Category is love: A look into the burgeoning Philippine ballroom scene
Stepping into the Philippines' ballroom scene for the first time and melting into the most vibrant crowd felt like coming home. Surrounded by so much extravagance and fierceness would have been intimidating, but inside the ball and its welcoming arms, I belonged. It felt like being transported to a world where queerness isn’t silenced but is loudly celebrated.
Established by queer Black and Latinx individuals in Harlem, New York during the 1970s, the modern ballroom culture started as a protest against racism and queerphobia. Within this underground subculture are different categories that participants “walk” or compete in, such as runway performances, fashion presentations, face, and realness.
In the Philippines, the first ball was held in 2016 through the unbounded dedication of its trailblazer Xyza Mizrahi, Mother of the House of Mizrahi Philippines. In a conversation with Young STAR, she recalled the strenuous process of establishing a culture that was so foreign to the country. To learn more about the culture and its history, she visited New York, Japan, and other countries with thriving ballroom scenes.
“Noong pumunta ako sa New York, na-feel ko na you’re celebrated no matter what, kahit anong skin color, body type, o race mo. As long as you’re willing to show your authentic self, you’ll be celebrated. I really wanted to bring that feeling here to the Philippines,” she told us.
Since its inception, the ballroom community has always been a safe space for queer people to express themselves. Transness and femininity, often brutalized by a cis-heteronormative and macho-feudal society, are embraced and cheered on. The length of its runways, bordered by the most enthusiastic crowd, is a place where a person’s uniqueness and individuality are given tens across the board.
Behind the glitz and glamour, however, is an agonizing amount of pain. “Ballroom comes out of trauma. It comes out of protest, so it really has so much hurt,” Nunoy Revlon, semifinalist of Legendary Season 3 and Prince of House of Revlon, told Young STAR in a separate interview. Like most in the community, Nunoy’s family life had not been easy; it was in the House of Revlon that he found his home.
As an onlooker, it’s easy to misunderstand what “house” and “house parents” are in the ballroom scene. For people who never had to be kicked out of their own homes—a place where we should feel safe, secure, and loved—it’s impossible to truly feel the gravity of having to find your own family when the one you have won’t love you because you’re different.
“It goes so, so deep,” Nunoy emphasized. “Being a parent in the ballroom is more than just on the runway (or) being good at your categories. It goes into my kids’ personal situations. When you are a parent, you have to be ready to support them in any way possible.”
“It is a lifestyle. It’s honing a young kid’s future,” Xyza added. “It is about creating an environment where kids can learn and grow as better people.”
Nunoy and Xyza aren’t just leaders of the ballroom community, but heads of their respective families. They provide shelter for queer kids who have no place to call home.
“I’m a parent to anyone who needs support,” Nunoy said.
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The beauty of the ballroom scene, then, is beyond the performances, fashion statements and face cards that never decline—it’s in its people. It’s in the community’s strength. At the heart of this culture are individuals who chose compassion after years of hate and cruelty.
The runway of the ballroom scene is a place of celebration. Yes, it’s a battle between houses and individuals, but it’s also a place where you are loved for the things you were told were wrong about you.
It’s no wonder why, despite years of challenges and difficulties, its leaders continue to host balls, even if they have to shell out their own finances. “We are currently still not safe in our society. No matter where we go, there is still discrimination happening, unfortunately,” said Nunoy, explaining the importance of creating safe spaces like the ballroom scene.
Understandably for Xyza, there came a time when she contemplated hosting her final ball. The insurmountable challenges and exhaustion that come with building a whole community is a heavy burden to carry, but she sees the ball as a platform that encourages confidence and empowers people. “As long as there is one person coming in, lagi naming iniisip na that’s one person to empower,” she said.
For this reason, its leaders and members have been so protective of the culture. Once underground, ballroom is slowly penetrating mainstream consciousness through shows like Legendary and Pose, and albums like Beyoncé’s “Renaissance.” While this is a welcome development, the community fears appropriation.
One way we can avoid this is by educating ourselves about the culture’s history and nuances. We can show our respect by asking questions to the right people, amplifying the voices of the individuals within, and participating in workshops that intend to teach the different skills and crafts needed in the ballroom scene.
Stepping out of my first ball, which had been the recently concluded Rainbow Ball, my ears rang but my heart was filled. Just like how it is leaving home, I was given a pabaon in the form of empowerment and hope. If a community built from pain can thrive and choose love, I know that someday, we can all live in a future where everyone is celebrated for their differences.
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To know more about the ballroom community, follow the Instagram accounts of Xyza Mizrahi @xyzamizrahi and Nunoy Revlon @nunoyrevlon.