Voguing in the Bayview: Ballroom Culture Comes Alive With Joy at the Opera House

An hour before doors opened, the bass was already pounding through the walls of the Ruth Williams Bayview Opera House, pulsing in my chest as I reached for the doorknob. Inside was organized chaos: Opera House staff adjusting stage lights and fine-tuning sound checks while ballroom contestants zipped up outfits, dabbed on lipstick, and darted between dressing rooms. In one corner, a group practiced their runway moves; in another, competitors caught up, laughing and chatting.

“Excuse me, sis, can you help me put this necklace on?” one participant asked, holding up a chunky chain. “I got you,” I said, snapping the clasp into place. “Thank you so much!” they beamed, revealing a pendant that read “Cunty.”

Then the music shifted, a crowd formed, and suddenly the Power of Love Kiki Ball was on.

The event marked the fourth time District 10 Pride has partnered with Oakland to All, the Bay Area-based ballroom collective centering Black and Brown queer joy, to bring ballroom to the Opera House. Wednesday night’s ball was their biggest San Francisco event yet, drawing approximately 300 people.

What is Ballroom Culture?

For those unfamiliar with the ballroom scene, Mojo Carter offered a vivid explanation: “I would say ballroom is kind of like gay fantasy football. It’s like you have your houses, which are like your home teams, you have your home balls… It’s very similar to sorority culture, but it’s very queer.”

These “houses” function as chosen families, offering support both on and off the runway. On Wednesday, participants competed in categories like Executive Realness and Legendary Dip, with judges scoring performances from 1 to 10 — or “chopping” contestants entirely.

One highlight was Couples Realness, in which two people walk the runway as a unit, and are judged on their chemistry, synchronized energy, and coordinated style. It’s not about being an actual romantic pair, but selling the fantasy with attitude, presence, and connection. When the winning couple took home $300, one spectator turned to his girlfriend in amazement: “Three hundred dollars? Next time, we need to enter!”

They laughed, but the surprise in his voice summed up a lesson newcomers were learning: ballroom is serious competition wrapped in joyful rebellion.

While contestants came more than prepared, even more exciting to witness were attendees who showed up with no real plans to participate, just to cheer on the competitors — and ended up jumping in at the last minute. “I didn’t plan to walk at all, but family pushed me!” said Clover Bodega, who surprised everyone by taking home a grand prize for voguing.

More Than Entertainment

Rooted in the drag ball traditions of early 20th century Harlem and carried forward by Black and Latinx LGBTQ+ communities through the 1970s and ’80s, ballroom culture has long been a vehicle for self-expression and resistance. It provided safe spaces long before mainstream recognition arrived through documentaries like Paris is Burning or shows like Pose.

“Ballroom is a community. The ball is the competition,” said Shireen Rahimi, founder of Oakland to All. “This was birthed out of a marginalized community within a marginalized community. Ultimately, it’s about survival.”

The culture provides a space for those who often struggle to find acceptance elsewhere.

“I can’t do this in the real world. I can’t be the executive. I can’t walk the runway, because people are always trying to tear me down. But I can come here and be myself,” Rahimi said. “When I think of ballroom, I think of a community that made survival look very glamorous.”

For participants like Dhalimo Moschino, who traveled from Harlem to join the Bay Area scene, voguing defies easy definition.

“The best explanation is there’s no actual explanation for vogue. It’s a feeling. It literally is revolution… All of that is rebellion. So vogue, if I had to define it at all, it is rebellion — and it’s entertaining as fuck.”

Though ballroom culture traces its roots to 1930s Harlem, the Bay Area scene has found a powerful ally in the Bayview.

“Bayview Opera House and D10 were the first ones to ever book Oakland to All and actually bring us here,” Rahimi said, adding, “this space is one of our favorite places.”

Theo Ellington, Executive Director of the Ruth Williams Bayview Opera House, sees the partnership as essential to the venue’s mission.

“This event is a reflection of what we believe in — everyone deserves a space to be fully seen, celebrated, and free,” Ellington said. “We were proud to provide a grant to help bring this ballroom event to life because it signals that there is a growing LGBTQ+ presence on the southeast side of San Francisco.”

Barbara Gratta, president of District 10 Pride and a 30-year resident of the neighborhood, echoed the sentiment.

“It reminds me of what the Mission was in the ’90s as far as the diversity in this neighborhood… It’s got that inclusiveness for various types of ethnicities and cultural people,” she said.

Strengthening Community Through Competition

Wednesday’s event included a tribute to Rashad Pridgen, a ballroom legend and mentor to many in the Bay Area who died in 2024. Pushdance, a BIPOC dance collective, performed a moving tribute titled “House of Rashad” in his honor.

“He was called Baba Rashad by the young folks,” said artist Raissa Simpson, who has worked in the Bayview since 2007. “He’s one of our ancestors now. He’s a guiding star, I think, for a lot of folks.”

For Simpson, voguing holds profound cultural weight. “Voguing for me is Black culture. It’s queer culture… It’s not pop culture. It’s really about queer culture. So for me, it’s deep. It’s not Madonna.”

Rather than dividing participants, competition often brings those in the ballroom scene closer together.

“Ballroom pushes us to be our best,” Rahimi said. “This is a family. We are here to build each other up because, you know, some people don’t have mothers and fathers. Some people don’t have community in their schools or their neighborhoods. This is our community.”

Moschino summed up why these community events matter — especially now.

“It’s visibility, it’s freedom, and it’s encouragement for somebody that is stuck — be it a child at a home that’s not being loved with tender care, an adult who’s lost their way and too afraid to be themselves, or a senior who’s had to live through all the challenges and never got a chance to just throw their hands in the air and say, ‘fuck you, everybody.’”

As houses competed Wednesday night, that freedom and encouragement were on full display.

Meaghan Mitchell is a San Francisco native and narrative journalist whose first-person reporting is deeply rooted in the communities she covers. She was an early team member at the San Francisco Standard and previously served as an editor at Hoodline. Her work has appeared in SFGATE, San Francisco Bay View and SFist, among other outlets. She covers arts, culture and community life in underrepresented neighborhoods — centering stories on engagement, cultural identity, and social equity, while highlighting the resilience of San Francisco’s Black and Brown communities.