queer magic will transform the world. it’s already happening.
queer magic will transform the world. it’s already happening.
A conversation with Annie Hex about the state of queer suburbia and what she’s dreaming up next.
Queering the Burbs is a regularly-published distillation of pop culture, politics and queerness written by Joe Erbentraut. If you like what you see, please consider subscribing (it’s free!), liking or sharing this piece.
Let’s talk about October 2020 for a second. At the time, we were about half a year into a pandemic without any vaccine in immediate sight and we were standing at the precipice of a presidential election that felt at the time like it could make or break us as a functioning society. We were anxious and terrified of whatever was waiting for us around the next shadowy corner.
It was also the time when I first encountered a mysterious individual by the name of Annie Hex. One day I was doom-scrolling through Facebook on the couch and noticed an individual posting to a neighborhood “What’s Happening” group asking where the queers were at and talking about a big gay Halloween party she planned to hold on River Street. I had to know more, and I had to talk to this person.
To be honest, I thought I was hallucinating Annie Hex. In the four years since my husband and I left Chicago and moved to this town, we had certainly met a number of wonderful queer folks we counted among our close friends. But we certainly had not encountered anyone even talking about—let alone actually creating—queer social spaces where we could gather. Compared to Chicago, where you can find at least two or three queer dance parties or drag shows on any given night, in addition to the plethora of dedicated queer bars, this had proven to be one of the biggest adjustments to our new suburban lives. We had gone so long without it we didn’t even realize we missed it anymore.
We ended up talking over Zoom for what would become this newsletter’s very first interview. In the years that have passed, I’m proud to say that Annie Hex has since become an incredibly dear friend and it’s been truly humbling to watch her transform many of her wildest manifestations into reality. If she’s said it out loud, it’s happened. She’s launched her magical pink room, hosted countless queer art club meetups, inaugurated her iconic pink van, and held so many queer proms—opportunities for queer adults who weren’t able to have the prom of their teen movie dreams when they were high schoolers have a magical night to be who they are among the people they love—I’ve lost count. In collaboration with an incredible community of queer folks she’s helped bring together, she’s transformed our river town into the site for countless unlikely pockets of queer euphoria.
All of that is not even nearly all of it, and she’s just getting started. Just last month, Annie Hex hosted her latest queer Halloween prom at its largest venue yet. The prom, just like all the previous ones, sold out almost instantly. Gathering under a giant disco ball on a chilly October night, almost 100 beautiful humans danced and strutted while I had the privilege to DJ some of my favorite dancefloor bops. New Order’s “Blue Monday.” Cascada’s “Everytime We Touch.” Le Tigre’s “Deceptacon.” Khia’s “My Neck, My Back.” As we swayed, sweated, and kissed, we forgot for a moment about the horrors of an outside world that remains forever horny for war and destruction. This video from David Wolfgang von Ehrlicher and Chris Derek Van captured the scene beautifully:
When we approached the end of the night, Annie Hex took to the center of the dancefloor to share her powerful poetry, her queer state of the union. She spoke of the power of queer love and queer joy, the resilience of chosen family and community bonds, and the magic of the moment, as those who helped make the night happen were honored with roses and crowns. The poetry then segued into Annie’s performance to Patti Smith’s “Gloria: In Excelsis Duo,” a song where the punk godmother herself sings unabashedly “Jesus died for somebody’s sins but not mine.” It was incredible, and it was the perfect sentiment for this time we are living in.
As I watched Annie perform, I couldn’t help but think back to everything that had happened over the past three years. My mind flashed through all the queer beauty that has come to this town in recent years, queer joy I didn’t think I’d be able to witness without driving the 30-odd miles east to Chicago. But it’s all very real. What once felt impossible or even impractical has been made very real. And now that the gay genie is out of the bottle, it’s not going back in anytime soon. One can very confidently consider these ‘burbs queered.
Just a couple of weeks before her latest prom, I met up with Annie Hex in her dreamy “treehouse” apartment to eat some Taco Bell (very important), look back on how we got to this point in queering Batavia, and look ahead to what she plans to do next. Our interview has been edited for length and clarity, with a continuation to be published in a printed zine edition at a later date in the near future.
The last time we spoke “on the record” like this was three years ago. It was 2020, over Zoom, and we had just met. Obviously so much has happened since then. At the time we were talking about queering Halloween and the Halloween event you were working on, but then Covid got in the way.
Looking back to then and comparing it to today, what do you think has been the biggest change for you in your work versus three years ago?
I’m already tearing up because it’s been a historic three years. There’s been so much magic. Queer Halloween started as this idea on River Street, where we’d take over River Street and our hometown and have a big drag show where it could be safe, where it could be outside, where it could be open because of the pandemic. So many people came out during the pandemic and they’re also having this second wave of figuring out who they are and what they need, and then because so many people came out, then you had all these people who were with homophobic people during quarantine, whether it was their family or whatever. We were in a state of survival under Trump and under everything that was going on. So it was a time of banding together and figuring out how we could have community anyway, because community is life-saving.
But it’s just magic to know that we’re on our third one of the queer Halloween proms. We’re figuring out how to adapt a magical queer space to make it safe, to make it accessible, and to make sure people have a space to melt into who they are. So that to me is where I feel really energized and inspired right now. I’m feeling this trailblazer energy where I’m like, we’ve got to keep going. We’ve got to make it bigger. But we’ve also got to be secretive and strategic about how we safely organize in the suburbs.
The next queer prom is coming up very soon. As you look back at all of the queer proms that have happened so far, do you have any favorite moments that jump out at you?
Oh my God, I love crowning people as prom queen, as prom royalty, as prom king. I love honoring people and I love the ceremony of it all. I love giving people their flowers and acknowledging everybody. I love giving them all sorts of random goodies. I love the way the community comes together for it, all the people that share gifts and sponsor prom and want to make it special. I think if anything that’s been so healing, especially because it was so homophobic growing up here to see everybody coming out and being like, OK, no, we can do this. This needs to happen. I’m seeing people come together for us even though there’s still bigots, and we’re getting more spaces and more people behind it. It feels like things are growing for us. We’re growing and the spaces we need are growing.
Given your experiences growing up out here and being very familiar with the area and the political speech that’s been happening in recent years both locally and nationally is it ever like a pinch-me moment when there’s one of these signs of support, whether it be from a local business or community leader? Or at this point do you feel like, no, this makes sense for Batavia?
There are days where this feels like a dream where I didn’t know this could be a life that was possible for me. I can’t tell you how many times people me I was a fuck up or that I couldn’t do it, but there was a relentless spirit in me. I think that spirit is in all queer people. We’re stubborn. We’re going to do it anyway, because we know what it’s like to have the spaces where we can melt into who we are. We can be awkward, we can be silly, we can be ourselves. We can feel gender euphoria. We can really express ourselves in a way where I think the suburbs want us to be so palatable all the time, and I’m over that. We have to live our lives at full volume. We can’t be who they want us to be, and we have to find our own ways of thriving and living the lives we actually want to live.
But I want things to keep getting easier. I want it to be just like we’re very welcomed. One day it’d be my dream to take over River Street like it was originally intended, but even for this one, with the rise in bigotry especially since May with the Target Pride collection and everything that’s happened this year, I am opting to be more secretive with an invite-only, more speakeasy kind of feeling to all the events in order to maintain an extra level of safety. I want to make it so everybody is welcome to our events, but we’re keeping it as safe as possible at the same time.
I know at the last prom it all felt very tense and we both realized afterwards we were both having our own tummy troubles and panic attack moments. I’m sure even for people coming there was probably a layer of stress to it. But I just remember one of my favorite prom memories, of so many, was when you came out to “Heads Will Roll” and the queer anthem and had your moment with a baseball bat and the Ron DeSantis piñata. It was very powerful, and then Sobby the Clown came out afterward and it was just like I didn’t think this could exist out here but it was everything we needed and wanted.
That was a very magical night in June, as we were processing the national conversation and connecting with people in our community as a way to band together and get stronger so that we can continue to exist, grow, and take this all on. I think these events are an amazing check-in point for all of us.
I’m going to tell you the reason why I also loved that last prom so much. It was unapologetic, it was showcasing fat bodies and sexiness, and it was liberating. I was like, we’re not going to hide our bodies. We’re not going to hide our stretch marks. We’re not going to pay. We’re going to be these loud explosions we were born to be. We’re going to have that star power, that glow, that sparkle, and to be doing every single prom with you because it’s just been so magical creating that sacred space together.
There was something about breaking tha DeSantis piñata open that was so cathartic, it was just like we’re not going to let these vile bigots and these fucking politicians who want genocide win. That is how I feel we’re taking back our power in a world that wants us to feel powerless.
I wanted to rewind for a minute to a time before all these queer proms you’ve made happen in Batavia. I was just reading back through our first interview from three years ago and I was really struck by how you talked about being asked to join the farmers market in town and how you were like, but do they know my politics? Do they know what the energy I’m bringing is? You mentioned the question of whether you were pushing the line too far and that you were going to keep pushing it because we have to. Thinking about that question now, not even specifically to the farmers market but just your work more broadly, what is your relationship with the “line” right now? Has it evolved or do you feel like it’s the same now as it was then?
I’m so glad I pushed [the line] and I’m so glad I keep pushing it, because that’s more relief for me because every day I get to feel like pushing the line has led to me making some of the best friends in the entire world. I’ve made the closest friends here because I didn’t stay lukewarm or stay in the middle. I’ll never be that in-the-middle undecided type. I have to be my full self, and that has me feeling supercharged.
Sticking by my values has changed my life and really added to making the magic happen faster. It doesn’t even feel like it’s been three years [since we first talked]. It’s felt like a decade. But I want to keep pushing the line because there’s so many people that don’t want us here, and they [communicate] it in their weird, Midwest suburban actions. They do it very passive aggressively. They won’t tell you you’re too loud and queer here, but they might complain that you’re “too much.”
I can’t even let the line exist anymore. This sounds a little nutty and I might have told you this but I feel like the pink room has, like, ripped open the time-space continuum. It’s like time doesn’t exist there. In the same way, I feel like I’m ripping open the suburbs and that things are going to be different here. We’re going to have the spaces we need. We’re going to be more open and vulnerable. We’re going to lead with compassion. We’re going to live with transformative justice principles in mind. We’re going to dismantle white supremacy culture, and we’re going to have conflict resolution. We’re going to talk about how we actually feel versus this kind of passive aggressive kind of energy.
You’ve been doing a ton of work with the high school, too. How has that been for you as someone who went to that same school? How has that influenced your outlook on the work that needs to be done?
I have so much faith in the queer kids here. They are magic. I’ve been reading tarot for more of them and the readings really resonate with them and I feel like the cards can give them the advice I needed growing up. I read for someone who was being bullied for being a lesbian and I was like, oh, that was my childhood. Oh shit. This kid was so sweet and literally looked at me and she was like I want to be you when I grow up. She was like, “Can I take over the pink room when you retire?” And I was like, you’re my legacy. I’m child-free, but you’re my legacy.
But every time I work in the high school is profound and powerful. I pulled up in the pink car for the homecoming parade and it felt like a Pride parade. I felt like I was waving like a queer Disney princess down these Batavia streets, and it just felt like justice because I had all these queer kids around and we were giving them pride flags, stickers and candy, and it felt like magic. You did have some people who were bigoted and you could tell by their facial expressions when they saw the car, but I just waved anyway because you can’t get rid of us.
How do you keep up the Disney princess wave when you are constantly encountering those bigoted hater vibes? We’ve been talking a lot about the progress here and a lot of positive things happening, a lot of which you’ve made happen out here. But then there’s this flip side. How do you energetically keep up that wave? What is the hardest part about continuing this work right now?
I do it for the queer kids, because I see these kids at the high school pride club be delighted by the car or have these really moving tarot readings. We have a responsibility to show up for these kids and show them what a bright, dreamy queer future can look like. We have to show that, even if they end up living in their hometowns again, that they can have best friends and they can have the dream life and the proms and they can be who they are. They can be neurodivergent and queer, and they don’t have to settle. They don’t have to be palatable. They don’t have to have their queerness make sense to the straights here.
There was a time even last month where I was just so hurt by passive aggressive moments about me being “too much” here and I felt so hurt, but then it almost made me double down. I was like, no. I have to be even louder and go harder. Someone asked why I parked the pink car where it was parked. They said it’s not safe. They were really saying they were triggered. They didn’t want to see it. They didn’t want to see queerness. So I added a blow-up alien to the car. I made it even louder and gaudier and added more pride stickers. It’s like, I am meeting that energy with a “fuck you.”
I know we have the queer Halloween prom coming up and lots of other things in the work, but I had to ask, what do you envision next? What’s next on your dream board?
I love that question because what I’m thinking of next is that I want to work collaboratively with all these artists I love and all these different people in our community and I want to open a secular church, a big community space where we could have proms, we could have events, and we could have queer artisan shops. Basically I want a queer mall. I don’t know how it will happen or who’s going to give me the building. I have none of the details, but I’m dreaming big. I want a bigger, sacred container for all of this work that we do. We could have Out of the Closet there, space for Belong: Fox Valley and the pride club. A space to hold our trans self-defense classes and just have all these resources in one place and a space to do political organizing.
I’m always scheming. There’s so much behind the scenes stuff that I don’t show publicly, but that’s where the magic is and that’s where the future is. I love all these venues we’ve worked with, but do you see how we keep growing? We need bigger spaces. I’ve also got books to publish and collections to put out, and I just want to keep doing my tour readings and doing more gigs and playing more shows like Riot Fest. That’s how I want to change the world. I just want to be this touring poet who lives in this treehouse in Batavia, Illinois.
I love the idea of this secular church because I think for a lot of people who are religious they have a hard time conceiving of the idea that the energy and that level of support is only possible inside a traditional church. They can’t conceive of the idea that you can get that from a queer prom or a trip to the pink room or a night of live music or live poetry. It’s parallel to the idea of having a chosen family, I think.
Anyway, it sounds like we’re starting a cult and maybe that’s OK? Is there anything else we need to cover today?
I know it keeps sounding like a cult, but it could be just a comfy community space where you come and fill up your cup. Where you feel the slumber party vibes. But really I say this all the time, but I want to create spaces where queer artists get paid. I want to create spaces where we’re not doing things for free just because we’re queer. What lights me up is being part of the reason people have the resources they need in a way where no one said we could. I’m not waiting for people to be, like, yes, we can or yes, you can do this. This is do or die and it feels like now is the time. All of this work is worth funding because this stuff literally saves so many lives in our community.
There is this misrepresentation that we are just a small population of people who are queer here, but there are so many queer people here. I want to make shirts that say “Keep Batavia Weird.” I want to be able to encourage everybody who interacts with my work in whatever way they do to live deliciously, to do the juicy thing or make it weird, because life is too boring and short to do things the way you were told. We don’t have the time to wait for permission. There are oppressive systems here that want us to wait and to tiptoe around the issues, but we need these changes now. We’ve got to do it now, and we’ve got to do it loud.
Did you know you can book Annie Hex for your events? She offers tarot parties, tarot charm school, Pink Room readings, tons of merch, and so much more. Check out her site and follow her socials for more.
For more words from queer folks out here doing the work in the western ‘burbs and beyond, read my previous interviews with Batavia artist Annie Hex, Aurora organizer Javi, the organizers of Geneva Pride, Batavia alderman Dan Chanzit, Paramount Theatre artistic director Jim Corti, Aurora trans activist Penelope Torres, North Aurora musician Katie Bogle, Hoof & Horn co-owners Jarrod Johnson and Adrian Xavier Frost, Batavia activist Scott Naylor, Youth Outlook’s Carolyn Wahlskog, and the Ramshackle Farm farmers. As always, your support—via comments, shares and subscriptions—is so deeply appreciated.
Indie rock singer-songwriter Squirrel Flower just released their latest album, “Tomorrow’s Fire,” which I have been cozying up with lately thanks to a tip from my friend Britt’s review and feature in the Chicago Tribune. It’s raw, it’s emotive, and it feels right at the moment. Britt’s story also has me revisiting their brilliant cover of Caroline Polachek’s “So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings,” which also started playing on my Spotify Daily Mix just as I was wrapping up writing this essay. As much as I love the original song from the Chairlift icon and goose screamer, this cover version takes it to a whole other place for me.
Also, we have truly reached peak chili season in the Midwest, and I just wanted to officially stop gatekeeping my favorite chili recipe of all time. I’ve made it at least 30 times at this point in my life and it absolutely always hits the spot. If you’re looking for some comfort in a bowl, this recipe carries my official soup freak endorsement.