In the summer of ’95, a day off from working for Avirex, I was sauntering down the east side of West Broadway in a white whifebeater, black lacy balconette and one of my own punky plaid daytripping black goth skirts when…

I got accosted from across the road by queens caterwauling that I was Roshumba-ing tha fuck out and to get my ass across the street to them …draped along the porch of the cafe they were sunning on.

…My crazy ass crossed the fn street, straight ‘say it to mah face😜’

…because i Knew WHO Roshumba was and That was The highest compliment. The yelling Ringleader became my first(&MOST DIVA melodramatic)gay designer big brother( and eventually 2nd employer)in nyc.

J. Alexander was his best friend. EVEN in 95 every body with a vagine who even thunk about anything “runway” knew Ms. J. Alexander.

I used to get cussed out on tha phone by that man allatime when I was gatekeeping for M lol, and would just Take it 😅, like “😬 I’m being cussed out by J. Alexander-!”

When I had the exotic dancing bird [Marte] on my ornate desk, Ms. J cutting up from Paris on the speakerphone was like a daily occurrence. Even when I got read for Filth for announcing I was going to Dimitri for the f ureaking menswear they Knew I’d come for from day one, I’m pretty sure he’d had Ms. J listening in angrily for moral support lol.

Her putting him on that show seriously legitimized it, initially. Because he really WAS that dude. He taught EVERYBODY how to walk, so they could run.

Good dude.

He better get to walk again before he goes home.