“It definitely didn’t feel queer,” a photographer who attended the party told me afterwards. “There were no resources at the party that discussed PrEP’s place in the queer community. No non-profit partner either.” He added that though he loved the music, he would “loved to have seen trans and nonbinary performers spotlighted, especially because the era of gay clubs that [the party] was inspired by was also the height of ballroom.”
Another musician who was there agreed, telling me that he felt the party was filled with “random straight couples posing for photos,” and that he witnessed security letting in a bunch of “very young straight kids” who were at the front of the line and didn’t have tickets. Later in the night, he overheard someone say that security had reportedly confiscated his PrEP pill because it wasn’t in a bottle. He chocked up the night’s follies to Ocean being too ambitious in trying to create “build a safe space out of nothing.”
This seemed to be the crux of the problem with Ocean’s new event: PrEP+ is what happens when a mainstream queer musician envisions a sex-positive, inclusive club night that ultimately becomes a “who’s who” of celebrities, influencers, and industry players. I overheard multiple attendees point out who they had seen walking through the space’s winding catacombs throughout the night. “Kevin Abstract and Ryan Beatty are here,” a guest whispered to me. “I saw Wolfgang Tillmans just chilling in the back.”
Despite its inclusive branding, PrEP also didn’t release tickets to the general public. Perhaps the restrictive and secretive guest list was necessary in order to prevent a giant mob of fans swarming the venue and expecting to get in. But at the party, I asked a handful of attendees how they were able to get a ticket to the event and many of them had the same answer: They had a friend who worked with Ocean in some capacity, whether it was creating visuals, graphics, styling, or producing for him. I quickly realized that the majority of the party-goers were only within three or four degrees of separation from Ocean, making me wonder how queer folks who weren’t part of a “scene” or “industry” could even fathom getting into a future night. After all, I was only there (along with other members of the press) because of access and privilege through my work.
Overall, the mixed demographic at PrEP+ felt similar to other New York dance parties like the recently-returned GHE20G0TH1K, long-running Papi Juice, or the newer queer, Asian-run series Bubble T, events that are committed to creating safe nightlife spaces for queer and trans people of color. And while some criticized the event for what felt like a less-than-inclusive attendee makeup, it would appear efforts were made to encourage diversity among attendees. Another guest who chose to remain anonymous said that he was able to attend because of his friend Spicy, a New York-based artist who provided the digital visuals on display inside PrEP+. “Spicy was able to get guest spots from a guy who had 50 invites,” he told me on Instagram DM today, continuing our conversation from the party. “But there came a point where he was inviting too many str8 [sic] people and the guy asked if [Spicy could invite people] who were QPOC [queer people of color], which was great.”
