Halloween was a big deal when I was a kid. I still love it — much to the chagrin of my husband, who’s forced into a couple’s costume or two every year — but it just hit different in the 90s.
Some of my facial hair turned gray just from typing that, but I digress. Halloween is responsible for some of my favorite memories growing up, from strolling through questionably lit neighborhoods with friends to being transformed into a vampire by my stepfather, a tattooist by day but Halloween makeup artist by (holiday) night.
I now know as an adult that I was drawn to Halloween because it provided the opportunity to be anything I wanted. I grew up poor and gay, two things society likes to condemn before you fully understand what either will mean for you, so it didn’t always feel like that was possible.
Back then, I just knew Halloween was fun. Fun that stemmed from greasy makeup, tinted hairspray, flimsy plastic costumes and masks you could barely breathe in.
Sure, you got candy, but what was most exciting was how the world was at your fingertips, at least for one night. That’s because whatever our financial situation, my parents found ways to secure any costume my spoiled little heart desired.
One of my absolute favorites was right after Disney’s “Aladdin” came out. I dressed as Prince Ali, which was particularly memorable because it snowed in Ohio that year, a far cry from Agrabah and a rare thing for Halloween.
Another favorite was Spider-Man. This lifelong Marvel fan has fond memories of web-slinging through the streets wearing the superhero’s mask, even if I could’ve used some Spidey sense to actually see.
More surprisingly, though, was the year I dressed as Hulk Hogan. Yes, brother. Really.
I can’t confirm why — other than being born in 1984, which Google tells me was the “Rise of Hulkmania” in professional wrestling — but I loved the guy as a kid, or at least his impact on pop culture. I think most folks did at the time, which is what made his very public descent into madness so disappointing for many of his fans.
I wouldn’t say I was ever really one of them, but I do have fond memories of that costume. Which is why I’ve been rattling on about Halloween; it was one of the first things I thought about when news broke that Hogan died July 24 right here in Tampa Bay.
I think what I liked most about the costume was the reception I got from strangers while wearing it. I wasn’t often praised for my masculinity growing up, but behind that pale, plastic Hogan mask — ketchup-colored bandana and mustard-toned mustache included — I was just another one of the guys. Even in a printed blouse that was meant to resemble his wrestling wear.
Hogan’s death didn’t have any real impact on me, but I was struck by how quick the internet went to war about it, even in my own personal social media sphere. I was surprised to see so many LGBTQ+ folks arguing at length because someone dared to say he’d be missed. Or because someone simply acknowledged he’d left a mark on them.
I spent most of my adult life loathing what Hogan chose to stand for — from overt racism to his full embrace of the anti-LGBTQ+ MAGA mentality — but I didn’t dwell on that when he died, and I certainly didn’t attack people for caring that he did. I thought about how I felt as a kid wearing that mask.
It was all a reminder that humans can wear many masks, and that more than one thing can be true at once. It’s okay to acknowledge that from time to time.
Was Hogan a good man? It sure didn’t seem like it, no. Was he responsible for some good in this life, even if it was a little bit of entertainment over the years? Probably so.
Give one another some grace. Our community has bigger things to worry about than debating a wrestler’s legacy.
Thankfully, we also have much bigger things to celebrate. In this issue we speak with Ginger Minj, Orlando’s drag darling and the well-deserved winner of “RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars” season 10.
She discusses entering the “Drag Race” Hall of Fame, what it was like to capture the crown after a decade of work and what fans can expect from her next chapter. Congratulations, queen.
In other Central Florida news, Zebra Youth details its leadership transition while the region’s Prime Timers chapter marks 30 years. In Tampa Bay, CAN Community Health launches a nonprofit honoring its founder and an LGBTQ+ history project hopes to inspire the next generation of activists.
Watermark Out News is proud to be your LGBTQ+ news source. Please stay informed, support those who support you and enjoy this latest issue.
