New York Magazine June 24-July 7, 2019

September 24, 1973 “How ‘Gay’ Is New York?” ➸ “It may be reasonable to estimate, then, in an admittedly rough sort of way, that upwards of 500,000 New Yorkers (but probably fewer than 750,000) are, or will grow up to be, predominantly gay. Well over a million more, judging from Kinsey’s study, have, or have had, more than incidental homosexual desires or experiences. And then there are perhaps a million straight New Yorkers who are, without necessarily realizing it, the parents, siblings, or even the children of predominantly gay New Yorkers. “Yet for all that presumed interest in the subject, knowledge and acceptance of homosexuality by the average New Yorker remains quite limited. The subject remains largely taboo. ‘The gay world’—as though all the gays were reassuringly segregated into their…

1 New York’s “TV Issue” examined America’s appetite for RuPaul’s Drag Race—and the culture it has ushered into the mainstream—and included a ranking of the 100 most powerful alums (“America Has a New National Pastime,” June 10–23). Naturally, the drag queens sounded off, especially about the 37 covers, shot by award-winning photographer Martin Schoeller. Laganja Estranja tweeted, “I am so honored to be one of the 37 SICKENING drag queen covers.” Even queens who weren’t featured created their own mock covers, including fan favorite Vanessa Vanjie Mateo. Some queens spoofed the covers, including Thorgy Thor, who posted on Instagram, “They were a little late getting me my cover photo, but I look great! #honored.” And many others turned the cover into a meme, with the Instagram “cat drag queen” @rupaws_drag_race…

AT THE FLOWER FUNERAL HOME in Yonkers, Layleen Xtravaganza Cubilette-Polanco was surrounded by dozens of friends, family members, and rainbow-colored bouquets of roses. Mourners paid their respects to the 27-year-old transgender woman as “Over the Rainbow” gave way to the thrum of house music. The family wore T-shirts bearing Polanco’s image on the front, angel wings drawn sprouting off her shoulders, and the transgender-pride flag on the back. Her mother knelt before her casket. To the right, a big rainbow-lettered banner read: HUMAN. Most of those attending had not seen Polanco for a long time, at least since April, when she was arrested for two misdemeanors and, unable to put up the $500 bail, sent to Rikers. She spent the last nine days of her life in solitary confinement and…

THE FIRST TIME I met Gloria Vanderbilt, who recently died at the age of 95, I was about 6. I started storing away memories of her then, when my family went to the fantastical Christmas parties she hosted each year, first at 10 Gracie Square, when she was married to Sidney Lumet, and later in a townhouse at 45 East 67th Street, when she was married to Wyatt Cooper. As she welcomed our family and the other guests to the festivities, she left me dazzled. Her rooms were drenched in the scents of Rigaud candles and the exquisite flowers that towered above the elaborately set tables, and the women at the parties wore evening clothes and sparkling jewels, seizing the opportunity to look their most magnificent best. But it was…

AT THE ASSEMBLAGE near Madison Square Park—a 48,000-square-foot “coworking, coliving, and community space in New York City for those who believe in doing well by doing good”—close to 200 people are gathered in the ground-floor lounge area, beneath the soaring ceilings, sitting on Moroccan rugs and patterned floor cushions and ordering juices and tonics and elixirs and teas from the nonalcoholic bar. “The vegan tacos, do they contain soy?” In the crowd, at least two men with shaved heads and knitted ponchos are leaning into their respective conversations, which are both about Burning Man. There are a number of astoundingly thick beards, Greek fisherman caps, turbans, and well-defined, chaturangatoned deltoids to be looked at. On the wall is a massive, living mural: a hodgepodge of hieroglyphics and a big, all-seeing…

IT WAS BLEAK and stormy on a recent Tuesday evening outside Soho’s Webster boutique. Not propitious fashion weather, but Rihanna was expected, and where Rihanna goes, the temperature has a way of shifting. The Webster had given two floors over to Fenty, her nascent fashion label, for the next 12 days. The store had been reworked for the occasion, with vertical blinds and vines and baby-blue neon light bathing the space as if a ’70s pad had married a nightclub. Guests awaited the arrival of her Fentyship. Humid minutes became a humid hour, then another. And then, just after the stroke of nine, she arrived, awash in hot-pink satin. “Vibrant, vacay, easy to pack,” Rihanna said, describing the collection. “I’m looking at him because I hate packing. He usually comes…