You can’t even make up some of these stories. One in New York would this happen. I was walking along the street in Chelsea when I saw a drag performer on the sidewalk. When I attempted to take her photo, she snatched my phone and ran into a club. I had no choice but to follow her inside. Then, in front of a large audience, we took a shot of tequila together and asked me “When’s the last time you gave a blow job?” and “Have you ever fucked a drag queen?” I replied no but one tried to make out with me. Then when she gave me back my phone she said “Hurry up and take that photo bitch!” I’m still laughing about that moment and will go back to the club to introduce myself another time.
Of all the people walking along the street she could have picked, she chose me: photographer obsessed with gender expression and fluidity and with a deep admiration for the work she does. It’s as though I don’t even need to find models for Transparency: The Gender Identity Project, they’ll come find me. It is photographer karma?