to serve the show in any way possible. In my confessionals, I made sure to provide them with the content to help push the show along (i.e. “It’s just another day in the office, twerkin’ 9 to 5” or dashing into the room first, proclaiming “Top 8, Baby!” as a way to contextualize how many contestants remain after the shocking first elimination). I was always aware that we needed to make five days of filming feel like two months. And, if I wasn’t contributing to the competitive interpersonal drama of the show, I could provide a solid backbone to the cast by contributing where I can and remain consistent in the quality of my work. If I didn’t win, I wanted to make sure I helped the show move along and provide the energy and enthusiasm that would keep the audience engaged. I even brought my Eddie Danger puppet into the confessionals with me each day. Somewhere, on the cutting room floor, I look even more crazy. But, at least I tried my hardest to put on a good show.
The Judging
After each challenge, the go-go contestants were ushered off to the twerkroom to discuss how we felt while the judges deliberated. Our primary impression of how we objectively measured up was really directed by the politeness of our competitors. Nobody ever said that I did poorly. They really didn’t critique me at all. My only criticism from the judges were vague platitudes like “get out of your head” instead of “you look nervous, we need to see more confidence.” My competitors had similar critiques—all very vague. This was pretty common for us.
If we had been able to decipher the judge’s critiques, I believe the show would have gone in a different direction. Most of us were willing to adjust our performances and challenge ourselves to try something new. Since none of us really understood our own critiques, we began to theorize that the judges valued acrobatic feats over the sincere and diverse presentation that each contestant brought to the table. We noticed that all of the challenge winners were cut from a similar cloth. Perhaps mining from their go-go style and skill-level with a full cast of acrobats and professional dancers would even the playing field. Otherwise, you have a bear dancer with incredible energy and stage presence, undercut by a backflip and a split, simply because their acts are different.
Go-go dancers come from all kinds of backgrounds, sometimes cheerleading brings us some great acrobatic teammates, but I’ve rarely met a professional dancer in a go-go club. Most go-go boys consider themselves closer to sex workers than professional dancers. Diversity enriches the artform, but it takes a keen eye to fairly evaluate different genres of exotic dancing against one another.
Lessons Learned
My only regret is that I jumped the gun on wearing my ChiChi DeVayne hat on camera. If I saved it for a day that had fewer contestants in the twerk room, her name would have had adequate screen time for the connection to be made. She represented me on television during her big moment (RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars 3) and I wish I’d planned better to ensure that her name would be captured in my own big moment. It can be seen briefly as I enter the room. I silence these feelings by reminding myself that I didn’t even know where I measured up to my competitors and was not promised another opportunity to enter the room in “street clothes.”
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In terms of my presentation on the show and in the confessionals, I knew that I nailed it. So, on reunion day, it was time for me to kick back and soak up the quality execution of a diverse and exciting run on a competition reality show.
During the reunion, when the top four expressed a unanimous nod of respect toward me agreeing that I deserved to continue forward in the competition beyond my 5th place, double-elimination. That was all the validation that I needed. I finally received the acknowledgement that I put on a good show and they regretted not pushing me forward. I’d say that’s a very comfortable and appropriate run for me on a competition reality show. I’m just here to have fun and make good television. If I happen to be the brightest star in the room, thank you for the $10k cash prize. If not, no sweat, I earned the respect of my competitors (who worked with me for 12 hours a day, five days a week, as full-time LA models/go-go dancers).
When I said “I had debts to pay”. I was referring to this mission to prove to Jonny, the folks at Hey Qween, and everybody who has ever emboldened me to chase my fantasies across the country. There I stood, sober, in the best shape of my life, intellectually engaged, and emotionally mature. From entrance to finale, I accomplished what I set out to do.
After returning from the competition, I threw myself into my work. I took my hobby of aerial chain acrobatics to a professional level and won a 1st place in the Senior Division, Level 3 of Aerial Star’s annual aerial acrobatics competition. I also appeared in Peppermint’s Janet Jackson tribute music video as an aerial chains contortionist. I am currently training for another aerial acrobatic competition. I am also preparing to announce my contribution to another competition reality program scheduled to air in Fall 2022. However, I would not be here without the support and challenges given to me by Jonny McGovern and the crew at Hey Qween. Now that they’ve seen my potential, maybe they’ll use me again for something in the future. I sure hope so. In the meantime, I’ll continue to raise the bar for myself.
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