1–2/2019 WiderScreen 22 (1–2)

Questions on Queer Game Design: An interview between Jess Marcotte and Kara Stone

community organizing, intersectional feminism, practitioners interview, praxis-focused research, queer game design

Jess Rowan Marcotte
jess.ro.marcotte [a] gmail.com
TAG Research Lab
Concordia University

Kara Stone
kstone1 [a] ucsc.edu
Department of Film and Digital Media
UC Santa Cruz

Viittaaminen / How to cite: Rowan Marcotte, Jess, and Kara Stone. 2019. ”Questions on Queer Game Design: An interview between Jess Marcotte and Kara Stone”. WiderScreen 22 (1-2). http://widerscreen.fi/numerot/2019-1-2/questions-on-queer-game-design-an-interview-between-jess-marcotte-and-kara-stone/

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This co-interview between game designers and scholars Jess Marcotte and Kara Stone takes up questions about queer game design as a critical and reflective scholarly practice, and the ways in which we represent sex and sexuality in videogames. In it, we take turns asking each other questions on the respective videogames that we have designed, our approaches to art-making, community organizing, and the way queer and feminist theory influence us, while also interrogating what it means (for us) to be queer game designers and pondering the future of queerness and games. In so doing, we explore our paths into this art form and provide insight into how our trajectories were influenced by initiatives with the goal of bringing in new voices and fostering inclusion in the field of games. As artist-scholars, we provide perspectives on how our differences of positionality bring difference to our art practices, community organizing efforts, and design approaches. Alternative design practices in non-commercial spaces can provide the conditions needed for experimental work that may fail” by industry standards, but that pushes games into new, exciting, and queer territories.

Jess Rowan Marcotte is a queer nonbinary game designer, writer, intersectional feminist, and PhD candidate at Concordia University. Their work has been showcased at IndieCade, E3, and Ars Electronica. Some of their games include “TRACES”, “In Tune: a game about navigating consent”, “rustle your leaves to me softly,” “The Truly Terrific Traveling Troubleshooter” and “transgalactica: A Tune Your Own Adventure.” Their dissertation explores physical-digital hybrid game experiences from intersectional feminist and critical design perspectives. They are a QGCon (The Queerness and Games Conference) co-organizer.

Kara Stone is an artist and scholar interested in the affective and gendered experiences of mental illness and healing as it relates to game design. Her artwork has been featured in The Atlantic, Wired, and Vice. She is a member of the Different Games Collective. She holds a BFA in Film Production and master’s degree in Communication and Culture from York University, and is currently a PhD student in Film and Digital Media with a designated emphasis in Feminist Studies at University of California at Santa Cruz.


This co-interview between game designers and scholars Jess Marcotte and Kara Stone takes up questions about queer game design as a critical and reflective scholarly practice, and the ways in which we represent sex and sexuality in videogames. In it, we take turns asking each other questions on the respective videogames that we have designed, our approaches to art-making, community organizing, and the way queer and feminist theory influence us. We ask each other questions and trade answers on the theories we find most inspiring, how we consider representing sex and intimacy in a participatory, playful media like videogames, and how we understand queerness as embedded in a playful, reflective design process. It is our hope that this conversation provides one (or two) possible blueprints for designing queer games, designing games queerly, and designing for queer communities, while also bringing light the confusing, murky and contradictory aspects within finding queerness in gamesAs artist-scholars, we provide perspectives on how our differences of positionality bring difference to our art practices, community organizing efforts, and design approaches. The received norms and best practices” of the industry suggest a somewhat rigid way of approaching design in order to maximize monetary interests which can lead to risk-averse practices (for a thorough discussion, see: Dyer-Witheford and De Peuter’s Games of Empire). Alternative design practices in non-commercial spaces can provide the conditions needed for experimental work that may fail” by industry standards, but that pushes games into new, exciting, and queer territories.

Kara: To begin, I’m very curious about how you “came to” making and studying games. We have both starting making and studying games before the prevalence and popularity of game design programs in universities, and we are both now not in departments specifically focused on videogames. How did you come to games, and do you feel like you are “in games”?

Jess: Up until 2013, the closest that I came to designing a game (outside of childhood play) was designing and writing adventures for tabletop games to play with my friends. When I was writing my Master’s thesis (a creative writing thesis about short stories, scuba diving, and accessibility of specialized language through contextualization), I was offered a small contract to write some games’ journalism for the lab that I now study at (TAG lab). Simultaneously, I made my first game in a group while covering Global Game Jam 2013 (it was really pretty awful, and the group was far too large for a jam), and made my first solo game while writing about my experience in the Pixelles Montreal follow-along program [1]. That was the first year that the Incubator ran, so it was really very fortuitous. From there, there always seemed to be another chance to learn more about designing and making games. My first game design class was with Pippin Barr, and it was all about making curious games” — small game projects that sort of ran counter to industry best practices and teased rather than pleased.” So, Pippin ruined me forever for AAA games.

So now, I’ve been making games for around six years. I don’t really feel like I’m in games” — maybe that’s partially just an image thing, when I think of my friends in mainstream studios and AAA, and what their companies are making. I feel like I make games but I’m not in games” — I think what I do is closer to somewhere between interaction design and interactive art, maybe? I definitely think that there are other people who are making things that look like what I’m making, but none of them are in mainstream games. I guess this also has something to do with commercialization of a product, to a degree.

How about you, Kara? If I remember right, you started to make games through a similar initiative to Pixelles in Toronto, right? How did you come to games and where do you situate yourself?

Kara: It was also in 2013 when I started. What a big year! I was already in my masters then. Someone in my program heard I liked videogames and invited me to a talk on feminism in games at Toronto’s Vector Festival. The panel consisted of Alison Harvey, Cecily Carver, Sandra Danilovic, Cindy Poremba[2], Rachel Weil, and Emma Westecott – all feminist games people that have continued to inspire me! Up until then, I had been in various art schools for 10 years already, but no one once talked about videogames as a possible medium, so when Cecily Carver, then of Dames Making Games, a not-for-profit organization for marginalized identities to make games similar to Montreal’s Pixelles, spoke about non-men making games, I immediately wanted in. I went up to her right after and asked her how to join DMG, where I then made my first game Meditation Meditation. Medication Meditation was received much better than I would have expected; an article about it was published in The Atlantic, which pulled me into the indie games scene – which I just learned existed. I “pivoted” my masters thesis from mental illness in experimental video to mental illness in videogames and have continued with that path ever since. Most of my artistic and academic practice is concerned with psychosocial disability, sexuality, and politicizing “feelings.”

I wonder about this question of “belonging in videogames” because of the way games culture pushes non-white men out. There are systems at play that are supposed to make us feel like we don’t belong, which is possibly all the more reason to state “I belong!”. And yet the only time I feel as if I belong in games is when I am at academic feminist games conferences, never industry events and rarely in community organizations – though even that is only sometimes because I am much more familiar with feminist theory and cultural studies than I am with game studies “canon.” (I taught a game studies course before I ever took one!). I have very rarely struggled with feelings of non-belonging; I felt like I belonged in theatre, in experimental video, in art galleries, and in all the different departments of my three degrees. This is largely in part due to cis and white privilege, that those spaces have already been carved out for white cis women like myself. What does it mean for me to not belong in games, when I have made games that have been critically received, displayed at festivals and art galleries, have spoken at huge industry events, and am in a collective organizing for social justice in videogames (the Different Games Collective)? A sense of non/belonging is quite fundamental (or at least very common. I wouldn’t say it is necessarily inherent!) for the queerness; feeling different, excluded, and in search of a queer community that is sometimes never found.

Have you found a sense of belonging in queerness, and how does that sense inform your approach to game design, game studies, and community organizing?

Jess: I’ve absolutely found a sense of belonging in queerness that I didn’t expect. I mean that in a very personal way: embracing my queerness helped me feel like I belonged to myself. By claiming my queer identity, I was able to more fully allow myself to be who I am. I was able to claim a greater sense of agency and control, and more fully resist certain expectations of who I ought to be and who I ought to like. That has been an amazing experience.

That change has reflected positively in almost every area of my life. That renewed sense of agency has been important to me. Knowing how powerful it can be to be able to have that, I want it for others as well. Wanting to create spaces where other people can feel recognized and called to drives a great deal of my approach to design, game studies, and community organizing.

In my creative work, I see this manifesting in the kinds of games that I make. I want to facilitate reflection, moments of questioning, and conversations. I try to do that by creating games about topics that matter to me (usually from an intersectional feminist perspective) where the difficulty of the mechanics or interactions in the game isn’t a barrier to engaging with the work as much as possible (unless that difficulty is part of what is being explored). That’s one of the reasons why I often work with alternative control schemes (although I also just find alt controllers, their materiality, and the possibilities that they open up for different kinds of interactions compelling). This has been the case from when I first started making games, but I was introduced to a framework called Reflective Game Design” (created by my supervisor, Dr. Rilla Khaled) when I started my doctorate that formalizes and puts into words some of the theory behind those impulses. My work in game studies is deeply entangled with my design work, because I write largely about design.

In terms of finding queer community and community organization: I don’t think that I have found a community in a traditional, stable sense. My community isn’t bound to one geographical location, and we don’t have a meeting spot like a church or a sports stadium. The faces in the spaces that I have been organizing change all the time. There’s a fluidity to the composition of the community, and I think that’s okay. People need different things at different points in their lives. I think that what is particularly enduring with events like QGCon (one of the events that I co-organize) is the idea of a space where, even temporarily, and even if only within a very limited scope, we can suspend many of the norms and rules imposed upon us from the kyriarchy and agree to behave a certain way toward each other, with a certain set of agreed-upon values and a certain vulnerability. Many of the community spaces that I have been in have not been able to sustain themselves indefinitely (such as the Mount Royal Games Society, which I co-organized Princess of Arcade for) because they rely on labours of love from a small group of people whose circumstances eventually change.

But these initiatives and communities are no less valuable for their ephemerality, and I’ve noticed that new community spaces and groups emerge from the needs of the community. I never intended to become a community organizer, but I have often stepped up when I have felt able to assist and accomplish a task. That often winds up translating into eventually stepping into an organizational role. So, I guess allowing initiatives to end when they can no longer be sustained, seeing what events and opportunities emerge that match my values, and seeing where I am able to assist, is my queer way of community organizing.

In your own community organization roles and creative collaborations, have you ever found your queer, intersectional approach to organizing and designing created friction between succeeding” by hegemonic, capitalist metrics and preserving your health and values?

Kara: Ha! Yes, and recently. It is possibly impossible to do anti-capitalist work at or with the university as it has become a corporate for-profit business, even at public universities I’ve attended, where they expect all non-academic organizations to feel indebted to them, where they don’t understand non-hierarchical collective models, nor social justice inclusive practices. I personally think it is ok to make temporary coalitions with institutions where we can agree on some terms and goals, but never be fully consumed by it. This means that they often dissolve, like you said, when it becomes unable to make affordances that compromise the group’s ethics. In my current departments, I’m lucky enough to be surrounded by those who are “working from within” but that means they are constantly working against, which is exhausting. That working against is necessary and when one is in a community of those working against, it is transformative. When it is an individual working against, it is debilitating. In a way, it is productive to not belong, to not be assimilated into the institution or dominant culture, but there can be a necessity to find a community to make it bearable.

Your points about designing for belonging and reflection really resonate with me. I wonder if we have a diverging outlook on how we approach our art. Let me explain:

There is belonging through community as we have spoken about but you also point to belonging through witnessing and participating in the art piece itself; in other words, art can be a mode of belonging. Of course, representation is massively important in this: to see yourself as an identity represented on the screen. Representation doesn’t necessarily have to be bodies, it can also mean representing an outlook or experience that one identifies with. Beyond representation in those forms, the design structure and mechanics contribute (but do not solely create!) the meaning of the piece. Bo Ruberg’s [2017] work on queer mechanics and queerness inherent in games is a great explanation. My first game Medication Meditation portrays daily minutiae of living with psychosocial disability, though there is no character in it with psychosocial disability – no characters at all. It is designed so that there is no winning, no losing, no score, no defined progress.

Figure 1. Screenshots of three levels from Medication Meditation. Source: Kara Stone.

This was important to me as for most of us with psychosocial disability, there is no winning or overcoming, and being concerned with “score” or improvement actually negatively affects us. Medication Meditation was my first art piece that was successful, as I mentioned. It led to me receiving emails from strangers telling me about their experience with mental illness, or their brother’s, or how the game helped them. It was the first time I realized that if I am more honest and emotional and pour that into my work, the more possibility of affective resonance the audience has. I did not and still do not set out thinking about the audience. I know that’s a very looked-down upon thing in game design! I’m really not player-focused. I’ve even released a game with zero play-testing. It’s possibly because I come from the arts where art is most often still viewed as personal expression, not design for audiences. I want my idea to be somewhat communicable and interpretable by the audience, but it’s almost secondary to me.

My process of creating now has been about self-reflection and exploration of ideas I don’t understand yet. It is not demonstrative, not “I know this or experience this and now I am creating this piece to represent that knowledge.” It is difficult to explain as it is not the norm, where we view art as communicating something already known. I fall back on the notion that the artist knows already before the art is formed. Even if you look above at me talking about Medication Meditation, I do this. But really, I did not know all of that before making it! I came to know it through the process of making it. There are ideas in the game I did not realize until well after it had been released. I write about this phenomenon in my article Time and Reparative Game Design: Queerness, Disability, and Affect (2018). the earth is a better person than me is clear example of being selfish in the design process. It’s a highly personal game – though not specifically about me, I’m not a character in it, and not all the experiences in it have happened to me. I drew from myself, as well as friends, as well as stories, and took them to a fictionalized but what I see as natural conclusion. The process was incredibly personal. I made it alone, so the writing, art, and programming was all myself. I did it not to demonstrate an idea or experience, nor to make other people belong, but to reflect and understand myself and the world better. But the feedback I received for it was amazing. People wrote long letters about how they related to Delphine, the main character, to her fear of her own sexuality, her suicidality, her masochism, her self hatred. The piece worked to give people a sense of belonging, a “I feel that way too!”, as it expressed things that are rarely expressed in media. It doubles back to me too; when someone says they relate, I think “Wow! I’m not alone!”.

I wonder, does it make a difference if I am not player-oriented when I am designing if the outcome of belonging and recognition is the same? Or is the belonging and recognition even more powerful because it is so personally and inwardly focused? Am I right in the assumptions I make that distinguish between art and design? What is your relationship to the player in your design process? Furthermore, would you describe your design process as queer? As playful?

Jess: I think that deeply personal work is more likely to find deeper resonance with some particular people than something that we design that’s meant to appeal to everyone. When I said that the accessibility of the controls was important to my games, that’s also because the themes and subjects that I’m exploring often ask players for a little extra work when it comes to engaging with them, so that’s the tradeoff. Committing in good faith to having a sensual (through partially fictionalized) experience with a plant, like Squinky and I ask players to do with rustle your leaves to me softly (2017) or being asked to speak vulnerably about one’s personal experiences with oppressive forces like in Flip the Script! (2018) is not the usual ask for games. I think, as you rightly point out, these practices have a fair bit more in common with artistic performances. Because my work often deals with these physical, embodied experiences with control, with components that might need to be repaired or that players might need guidance about, I’m also usually present when my games are being shown. So, I almost have to watch players engage with my work, or in some cases outright facilitate like a gamemaster for a tabletop RPG. I can’t seem to avoid them!

Figure 2. The puppets of Flip the Script! and a plant interface from rustle your leaves to me softly. Source: Jess Marcotte and the TAG Research Lab.

At the same time, while I do wonder about and take into consideration whether my games will be accessible to players (via their controls, or via the language I choose to explain myself), I never wonder if the topics will be of interest to anyone else. I sort of trust that if it’s interesting to me, that it will call to someone else, too. In that way, my practice is also inward-looking. I usually make games about topics that I have questions about or want to work through ideas about — so, it seems like we share that in common! I think my most didactic-feeling games are In Tune (2014), The Truly Terrific Traveling Troubleshooter (2017) and Flip the Script! (2018). They’re also games that I worried the most about when playtesting because they ask players to trust that I know what I’m doing as a designer when in fact these are definitely my (well-considered, hopefully well-researched) best guesses about how to make a game about consent, or emotional labour and active listening through divination, or intersectionality with puppets.

You were one of the first players to play The Truly Terrific Traveling Troubleshooter at QGCon 2017, and that playthrough necessarily made me change how we had been planning to present it. I had to rethink how I was introducing the game and what my role as the designer was. Ever since, the experience involves more “gamemastering” and my showperson patter. Having the opportunity to adjust play experiences on the fly for these kinds of physical-digital hybrid games is another reason why eventually I have to turn my attention to players and the play experience.

I’ve had so much trouble defining queerness because it’s such a messy, satisfyingly ambiguous term. I think of queerness as being about our desires for ourselves and our own bodies as well as our desires for others. Sara Ahmed’s Queer Phenomenology (2007) does some definitional work that I really appreciate around queerness as an orientation — and as a re-orientation of normative desires. She talks about queerness as a matter of sexual orientation and sexual practices as well as a matter of deviation and obliqueness.

At a very basic level, I think my design process is queer by virtue of the fact that the approaches and results do not look very much like normative game design practices. The subject matter definitely plays into that — making a game about consent isn’t very much like making a first person shooter game. I think the subjects I’m dealing with demand new mechanics and new ways of approaching the design work because the experiences I’m aiming for are not the usual fare. My goals are also different: I have the privilege of, at least for now, designing games without worrying about their commercial viability, and that’s very freeing in terms of subject matter and form — like the way that I am constantly making bespoke, handmade custom controllers that are not easy to replicate or share (I’m a bit annoyed at myself for that). It is really only in the past two years that my games have had explicitly queer content — the “ecosexuality” of rustle your leaves to me softly or the trans space traveler in transgalactica: A Tune Your Own Adventure (2018). My current work-in-progress is about trans time travelers coming to a world and time something like ours.

Figure 3. Screenshots from transgalactica: a tune your own adventure. Source: Jess Marcotte and Dietrich Squinkifer.

As to whether my design process is playful, I would say that there are periods of playfulness, such as when designing puppets or a controller, and periods of very serious, almost sombre work, where I work through a lot of fears and doubts, such worrying about whether my games might cause harm to people if I haven’t designed them well or fail to facilitate them well, or worrying about my own ability to complete the work that I set out for myself. The resulting games usually have a lot of inherent humour to them coming out of the play, and humour is such a helpful way of disarming people, helping them feel comfortable, and facilitating discussions on difficult topics.

If I’m not mistaken, I think that we both “claimed” our queerness and became more open about it well into adulthood. How does this change the way you consider your work in “hindsight” if at all, and are there revelations that came out of that? How do you define queerness and do you think of your own design practice as queer? How do you feel about the potential for expansiveness (maybe over-expansiveness?) in the term?

Kara: “Well into adulthood” meaning in our twenties! I knew I liked women and wanted to date women since I was 14, but actively avoided labels including straight. I still do! When being asked about my sexuality and identity, a large part of me is like, “it’s not your business, butt out!” I suppose that is why I like the term queer, because it is blurry and vague and all people really know from it is that I’m not straight. I imagine that without queer theory I would never identify myself or my work as queer, as I came to feel theoretically and politically aligned with queer theory the more I learned of it, forming queerness as an orientation towards something and away from others, like you mentioned. There are still things in my sexuality and my work on sexuality that are currently “inexpressible” – and I think there is power in keeping it opaque and not letting it be fully defined by popular notions of queer identity. Though I am hesitant to divorce it from the sexual and the gendered, and definitionally move it to something as broad as “the non-normative” I understand the rhetorical device to argue queerness in everything, to make it natural and indestructible, but in a practical way I worry it falls apart. If queerness is opened up to be non-normative, that includes quite a few cis straight men indie game designers, and I worry that will then make people be act as if, ‘well it’s already queer so no reason to include other people.’

This question about hindsight is really interesting because we are eternally the “most right” in the present. Here I automatically thought of Sext Adventure (2014), a game where the player sexts with a fake chat bot. There is no real chat bot, I wrote all the paths, but it’s portrayed as if it is a procedurally created individualized experiences.

Figure 4. Screenshot of Sext Adventure. Source: Kara Stone.

That fiction purposefully breaks down as the narratives continues; the bot confuses gendered body parts, accidentally sending you a hairy, masculine chest, rather than full breasts. The bot character sometimes tries to assert its own sexuality, or expresses frustration at being overworked. It doesn’t understand humanness. At the time, I was engaging in an imaginary conceptualizing of what robots would make of human sexuality and gender, trying to de-naturalize it. Now, I can see it simultaneously as an expression of my queerness and sexuality at the time: not fitting nicely into the hetero/homo dichotomy, being confused about myself, and frustrated at others’ expectations of me. When we are open and honest and genuine, things seep out we don’t realize, or may never realize. I did not realize that Sext Adventure could be interpreted as an expression of my own sexuality until Bo Ruberg interviewed me as research for a book on queer games. This does not mean it is the most “right” interpretation, but one that resonate in this moment – and is open to change.

My work is predominantly concerned with psychosocial disability, but of course it’s a mistake to view psychosocial disability as divorced from queerness – or from race, gender, or socioeconomic status. Oppression operates in part by debilitating lives. Sext Adventure and the earth is a better person than me are explicitly about sex, and queer sexual desire. Ritual of the Moon contains a queer romance narrative. Regardless of content or representation, my process of designing has queer theory weaved into it. I am working on what I call reparative game design, a way of orienting game design towards healing, healing as a process and never an end-goal. This is based off queer theorist Eve Sedgwick’s reparative reading, which argues that the dominant mode of analysis in academia is paranoid, and focused on pointing out more queer wounds rather than healing them. I would never say that videogames can heal people; at least not more than other forms of art can! Art can contribute to a paradigm shift that aligns people with healing practices and orientations. When thinking about queerness is this intrinsic way, I want to be careful not to suggest that everything I do is queer because I am queer, or I am trying to form a queer practice. There are times in which I may re-inscribe heteronormativity if I’m not conscious and careful, as heteronormativity is so pervasive we need to be constantly tearing it down.

You wrote above on the sensuality of your work, particularly rustle your leaves to me softly, and the materiality of The Truly Terrific Traveling Troubleshooter. Can you speak more about how you conceptualize sensuality and materiality, and why it is important to your work? Is there something necessarily sexual in the sensual? From there, I’m interested in this move of queer theorists such as Carla Freccero and Mel Chen to study the non-human. Artists Beth Stevens and Annie Sprinkle described themselves as once lesbians and now eco-sexuals. What’s going on here? What’s the connection between queerness and the non-human? How did you and Squinky engage with these ideas in rustle your leaves to me softly?

Jess: There’s a lot to unpack here! I take each project in its own terms when it comes to both sensuality and materiality, but if I had to give one major conceptual opinion about them, it would be that both are under-utilized in mainstream game design. Materiality in particular demands that either the designer reframe and recontextualize existing materials that are commonly-found in games, or that they make something custom. So I understand why this is the case, but it is still disappointing. As to sensuality, I do think that vulnerability and a certain kind of intimacy is necessary to allow ourselves to experience the sensual openly, but there’s nothing necessary sexual in the sensual. I think that the two may be often conflated because many people only allow themselves that kind of vulnerability and intimacy when it comes to sex and romance. The word definitely shows that in its connotations, but it is certainly not inextricable. Each of these concepts becomes important to the current project that I am making as I develop the project in context — so, I would say that in that way, materiality and sensuality are important to that specific project, not to my work globally. But then, because that keeps happening project after project, I can no longer say that they’re not important to my work generally. It took awhile for me to embrace that particularity of my practice as it is now, along with the frequent need for human facilitation. That is how I wound up studying hybrid games.

Before making rustle your leaves to me softly, I had read Karen Barad’s “Posthuman Performativity”, and Jane Bennett’s Vibrant Matter, but I hadn’t read books like Donna Haraway’s When Species Meet, or Mel Chen’s Animacies, for example, which I have read since. rustle your leaves to me softly sort of came partially out of secondhand accounts of the theorists that you’ve mentioned — a friend and fellow designer and student, Ida Toft, was very interested in designing games for non-human entities, and we had some discussions about the topic. It was intriguing to me even though I didn’t know much about it — so I made a game with Dietrich Squinkifer to explore some ideas and thoughts about it!

Squinky and I made this game for Global Game Jam 2017, and our local site was sponsored by a Sustainability Action Fund, so there were a lot of plants hanging around as we brainstormed. Another designer, who ultimately couldn’t continue the jam with us brought in the idea of ASMR (Auto-Sensory Meridian Response), and we decided to think about what kind of ASMR a plant would enjoy and want to share with their partner (in this case, a human).

I think that the non-human helps us to conceptualize needs and desires outside of our own, which we might otherwise tend to universalize. I think also it is important to recognize that in popular culture, particularly in games, queerness is often dehumanized, or figured as monstrous (inhuman or non-human). There is excellent work on how disability, mental health, and queerness is figured as monstrous in Adan Jerreat-Poole’s introduction to their First Person Scholar issue, Mad/Crip Games and Play” — and, what’s more, it uses plant-femme Poison Ivy as a key touchstone (2018).

I think that there is also something to be said about how plant metaphors are used in poetry as sensual and sexual metaphors — this is something that I was playing with when writing rustle your leaves to me softly. Words like root”, stem”, nectar”, and bud” have long been sensualized, way before the term eco-sexual came into vogue. Maybe there is also something to be said about how many humans relate to ecological milieus as sensory/sensual places. Maybe the idea of “raw, untouched nature”, which is obviously a construct, helps us to access our desires for our own bodies outside of the contexts and structures that might otherwise normally bound and restrict us. The human body in “nature”…we can almost pretend that we are leaving certain structures behind. But even the idea of “nature” and the natural, of the nature preserve, is a product of those structures. National Park systems, like Canada’s, for example, restrict indigenous people from using their own land as they would have traditionally, because for example, you cannot set up residence in a national park for longer than a certain amount of days, and certain traditional activities are considered illegal. So, they’re inherently bound by colonialist rhetoric about humans and human activities as separate from nature.

Kara: Can you talk about the reception to your videogames on queer and trans experience? What has the feedback been like? In what capacity and to what audience do you find them best shown?

Jess: For those games (and I’m thinking specifically of In Tune, transgalactica and rustle your leaves to me softly as having the most explicit trans/queer content), I’ve been able to share and showcase them in vastly different ways. For example, transgalactica is one of my few recent games that is completely digital, so we were sort of able to share it widely on the internet. I think that’s how that particular game is best — at home, alone, where you can take your time with it and there’s no pressure for how long you take with each message. There’s no pressure to even continue on to the ending at all if you don’t want to (although I hope people do, because I’m proud of the writing). Multiple players have told us that they spent a lot of time just losing themselves in the sounds and in Squinky’s music. Generally, I think that it’s a game about affirmation, humour, and being tired, and people seemed to respond to that on a personal level. It was shared widely on Twitter, for example.

It also recently got written up as part of a preview for this year’s QGCon arcade in RockPaperShotgun. I think most arcades would not have suited this game, but QGCon’s context is friendly and experimental and, well, super queer. I left a notebook there over the course of the weekend for people to write comments in, and people wrote down their favourite radio stations — their own messages to other players and to us.

rustle your leaves to me softly is an installation game, so in most cases, I have been present for its major showcases (which have been a lot fewer since it involves live plants). For some people, the ASMR effect is really strong, and coupled with the words that the plants are saying, I’ve seen quite a few blushes and giggles. People tend to want to talk about it afterwards if I’m hanging around. Mostly, in game contexts, the response has been surprise to the sincere intimacy of the context.

Recently, rustle went to Linz this past September for Ars Electronica, which is a large electronic arts festival in Austria, as part of the “Taking Care” exhibit at AECampus that was curated by the Hexagram Network here in Montreal. There was a lot less surprise in that more “arts-focused” context — (but it was also a harder context because of the particulars of the setup — short plinths, no seats, and some technical issues at first). We also left it alone most of the time, though I popped in to watch people play out of habit.

Figure 5. Allison Cole and Zachary Miller play In Tune (ca. 2015). Source: Jess Marcotte.

In Tune has had the most press of any of my games — it’s easy to understand by watching and it came out at the right time. Plus, Allison Cole, who I made it with, took the lead on making sure that we applied to everything with it, which takes a lot of energy, but definitely had results. It had a decent festival run (Indiecade @ E3, Indiecade Night Games, Indiecade East Night Games, Come Out and Play, Montreal Joue, academic conferences, etc) and generally it has been contrasted to the many, many VR experiences that are usually available next to it. Austin Walker said it made him feel human again at E3, which is honestly a comment about my work that I’ll probably never forget. I think what surprises people the most about In Tune is that it’s actually engaging, fun and even funny, but doesn’t disrespect the subject matter (consent and intimacy).

Over the years, because of the kind of game I make, I have had to watch a lot of people react to my games and also frequently facilitate them. So, I have an intuitive/practiced sense of how people are reacting to the work. My work does get some press attention, but mostly I don’t think people know it exists until they run into it at a festival or conference context. I do know that for those that do discover it, it sometimes has deep and personal meaning, which is kind of what keeps me going. I recently got a message from someone I met once, a few years ago, playing In Tune in a park in Culver City for Indiecade Night Games, wondering if I remembered her. Recently, someone also mentioned to me the impact that playing The Truly Terrific Traveling Troubleshooter had on bringing them closer to a partner. Although getting press is affirming and helps when applying for grants and proving one’s legitimacy (always an awkward prospect for me), it’s the one-on-one relationship that people form to the work that I think has meant the most. It’s also a little bit fun to watch people blush when a plant whispers in their ear.

Figure 6. Some of the interface and materials for The Truly Terrific Traveling Troubleshooter. Source: Mattias Graham and Jess Marcotte.

I’ll show my games to anyone who is willing to take them on their own terms and commit sincerely to playing! I think they do well in very busy contexts where the noise is practically its own privacy screen, or in private playthroughs. I rarely get the chance for private playthroughs, so places where you can’t eavesdrop on other people’s intimate conversations are probably best.

What has the reception to your work, particularly sex/ual games like the earth is a better person than me, been like? What has surprised you the most?

Kara: I spoke above on the responses to my games more clearly about mental illness, like Medication Meditation, where people identified and opened up to me. That was by far the most surprising response, since it had never happened to me before then. Sext Adventure was one of my next projects and was, on the surface, quite different. The first iteration of the game was an actual texting game, where one pays 5 dollars and gets the number for a hotline to text, and the sext bot sexts them back and sends them glitchy nudes.

Figure 7. Promotional image of Sext Adventure. Source: Kara Stone.

In the promotional material I played up the expectations of what a sexting bot would be like and who it would be created for. Most people would assume that a sext bot would be created by straight men for straight men – for good reason, as that model still dominates both the porn and videogame industries. I am clear in the blurbs about the game that the bot subverts those expectations, so I have something to point to when people ask for a refund!

That texting version was shown at Indiecade in Los Angeles and Vector Game Art Festival in Toronto, as well as a few other shows. Media outlets such as Wired, Vice, and Polygon wrote about it as it has a very sexy hook. It’s by far my most “successful” game, in its media coverage and sales. After the texting version became unsustainable financially, I made it into a twine and called it Cyber Sext Adventure. That was about 4 years ago and still people purchase the game almost every single day. It’s likely that very few of those people are satisfied, which brings me a little joy. Every once in awhile I still receive emails saying it wasn’t what they wanted, or how to make the sext bot a woman.

Figure 8. Email from Sext Adventure Player. Source: Kara Stone.

The responses to the earth is a better person than me are a bit of a mix between Sext Adventure and Medication Meditation. The game is advertised as about having sex with the earth, though in a somewhat dark way, and people seem more scandalized and shocked about that then a sexting bot, I’m sure in part because it’s a woman protagonist and the earth characters are not physically anthropomorphized. Though there are very graphic sex scenes with the earth in the game, both visual and written, it’s not often done to titillate the player. Sometimes the sex is very sad or messy; sometimes it’s done before a bittersweet goodbye. It’s always filled with confused feelings about desire, queerness, and mental illness.

Figure 9. Screenshots from the earth is a better person than me. Source: Kara Stone.

Many, many less people have played the earth is a better person than me for a few reasons: Sext Adventure came out 5 years ago, and earth person has been out for only a few months. It’s a visual novel and a lot of people don’t like those. It takes over an hour to play whereas Sext Adventure is under 10 minutes. Straight men think Sext Adventure is to sexually excite them. There is a lot of “Haha what???” sort of responses to hearing the idea of the earth person, but once it has been played, the responses are more of identification and sadness. I’ve received emails from people saying how similar their emotional experiences are to Delphine’s – which is nice, because Delphine’s emotional experiences are close to my own. A microcosm of this is seen in the youtube comments for a Lets Play of the earth is a better person than me done by ProJared Plays! I did not know this stream happened until one of its audience members emailed me saying how much they identified with the game (and later, asked me if I wanted to be friends).

Figure 10. Youtube comments on BANGIN’ TREES | ProJared Plays. January 4, 2019. Source: Kara Stone.

As a side note, this Lets Play has over 12,500 views and 240 comments, though led to a total of 3 more game purchases than average.

Jess: You talked about the difficulty and vulnerability of writing the earth is a better person than me. You also talked about wanting to avoid definitions of queer design that would position every action that you take as a queer person as also queer. You also mentioned that inscribing actions as queer could be viewed as a protective move, since if we position queerness everywhere, it makes it harder to erase and destroy. Given the current political climate and the dangers that marginalized people are facing right now, what are your hopes for the future of queer design?

Kara: I don’t want queerness to be assimilated into the games industry, as a face of a company or a product to be sold. I want queer design to be anti-capitalist, non-homonormative, difficult, sexy, weird, utopian, negative, questioning, and messy. I hope designers think about queerness and feeling queerly when designing. I hope games are made to explore feelings that are common in the queer experience and queer media like desire, shame, and hope. As an artist, I think of queer design as a way I can learn more about myself, others, the world, and the way it all works, so in that way I view it as a research tool and form of knowledge building. It also works as community building and recognizing shared experiences, realizing “oh, I’m not the only one that feels that way?”, or opening up ways in which we could be.

What about you? What are your hopes for the future of queer game design?

Jess: What you said about queer design as a mode of interrogation really speaks to me — I also hope queer design will forever be perpetually questing, questioning, and seeking rather than turning into something settled and set. I hope for queer design to continue to be entangled, messy and unsettled. I also hope that queer game design will continue to be a place where people can hail each other and discover that they aren’t alone in their desires for themselves and for others.

I hope that the future of queer design is more visible and louder than ever before, and I hope it disrupts settled narratives — I hope it makes people a little uncomfortable, and that from that discomfort, come questions about the way that things are.

Kara: Closing thoughts?

Jess: We’ve covered a lot of delightfully messy ground of our own in this conversation, but I think that we probably both still have a lot to say. I hope we’ll be able to continue this conversation with each other and with other designers in our queer future! There’s a special issue of Game Studies about Queer Game Studies that came out on December 31st, 2018 that might be of interest to anyone who wants to learn more about these topics. Kara and I both have articles about queer game design in the issue, where I think we expand on some of these thoughts about our own design work.


All links verified 27.10.2019


Cyber Sext Adventure. Kara Stone. 2015.

Flip the Script!. Jess Marcotte. 2018.

In Tune. Allison Cole, Jess Marcotte, and Zachary Miller. 2014.

Medication Meditation. Kara Stone. 2014.

Sext Adventure. Kara Stone. 2014.

the earth is a better person than me. Kara Stone. 2018.

Ritual of the Moon. Kara Stone. 2019.

rustle your leaves to me softly: an ASMR Plant Dating Simulator. Jess Marcotte and Dietrich

Squinkifer. 2017.

The Truly Terrific Traveling Troubleshooter. Jess Marcotte and Dietrich Squinkifer. 2017.

transgalactica: A Tune Your Own Adventure. Jess Marcotte and Dietrich Squinkifer. 2018.

TRACES. Jess Marcotte. 2019.


ProJared Plays! BANGIN’ TREES | The Earth Is a Better Person than Me | ProJared Plays. Accessed 4 January 2019. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5aPs3e9SH0E.


Ahmed, Sara. 2007. Queer phenomenology: Orientations, objects, others. Durham: Duke University Press.

Barad, Karen. 2003. “Posthuman Performativity: Toward an Understanding of How Matter Comes to Matter.” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 28, no. 3: 801–831.

Bennett, Jane. 2010. Vibrant Matter: a Political Ecology of Things. Durham: Duke University Press.

Chen, Mel Y. 2012. Animacies: Biopolitics, Racial Mattering, and Queer Affect. Durham: Duke University Press.

Dyer-Witheford, Nick, and Greg De Peuter. 2009. Games of Empire. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

Haraway, Donna. 2008. When Species Meet. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press.

Jerreat-Poole, Adan. 2018. “Introduction.” Mad/Crip Games and Play, First Person Scholar special issue.

Khaled, Rilla. 2018. “Questions over Answers: Reflective Game Design.” In Playful Disruption of Digital Media, edited by Daniel Cermak-Sassenrath. Berlin: Springer.

Marcotte, Jess. 2018. “Queering Control(lers) Through Reflective Game Design Practices.” Game Studies: The International Journal of Computer Game Research. Vol 18, 3.

Ruberg, Bonnie. 2017. “Playing to Lose: The Queer art of Failing at Video Games.” Gaming Representation: Race, Gender, and Sexuality in Video Games, edited by Jennifer Malkowski, and TreaAndrea M. Russworm. Digital Game Studies. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.

Stone, Kara. 2018. “Time and Reparative Game Design.” Game Studies: The International Journal of Computer Game Research. Vol 18, 3.


[1] Pixelles Montreal is a not-for-profit organization that runs inclusive programs, with a particular focus on women in their main programming.

[2] Before becoming a designer, Jess took a Game Studies class with Cindy Poremba at Concordia University called, awkwardly, Video Games And/As Literature.” Jess is teaching that same course in Winter 2019. 

1–2/2019 WiderScreen 22 (1–2)

Gaming with Gender Performativity, Sexuality, and Community: An Interview with Sofonda Booz on Hosting Drag Bingo Events

Bingo, culture, Drag queens, games, gay, gender, queer, sexuality

Michael Anthony DeAnda
mdeanda [a] depaul.edu
College of Computing and Digital Media, School of Design
DePaul University

Viittaaminen / How to cite: DeAnda, Michael Anthony. 2019. ”Gaming with Gender Performativity, Sexuality, and Community: An Interview with Sofonda Booz on Hosting Drag Bingo Events”. WiderScreen 22 (1-2). http://widerscreen.fi/numerot/2019-1-2/gaming-with-gender-performativity-sexuality-and-community-an-interview-with-sofonda-booz-on-hosting-drag-bingo-events/

Printable PDF version

Sofonda Booz is a drag queen host of the weekly “C U Next Tuesday Bingo” event at the SoFo Tap, a bar in Chicago, IL. During her Bingo events, Sofonda draws from gay subcultural knowledge and current events to inform her games, requiring additional player participation through call-and-response, conversations, and lip syncs. In this interview, Sofonda relays her experience doing drag and developing her Bingo set, focusing on how she creates a welcoming community for players on Tuesday nights. Through her reflections on her career, she discusses cultural shifts in drag performances that address larger issues of gender and sexual identity in culture. Furthermore, she articulates her methods of researching, designing, and hosting Drag Bingo that speak to game design skills: research, experience design, and iteration.

In 1992, Judy Werle, the director of development for Chicken Soup Brigade, an HIV/AIDS outreach charity organization in Seattle, was tasked with conceptualizing a new fundraiser for the charity. After studying people playing Bingo at local halls, she decided to organize a similar game, but with a “gay flair” (Ang, 1996). The product of her vision took place in 1992: Gay Bingo hosted by the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, an order of drag queen nuns focused on service and visibility of the gay community (Kiviat, 2007). Bingo hosted by drag queens proved successful for drawing in an audience of both gay and straight people, resulting in the national spread of Drag Bingo events. In the years following the success of Gay Bingo in Seattle, Werle served as a traveling consultant for other HIV/AIDS community support programs who also wished to implement similar events. Today, every state in the US hosts a regular Drag Bingo night, and many popular ones still serve philanthropic causes.

Sofonda Booz, often referred to in Chicago, IL as “The Bearded Lady,” (see Figure 1) hosts the weekly “C U Next Tuesday Bingo” event at the SoFo Tap, a bar located on Clark Street on the northside of Chicago’s Uptown neighborhood. The bar’s name is derived from it’s location: South of Foster, and Sofonda will often point out how her name includes SoFo. The SoFo Tap gives off a laid-back vibe, and is billed as “your neighborhood bar.” A wooden counter borders three sides of the bar, with the shelves of alcohol and a mirror against the wall. Patrons may sit at the bar or at one of the tables that accommodate two or three people. The layout of SoFo communicates that it is a place for socializing as opposed to dancing. Events at this bar further articulate this space for socializing and mingling, such as trivia nights; Doggy Days, weekend afternoons for patrons to enjoy a beer with friends and bring their dogs and unleash them in the bar; and Bear Night for Bears, larger and hairy gay men, and men who love them. Aside from Bingo, the advertisements all contain masculine men in a state of undress (see Figure 2). While these cards highlight how bars use Bingo to advertise their other events, the types of bodies depicted in these ads contribute to the masculine aesthetic of the space. On Tuesdays, a Bingo set up occupies the open space outside of the restroom and by the dart boards, facing the entrance of the bar.

Figure 1. Sofonda Booz and her Bingo equipment.
Figure 2. Advertisements for different events at SoFo.

SoFo’s C U Next Tuesday Bingo generally starts off with about ten to fifteen players, some are seated alone at the bar or at one of the high tables drinking a cocktail or beer and indulging in free popcorn. This bar has a crowd of regulars that attend several of their events, and sometimes they drop in for Bingo. Around 7:45 PM, a couple of men in their early forties usually arrive and arrange two high-top tables close together against the wall and encircle them with five to seven seats. They hold these seats for members of their Bingo group that meets at several different Bingo events in Chicago. Many of them attend religiously to play Bingo and have a couple drinks, particularly because they like socializing. After 8 PM, Sofonda welcomes anybody who walks through the door, “Hi! Welcome to Bingo at the SoFo Tap! Come up and grab some cards!” Most people usually grab cards, even if they just retreat into the far corner to talk after getting their drinks. A couple of times, the arriving person declined the invitation, and the host just continued with the game. By 9:30 PM, half an hour from the end of the event, the crowd grows to nearly thirty participants, usually men presenting more masculine and ranging from mid- to late-twenties to mid-fifties. On occasion, some women also attend to either watch Sofonda host or joining their friends after dinner. During this time, players shift between conversing with their friends and engaging with the host. Sofonda says she encounters many regulars and is able to greet several of them by name.

During her Bingo events, Sofonda draws from gay subcultural knowledge and current events to inform her games, requiring additional player participation through call-and-response, conversations, and lip syncs. For example, she uses innuendos when calling balls, like when calling O69, players are to make their most exaggerated orgasm noise. She also creates Bingo patterns referencing sex and body parts, such as the “tight little hole” and “blown out asshole” (see Figure 3).

Figure 3: Tight Little Hole pattern (left) and Blown Out Asshole pattern (right).

Drag Bingo is a more complex game than its ludic and procedural components relay. Roger Caillois (1958/ 2001) explores games of chance as equalizers of all participants, but argues this type of play trains people to accepting fate. Games of chance foreground destiny or luck while setting the player as a passive participant, particularly because it denies the use of skill and training. Thus, chance-based games create space of truly fair play under ideal conditions because skills, resources, and experiences are removed from the situation (Caillois, p. 17). Greg Costikyan (2013), while interested in uncertainty in games, assesses that without the ability to master the game, players will lose interested in purely chance-based games. Though, as Mary Flanagan (2009) discusses, chance-based games serve to facilitate social interaction between players. She challenges the privilege of focusing purely on the procedural and ludic structures of chance games, arguing that understanding the experience games, even games of chance, requires observing the broader contexts in which this play happens. So while Costikyan suggests players often become restless with game of chance due to their limited agency, Flanagan demonstrates that these games provide just enough structure to facilitate social interaction between co-located players. In line with Flanagan, Drag Bingo highlights that games of chance need be probed further than the ludic and procedural elements to incorporate the experiences and socializing activities that also occur in and around games.

Drag Bingo is an interesting game to consider when thinking about studying and designing games. Werle’s initial development of Gay Bingo highlights many of the skills for game design: design research (visiting the Bingo halls), experience design (collaborating with the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence to bring a gay flare to the event), consideration of the target audience (thinking about how to make this event more than simply calling balls), and marketing (popularizing it in Seattle and consulting for other HIV support organizations in other cities). As Sofonda discusses in this interview, she also researches her events, focuses on her audience, and thinks about the experience she is constructing. Furthermore, she thinks about how to iterate her games and her sessions so that the environment for play continues to be safe and welcoming for players.

In this interview conducted on 23 February 2018, Sofonda Booz focuses on her experience doing drag and developing her Bingo set, discussing how she creates a welcoming community for Bingo players to join in on a Tuesday night. The interview begins with the development of Booz’s drag career and her understanding of drag. Her discussion of drag highlights interesting shifts in gay culture and drag that speak to issues of gender performativity, biological essentialism, and inclusion/exclusion. As she transitions into talking about Bingo, Booz bears light on queerly performing in and out of LGBTQ spaces, but also articulates how her experiences of doing drag influence her Bingo sets. Worth considering through this interview is how play shapes identity and how gender and sexuality are negotiated through play, materiality and performances. Through her experience, she discusses how she utilizes Bingo to create a low-stakes space for players to play with gender and sexuality.

Michael DeAnda [MDA]: Let’s start off talking about your drag career. How long have you been doing drag?

Sofonda Booz [SB]: I would say on-and-off, I’ve been doing drag for six or seven years. The first time I ever did drag for public consumption other than like Halloween was as part of a GLBTQ theater company I was a part of, called Midtangeant Productions. We were running for ten years, and through them there were multiple shows where I ended up in drag. The first show I was fully immersed in corsets and boobs and padding and makeup and wigs was the revival of a show called Snow White and the Seven Drag Queens. That was seven or eight years ago. And the show ran on and off for two years. Through that I kind of just learned [drag] from people around me.

It was all performance, I never considered myself a drag queen, I was like, “I’m an actor, and I’m doing drag for the show.” I even wrote in the program, “I am not a drag queen, and I just want to make that clear. I’m a dragtor.” Because of [acting in drag] there were other opportunities that arose. Like there was another opportunity where I got a chance to write a show as part of that theater company with myself as the lead, [playing a] woman in drag. What I liked doing was being on stage and doing comedy. I found that I got a lot more mileage from being funny in a dress than being funny as a boy. Theater is what started me down this, down this corseted path.

MDA: That’s a great way to put it! So who inspires you to do drag? What are your references when you’re performing or getting ready?

SB: When I started, I was like, “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” I was learning from people around me, like close friends in my tight little theater community. Madame X specifically that helped me along, she was part of that theater company and works at Kit Kat Lounge.[1] I call her my drag grandma, not my drag mother, because I make jokes that she’s as old as a dinosaur.

I look in my closet—I have a closet for me, and I have a closet for Sofonda. A lot of Sofonda’s closet was really borrowed, stolen, or given. For a long time I didn’t have an inspiration. I was doing drag to entertain people. As long as the look was funny, and it made a visual impact, I didn’t really care. But kind of over the past couple of years, I’ve been more and more inspired by the bearded drag community. I don’t necessarily model myself after them, but I do look at them as pioneers and as inspiration, not necessarily like a visual inspiration because I’m not modeling myself after their clothing styles. But I look at them as people who are really leading a path to major acceptance for someone like a bearded queen.

To go back to like Snow White and the Seven Drag Queens, when I started that show, I had to shave my beard every single week. And then I convinced my director to let me do it bearded. I had been seeing more and more bearded queens, like Lucy Stool, Hellvetika, JerFay, some of the girls down at The Call.[2] Drag over the past few years has started to diversify so much that everything is drag. Those are the ones who inspired me. Style-wise, I go on these little “journeys.” Right now, I’m on this 50s housewife journey with where I’m at in my life and because it’s a style I’ve always wanted delve into (see Figure ). My biggest inspiration is to make sure that I am larger than life, entertaining as hell, and that I’m not just a pretty girl in a dress. I’m “The Bearded Lady!” So I’m like, “I’m not going to be [beautifully feminine], I’m not going to be cute.” If I’m already exaggerating drag to the point where I’m a bearded queen, everything else is exaggerated too.

Figure 4. One of Sofonda Booz’s 50s housewife look.

MDA: So you mentioned keeping separate spaces for your clothing and your means of expression. I’d like to ask about your pronouns. What pronouns do you use?

SB: I do use “she” and “her” when I’m in drag and I refer to myself as a lady. But when I’m in drag I’m the first one to take the piss on myself. My whole mentality when I’m up there telling jokes is like, “I best make a joke about myself first before someone else thinks that I’m taking this all too seriously, because I’m not!” I’m there to entertain people; I’m there to make people laugh. But I definitely use she/her pronouns. I use she/her pronouns with all my drag queen friends, and I call my drag queen friends by their drag queen names: it’s not “Nate,” it’s “Specificity”; it’s not “Colby,” it’s “Tequila”; it’s not “Drew,” it’s “Dixie.” Unless I met them in a separate part of my life, then I usually call them by she/her. And I think that’s also synonymous with gay culture as well. I think a lot of my gay friends who aren’t in drag I call “her” or “she.” You know it’s almost a colloquialism of gay culture at this point to be like, “Oh girl!” I think it’s beyond just being a drag queen, I think it’s just part of who I’ve grown up and become as a gay man and the culture I’m immersed in currently.

MDA: Do you have a lot of people who refer to you as “Sofonda,” even when you’re out of drag? What’s that like?

SB: Yeah. I’m fine with it. Especially people at the bar. People at SoFo call me Sofonda all the time. I’ll walk in, and they’re like, “Hey Sofonda!” It’s actually kind of a little pat on the back because then it’s like I know that I have over the past few years really taken a different look at my drag and a really different look at my drag career, which is almost exclusively toward Drag Queen Bingo. I always have had a worry that, especially when I started doing drag and when I started doing Bingo, that people aren’t going to see me as a drag queen, as pretty, or as any kind of illusion—that’ I’m just a man in a dress. I’m not the most polished queen in the world, but it shows me that they’re still buying into what I’m selling. So, I mean it validating, like, “I like who you are Sofonda, and I like what you’re doing.”

MDA: I know that the term “drag” is, is really contested, especially when we’re talking about validation and what is really considered “drag.” What is your definition of “drag?” What is “drag” to you?

SB: Well that’s a two-pronged answer because I think to really define what I define “drag” now, I’d have to define what I thought drag was then.

When I was in this GLBT theater company for example, I was in a show, and I was getting in wigs and corsets, putting on makeup and heels, and I was “the drag queen.” But then we have the female actors who are also getting in wigs and corsets and makeup and heels and getting on stage, but for me they weren’t a drag queen. I have a friend who is a female drag queen who performs all over the country really, and I met her through this theater company. We had this debate a few years ago. She’s like, “I’m a drag queen.” I was like, “You’re at an unfair disadvantage. You have big old tits. You don’t even have to [pad]. You have to do so much less. It’s not giving me the illusion of being a woman; you are a woman. You are enhancing it, and you’re making it larger than life, but that’s not what [drag] is.” I think everything that’s been happening in the drag community over the past few years, especially in Chicago—Chicago is one of the most diverse drag communities I’ve ever seen—about the rise of different types of drag: bearded queens and genderfuck[3] and female drag queens. I don’t even really think of any of those label subsets as like, “Oh well, you’re a ‘genderfuck drag queen,’” “Oh, you’re a ‘female drag queen.’” It’s just “drag queen.”

Drag to me is taking that person who isn’t on the exterior every single day but who lives inside and is burning bright, and however you want to express that creatively for the world to see, then that’s drag. There are people who dress in drag for their nine-to-five: they put their hair up, they do their makeup, they put on heels, clothes, suits and slick their hair if they’re a [masculine presenting], and that’s like their work drag. It’s just an enhancement of yourself, and for me, it’s always been the best person you can be and the person you maybe always wanted to be but can’t always be. I try and be a consistent character as a person from day to night, I still tell stupid jokes, I still laugh at myself, I’m still self-deprecating. But when I get on a microphone, I put all the best parts of myself out there full-force. Drag is an expression of yourself and your heart and your passion. It’s so stupid to say it, but I realized over the past few months how passionate I am about fucking Bingo.

When I realized that, I was just like, “God! I can just have even more fun doing it!” I like my nine-to-five job and the people I work with; they know about Sofonda, and they’ve come to see her multiple times. But there’s just this freeing energy I feel when I’m up there with a microphone hosting because I love performing and I love making people laugh. I get so scared when people don’t laugh. That speaks to drag queens needing validation. Everybody has their insecurities. But when I was acting, I didn’t like doing dramas because I didn’t know if I was doing a good job. I’m not going to hear the audience crying. But when I’m acting a fool, and I hear somebody laugh or somebody comes up to me after a show and tells me, “you were really funny,” or “thank you so much, here’s a twenty dollar bill”—which has happened and needs to happen more! I’ve always been a guy who likes tangible results, and I like to know the effort I’m putting in is worth something to somebody.

MDA: So I’m interested. Earlier you said that you’re drag career’s basically been priming you for doing Drag Bingo, I want to hear about that. What was that trajectory like? What were the milestones for that?

SB: So Snow White and the Seven Drag Queens literally opened so many doors for me, and I met a lot people in my life at that time because of that show. There was one time where a friend said, “Hey, my girlfriend’s friend is looking for a drag queen to host Bingo, and I thought of you.” And I responded, “I mean I’ve been to Drag Queen Bingo. I’ve been to some really bad Drag Queen Bingo, I’ve been to some really good Drag Queen Bingo too.” But I also never thought, “That’s going to be me some day!” But then this opportunity fell in my lap to do Bingo, and the best part was that it at [Tavern on Little Fort] a straight bar in North Center, just north of Irving Park off of Lincoln.

Basically, they just said they wanted a Bingo night. I didn’t even know if they wanted a drag queen because all their communication only mentioned they were looking for a Bingo host. So I came in [to pitch my set] and I said, “We’ll call it ‘Dirty Bingo’ and I’m going to bring a guest host every week,” as a fucking security blanket. I just got through the presentation and I was expecting some reservation because it’s a straight bar. Instead they said, “Okay great! Sounds like you know what you’re doing, so I guess we’ll see you in two weeks. We’ll start advertising and then go from there.” I was like, “This was easy. I just got recommended for it, wrote my own fucking ticket, and now I’m hosting Bingo at a straight bar.” That first gig ran every week for six months at a straight bar.

There were some good nights, some bad nights. It was a ten minute walk to the train from [the bar]. I couldn’t get all my friends there every single week. I can’t even do that now at SoFo. And, I don’t know, for whatever reason [the straight bar] decided not to continue]. So after six months, on my birthday show too. I had that place fucking packed! 200 people, and [the bar] made so much money! So that was like [August of 2015].

And then I was working with my theater company, but then Snow White ended. So drag was just done for me. I had this closet full of clothes, I was ready to pack it all up and be done with [drag] and then I remember in 2016 I got a call from the girl who bartended and now managed the tavern, and she said, “Hey! I want to bring back Bingo!” So we decided to do it every other week. I did that from December 2016 through September of 2017. I had made lots of friends from that gig and then I started filling in at @mosphere Bar[4] when my drag sister started getting a gig there, and I would fill in for her when she had nights off. Now that I started doing hosting in a gay bar, and I was like like, “What is this magical world I’m in? I can make dick jokes and pussy jokes.”

At [Tavern on Little Fort] I realized that I was not a hundred per cent comfortable because of the audience. If you’re in a little tavern or in a little pub, you’re not expecting a bearded lady to come up to you and be like, “Hey, wanna play Bingo?” A lot of people got scared off! I’m super grateful for that opportunity, it laid the groundwork and gave me a lot of ideas. So, I became part of the rotation at @mosphere for a while, and then I filled in occasionally for my other drag sister, Alexis Bevels, she already [hosted Drag Bingo] at the Glenwood up in Roger’s Park, and she was starting to take over at SoFo. Atmosphere decided to end their Bingo program.

However, Alexis ended up getting a show every other week at a different bar, and she’s like, “Hey, I can’t do this a every single week, would you want to share it? And then we’ll [alternate].” It was a gay bar and I didn’t have to host every week, that took a little bit of the pressure off. Now that I’m at SoFo, I am doing shit there that I never thought I’d do, like: just some of the crap that’s coming out of my mouth, for one; some of the things I’m asking people to do; some of the games I’m asking people to play; the reactions I’m getting from people. I’ve never felt happier doing Bingo than I have at SoFo. It’s like at this point, all the stars have aligned.

MDA: So you said you perform at SoFo currently. How would you describe that bar?

SB: It is kind of a gay neighborhood bar. It’s like a gay Cheers (1982-1993, USA, Charles/Burrows/Charles Productions). Everybody knows your name; you know all the bartenders. Just go and have a beer after work, it’s super chill. The bartenders and the rest of the staff are all also really invested the programming too and want it to succeed. Everyone there is just really open and collaborative, and they let me run with these ideas and be a fool, and they support it. It’s the same thing as my day job: it’s different going into a place you love to work versus going into a place where they’re just paying you and you’re just going. It’s not that I didn’t love doing it at the straight bar or at Atmosphere. I think that familiarity, like that Cheers-type vibe, is kind of what lends itself to that. I know most of the people who come in every week, and they know me too.

MDA: Can you tell me a bit about the people that come in to play Bingo with you?

SB: I’ve gotten the regulars, I’ve gotten the people who followed me from @mosphere, and then the occasional just random group of people who are like, “Bingo? What? I had no idea!” But, I will say this about them, I mean Bingo’s not for everybody, but people get really passionate about playing Bingo. Like, when you need B1 and I call B2, you’re like, “Damn it!” I, on multiple occasions have to explain to people, “You know that I have no control over this, right? You know this is a game of chance. I am just merely the arbiter of said Bingo balls.” I always try to be my semi-charming self when people come in. I’ve never met somebody at any of my gigs who decided to play Bingo that didn’t have a good time. Even if they didn’t win, they’re not like, “Ah crap! That was a terrible evening.” I see that if they’re sitting down to play, they want to be engaged, and they want to be active. And my experience with the specific people who come in to SoFo and play Bingo is just that they’re all a crazy bunch of bastards.

Going back to what I said before, I’ve never met a nicer bunch of people as customers. There was an incident with a customer when I first started, and the owners said to me, “We really want this to be a safe haven for everybody and for everyone feel welcome.” And I took that to heart, I’ve always wanted that in my life, and so I feel like we have our own little Tuesday-night community. Whether they come every week or once a month or once every six months, I just appreciate that they all buy in to what I’m selling.

MDA: What do you think keeps people coming back to Bingo, or what do you think draws people into Bingo?

SB: Like I said, people just want mindless escape sometimes. It’s fun, and they get to be active, socialize, and drink. Part of it is also because people just like SoFo. People are very, very loyal to that bar and what I’m trying to do is forge connections with the people who come in. I’m not just this [host], I love talking to people and engaging with people, and I think that’s part of why people return. People feel like, “I didn’t just come here, you like that I’m here, and you want me to be here.” I think my engagement with people encourage them to come back—at least I hope it does. I don’t want anyone leaving ever feeling uncomfortable because that’s what I would want if I was attending. I know there are just some people who just come in for Bingo now, so I guess I’m doing my job!

MDA: That’s cool! So I’d like to talk about what you do hosting Bingo. What are some of your ritualized practices surrounding the game of Bingo?

SB: I without fail will always continue to make an orgasm noise whenever O69 comes up. You can’t take that away from me. You can’t tell me not to do it. At my core, when it comes to Bingo, I’m dick jokes and dad jokes, and sometimes I get some dad dick jokes in there.

I’ve also got my list of games and my list of special things we can do, like a “Wild Bingo”[5] or a “Speed Round” things like that. And I have my little boards that I use to show what pattern we’re going to do (see Figure 5). I take it seriously. I want to be prepared and make sure I have all my ducks in a row, to make sure that everyone else knows what they’re doing, knows how to play, has a fair chance of winning. And that just might be me coming from an acting background like, “You have to know your lines, you have to know you’re blocking, you have to know you’re choreography.” Like, I don’t choreograph anything I say or do, it literally is all off the cuff. I mean, I’ve got my little rhymes and things engrained in my head, like “O66, sucking all the dicks!” I think it kind of goes along with just the preparedness of wanting to make sure people have a good time and people are entertained.

Figure 5. Demonstration Pattern Sofanda Booz uses to show the Bingo pattern to the audience.

In terms of rituals, there’s a lot of times where I’m just like, “Okay, let’s put on this makeup and this wig and this dress and let’s hope for the best, let’s hope I don’t break my ankle, let’s hope I don’t get too drunk.” So a lot of hoping is involved with it too. But, I mean I know I’m there to do a job, so I’ve got my little arsenal of tools and I’ve got my know-how in my head of things that I can say and do. And I think just preparedness-wise, the biggest thing is going back to when I get there: engaging people and talking to people and making sure that people know that they’re welcome and that I want them to play, and I want them to win, and I’m cheering for them! I’ve always wanted people doing that for me when I’m playing Bingo, and I want them to feel comfortable. So, I mean, If I’m uncomfortable, they’re uncomfortable, and visa versa.

MDA: You talked about your arsenal and I know part of that is that you have these cards with different patterns on them, can you talk about some of the patterns that you play during Bingo and how you introduce them?

SB: Oooh boy! This is the R-rated part of the interview. Not that my swearing hasn’t been. When I started my career, it was “Dirty Bingo with the Bearded Lady and His Bevy of Beauties.” I researched all of these different Bingo boards. And I’m like, “Well what else can I do? What else can I draw? How can I do this?” And I’m like, “Okay, easy enough, I can draw a dick, so let’s draw a dick on here.” I don’t know why I drew it in purple, but I did, and I’ve had it in purple for years. So I have this “Big Purple Dick” (see Figure 6) and I’m like, “Look at my big, hard, purple dick!” Sometimes I’ll be feeling frisky and it’s like, “Okay, I’ll give you more than one way to win.” Hold it up, it’s a hard dick; hold it down, it’s a soft dick. And part of the reason I do that is to diversify people’s chances of winning, for one, and two I do something where people don’t just yell “Bingo!” when they win with me—unless I’m drunk and forget, which does happen—with every special board, there’s something special to yell out. Like when the dick is hard, you have to yell out, “I’ve got a hard on!” Or if it’s soft I always yell out “Flaccid! Flaccid!” like Meryl Streep in Death Becomes Her (Zemeckis [dir.], 1992) which is one of my favorite movies of all times.

Figure 6. Big Purple Dick pattern.

So even with the things that they call out, I refer to my own knowledge of pop culture, and movies, and television, and drag, and, current events, to keep people on their toes and make sure that they’re engaged. I like doing all these different boards and switching it up all the time and not having the same program because: one, I like the mentality of people coming in and not knowing what will happen; and then two, having to listen and make sure they’re paying attention. Other good ones I’ve done… “Five whores in a corner” (see Figure 7) is a fun one, so it’s a corner (of the Bingo card) and then the two on either side, and I usually pick out the staff, they’re two whores, and then myself, I’m another whore, and then if I know somebody in the bar, they’re the fourth whore, and then you’re competing to be the fifth whore. It’s just silly stuff. I’m not going to lie, I have gone to other queen’s Bingo, and I have playfully repurposed some of their own boards or done my own spin on it. There’s only so many abstract designs you can draw without it being ridiculous on a Bingo board.

Figure 7. “Five Whores in a Corner” pattern.

I want people to know what they’re getting into when they do it. At SoFo, it’s not called “Dirty Bingo!” anymore. We rebranded, and now it’s “See You Next Tuesday.” I felt it went along with the brand. Alexis was on board too. I think it also opened ourselves up to have more fun and do other things like lipsyncs, and a ring toss on a dildo.

MDA: Can you tell me a bit about these?

SB: So again with Alexis and I coming in, SoFo wanted to diversify the night, and they’re like, “well we want to have it not just be Bingo. We want it to be something more than that.” So we came up with this concept of like, “See You Next Tuesday” because the other thing that came up was that people are always asking like, “Oh, well when’s Bingo?” “Well it’s called ‘See You Next Tuesday.’” I mean if you can’t figure it out then you have bigger problems. ‘See You Next Tuesday’ officially started beginning of February in 2018. Alexis actually hasn’t been here for any of it, so I’ve had three weeks so far to do my own thing. And there’s honestly stuff that comes to me in the moment that I’m just like, “Let’s do this!” I thank god for those audiences because I tell them to say stupid shit when I’m on a microphone, or I ask them to do stupid shit, and people do it! It’s awesome!

MDA: Can you give me an example?

SB: So like I told you O69, favorite ball of all time, absolute favorite! So I’m just like, “Huh, so we always call this ball, we don’t do anything with it. Why don’t we do a contest? Whoever wants a free shot, show me a dick pic that somebody sent you within the past week.” And then everyone just kind of looked at each other, and they’re like, “Eh, I don’t really want to do that.” And then one person stood up, and I’m like, “Nobody? C’mon! A bar full of predominantly gay men! Somebody has a dick pic on their phone.” And like eight or nine people came up. And, so I’m standing there in this 1950s style housewife dress with a bunch of men shoving their phones in my face with dick pics, like, “What about this one?” I was like, “Woah! What have I just unleashed here?” But again, I think the initial reaction from people was shock, and they’re like, “What?It’s Bingo! People aren’t expecting that. I think it’s because of the environment I’ve created, people are comfortable enough to come up and do that. Plus people like alcohol, and they want a free shot, so that helps too!

And I’m just trying to also just change it up. I’ve been to Bingo where [the host is] like, “B1, 1 under the B,” and call that out like clockwork every single time, and I don’t like that. I want to make sure you’re paying attention and that you are fully engage in everything I’m doing, so that’s why I’m always trying to throw little curve balls and stuff like that. And plus, it give people an opportunity to win more and do more. Even if one person wins and everyone else loses, everyone still feels good, or like, “Oh that could have been me!” or “I can win too!” So it also kind of bumps up morale in this little Tuesday night Bingo community that we have for the evening.

MDA: You’re kind of touching on this, when you’re hosting do you do anything to get people to explore their gender and/or sexual identities?

SB: I always try and promote a level of openness. As long as people are safe and having fun, anything goes. I just want people to have a good time. One of the things I do that has yielded a myriad of results is “Storytime,” which is just one of my favorite things to do. Storytime is: I have a blank board, I get a volunteer from the audience who’s willing to tell a story, I have now started telling people, “You have to limit this story to about 60 or 90 seconds. Tell me a story about something like a sexy story or an embarrassing story or something stupid that happened to you today.” And the reason I had started doing that at “Dirty Bingo” back in the day at a straight bar—and I got some good stories from straight bars—was just so people [contributed].

Like it’s one thing to get up there on a microphone and be making all these jokes about sex or talking about sex. And it’s because I’m comfortable with sex, but I also want everyone else to be comfortable too. So it’s a little opportunity for somebody to share a little bit about theirself. There’s no shame in anything that anybody has ever told. I would say 99 per cent of the time, whatever story they’ve shared, I mean, usually yields some laughter from the crowd or some kind of big reaction. But I want to normalize sex. There’s nothing wrong with it. We all have sex, we all have our own identities that we need to not be ashamed of and be proud of. Storytime is part of my little opportunity to kind of give somebody else the spotlight for a minute to do the same thing that I’m doing in drag.

I’ve started implementing the “Wheel of Divas”[6] occasionally (see Figure 8). In Bingo, if we have a tie, we’ll spin the wheel and then do a “Lipsync for Your Life.” I will say, some of the people who get up there and lipsync are like the biggest, butchest guys that all of a sudden will pull out these dance moves and put out this word-for-word lipsync, and I’m like, “Where did you come from? And, please don’t take my job!”

Figure 8. The Wheel of Divas on the Bingo setup.

I think drag has broken down so many barriers in terms of gender expression and gender identity. Like I said, I don’t think of drag in terms of gender anymore, I think of it in terms of expression. If going up there and lipsynching also gives you an opportunity to be a different person for 90 seconds or explore something within yourself that wants to come out or that isn’t around every moment of every single day, great! I like when people take chances and just release that part of themselves and just have fun.

MDA: When you’re hosting Bingo what do you do when two or more people call “Bingo” at the same time?

SB: Like I said, I have this arsenal of tricks inside my head, and I don’t always know what I’m going to do. I used to be overly prepared. I used to have themes every week at the straight bar, and I used to be like, “I’m dressed like a Disney princess and we’re going to have Disney themed trivia questions.” And I used to have people each grab a boob, or if there was more people, then they’d grab a boob or a butt to use as buzzers. But again, I’ve really been challenging myself to not just do that.

On Fat Tuesday, I had a big, giant dildo from my personal collection that is just far too big to be inserted inside anybody, so I decided to use it as a prop instead. It’s huge! It’s like a Coke can thick, and like two Coke cans long. So I use it as a prop. So on Fat Tuesday we had beads, so then, when we had a tie people did a ring toss on the dildo.

MDA: What do you think makes Drag Bingo unique from other types of drag performances?

SB: That’s really the only world I’m in right now. I’m not performing, and I’m not acting. I do drag performances, like pop-up performance as part of SoFo now during breaks, but I’m not out there at the drag race at Roscoe’s (a gay bar in Chicago’s Boystown neighborhood) trying to compete. I’m not at Berlin (a club in Chicago’s Lakeview neighborhood) [as] part of their midnight shows. I enjoy going there to see that. I’ve always said I have a tremendous respect for drag queens, and I think everybody brings something different to the table. And I went and I saw a local pageant for Hamburger Mary’s. Amazing performers! And the thing that threw me was the interview portion. There were some people that were amazing performers, and when you put them on microphone, they could barely formulate a sentence. I think it was the nerves, clearly, but also they lead me to really value myself and what I do and have a new appreciation for myself. I look at those girls doing the splits and beating their mug for days, and doing some of the shit they do; and I’m like, “I could never do that.” But then I look at myself and I’m like, “I know for a fact that there are some of those girls who cannot do what I do.”

I know a lot of drag queens in the community, but I don’t think I’m viewed on the same level as them, but I don’t think they’ve also given me a chance. Like, I know a lot of these queens that go to other gigs, support each other’s shows. Drag queens don’t come to my Bingo—except for my friends that are drag queens, the few. So, like I said earlier, with all drag queens are, there’s a level of insecurity and need validation. And I have that, definitely. But I see what I’ve done over the past few months and where I’ve come in my journey—especially with Bingo—and I realize that I don’t really care anymore. There’s going to be people who like what I do, and there’s going to be people who look at me as a booger and think that I’m not a drag queen. I don’t really care.

I am confident in what I do. I love what I do! I love being up there. I love making people happy and making people laugh. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I don’t want to be one of those girls, I want to be a hostess. I love hosting and I love talking to people and hearing what they have to say. So, I’m okay with the differences, but I don’t know how many people in the drag community really celebrate the differences. I feel like especially a lot of young queens or people who are very stuck on what it is they do still think that what I do isn’t as valid as what they do. It’s disappointing sometimes, but I think about it this way: I try to keep an open mind, I try to be not that discouraged by it, but the times I do get discouraged by it I’m like, “Well, do you have a regular gig? Do you get paid on the regular to do drag? Or are you going out and getting fifty bucks for a show?” I’m like, “Somebody wants me to be there, and somebody’s paying me to be there, and somebody recognizes my talents and recognizes me as a valid performer and is encouraging me and they can see it because of the reaction of the people who come there.”

So, I mean, if I don’t get validation from other drag queens, I couldn’t really give a shit. The only validation I really want is from the people in the bar that night. I get so stupid gushy-mushy on the microphone sometimes. I think I did a couple weeks ago, I almost started crying like, “You guys mean so much to me!” And it really does. I mean I work a day job that’s not easy, and my favorite parts of the week in order of importance: on a Tuesday: being in drag; hosting; making people laugh; drinking; having a good time; actual day job; waking up; process of getting in drag is at the bottom of the list. I hate getting in drag! It’s not fun. Drag is not comfortable. The other thing that gets me is that drag is not easy, and why somebody else can’t recognize that just because I’m not doing the same thing you do does not mean I am not putting in a shit-ton of effort to do what I do. So, like I said, we’ll agree to disagree and move on with our lives.

MDA: So knowing that drag isn’t easy and having the experience to make that call, why host Bingo in drag?

SB: Like I said, I went to school to be an actor. I got my Bachelors of Arts in acting. I moved to Chicago to be an actor and perform because it was truly the only thing that made me happy for a long time. And it evolved, and I’m a very social person, and I love hearing people’s stories, making new friends, learning from other people’s experiences, and I also still love having a creative outlet.

I don’t know how this happened, but I started dating somebody six months ago, and I feel like on our first date, I told him, “By the way, you should know…” I always lead with that on a first date because some people aren’t into dating drag queens. He’s a dancer, and a performer, and an actor, so he understood, but it took him a while to come see me. He’s now become somebody who’s also exploring the world of drag and also exploring what he wants to do, and has also become a creative collaborator with me in terms of costuming, and wigs and everything in between.

I’ve ebbed and flowed away from the world of drag many times over the past few years, sometimes not even doing it for six to eight months at a time in between gigs. He helped me remember why it was I started doing it . I like hosting was because it fills a void in me, that passion that I had for acting and that passion I had for performing and for making people laugh, it’s back and it’s this whole new world that I feel lucky to be a part of it. Really lucky because, like I said, there’s people out there who bust their butts and don’t get daily gigs.

MDA: So what advice would you give to somebody who’s looking into getting into Drag Bingo or wants to host drag bingo?

SB: First of all, I think you need to just put yourself out there and take a chance. If it’s something you really want to do and you see an opportunity, you have to take the opportunity. My very first gig, somebody said, “They want to do Bingo,” and I said, “I’m going to make this mine, and I’m going to turn this into something.” I mean you have to obviously do your research and know the programming of said establishment to see if it’s even a viable option. There’ll be opportunities that somebody moved away, and you’re right place right time.

And the other thing about it is, if you really want to host Drag Bingo, go see as much Drag Bingo as humanly possible. It’s like anything else, you’re not going to learn unless you immerse yourself in it. Like I have been to so many shows! I used to go to see [Angelique Munro], she used to host at Atmosphere before Christina Rose and I did, and then she went to a bar called Shakers, and then that gig ended. Terry Yaki would do it at the old Halsteds and then at Hydrate. My friend Debbie Fox would do it at Spin when she was filling in for [Angelique]. There are so many Drag Queen Bingos. Go see what they’re doing and then decide what you want to do.

If you want to do what it is that they’re doing, yes, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but my advice is make it your own. I know some people do some Dirty Bingo and some stuff like that, but I don’t see people do it the way I do it. But, the other thing I need to do personally is go out there and see who else is doing Bingo and do my research, find out what’s changed, see if there are any new ideas that I can appropriate or switch into my own. And I don’t feel like any one person is doing any kind of revolutionary Drag Bingo.

It all depends on the establishment. It all depends on the prizes. It all depends on the clientele. It depends on the queen doing it, being engaging and funny. But just do as much research as possible. Put yourself out there. Why not? What do you have to lose?

MDA: Those are all the questions that I have. Is there anything else that you’d like to add that I haven’t covered?

SB: Like I said, I realized over the past few months, especially with the gig at SoFo, how much Bingo has actually become a big part of my life. There’s something about playing Bingo that’s just this basic shared human experience like, “We’re all in this together!” It’s just come to symbolize for me so much more than just being in drag; it’s also come to be just a part of who I am at this point.

People at work ask me about it all the time. It’s been a good outlet for me, and it’s been a good opportunity for me to explore who I am as a drag queen, who I am as a hostess, as a comedian. Because that time on the mic has given me this path of self-discovery, it means so much more to me than just calling out numbers on a ball. It’s something that actually is part of my history, and when I decide whatever day to stop doing drag or stop hosting Bingo or the place burns down, it’ll be sad, but I will never be too sad knowing that it has given me so much. And that’s that!



Ang, Audra. 1996. “Gay Bingo Nights Find Niche in Seattle.” LA Times, June 9, 1996. http://articles.latimes.com/1996-06-09/local/me-13232_1_gay-bingo.

Kiviat, Barbara. 2007. “How Drag Queens Took over Bingo.” TIME, May 2, 2007. http://content.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,1617013,00.html.

Caillois, Roger. 1958/ 2001. Man, Play, and Games. Urbana: University of Illinois Press.

Costikyan, Greg. 2013. Uncertainty in Games. Playful Thinking Series. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press.

Flanagan, Mary. 2009. Critical Play: Radical Game Design. Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press.


[1] The Kit Kat Lounge is a bar in Chicago’s Boystown neighborhood that hosts drag shows every night of the week and drag brunches on weekends.

[2] The Call is a bar in Chicago’s Edgewater Neighborhood.

[3] “Genderfuck” is a term used for when a person juxtaposes the aesthetics and performances of masculinity and femininity into one look.

[4] @tmosphere, “atmosphere,” is a gay bar in Chicago’s Andersonville neighborhood on Clark Street.

[5] Wild Bingo is a fast-paced round of Bingo in which the first five balls count for all the spaces in accordance with the ones place value of the number. For example, if B1 is one of the first balls called, all players may mark off on their own sheets B1, B11, I21, N31, N41, G51, O61, and O71. The first player with a “blackout,” the entire card marked off, wins.

[6] The Wheel of Divas is a tool used to settle ties. Female popstar singers are written on the wheel. Upon a tie, Sofonda spins the wheel, and the two winners lipsync to a song by the diva whose name the wheel landed on.