It all started with the Harlem Renaissance — at least, that’s what the National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, D.C., says about vogue and ballroom. As the Museum points out, between 1920 and 1935, the Harlem Renaissance saw Black intellectuals, authors, artists, and musicians flourish. Many of these figures were openly gay or queer and influenced what would become a starting point for this aspect of LGBTQ culture.
Voguing, defined by the museum as a “highly stylized form of dance created by [Black] and Latino LGBTQ communities,” emerged between the 1960s and ’80s in the New York City drag scene. Queens would compete in what were known as balls, characterized by runway-style fashion shows, complex dance moves, and plays on gender and sexuality.
The influential 1990 documentary Paris Is Burning captured New York’s ballroom scene and, to some degree, introduced it to the mainstream. Then came Madonna, her hit house song “Vogue,” and her hiring of ballroom dancers (including Jose Gutierez Xtravaganza, who appeared in Paris Is Burning) for her Blond Ambition World Tour.
While ballroom has become more visible over the last few decades, especially with the popularity of the long-running hit series RuPaul’s Drag Race, it has been slow to reach Pittsburgh. Or, at least, it seems that way, as, only recently, efforts like the Pittsburgh Queer History Project have worked to preserve and make known the city’s LGBTQ past.
Those outside Pittsburgh’s ballroom circle can see glimpses of it in the wild. Local queer dance parties like Cherry Bomb feature ballroom dancers showing off for crowds, and area LGBTQ nonprofits True T and QMNTY Center offer or host workshops and practice sessions for experienced and aspiring vogue practitioners.
Ballroom, like any subculture, has distinct lingo, standards, and hierarchical structures cultivated over decades. And while balls are often aligned with beauty pageants, local ballroom dancer Hazell Azzer views the scene more as a sport with specially skilled athletes than as an underground Miss America.
“I try to explain to people, these are sports realistically, because we have to train to vogue,” Hazell tells Pittsburgh City Paper.
Watch any ball footage, and the observation makes sense — dancers execute risky, often gymnastic moves, doing splits, crashing their bodies to the ground during dramatic drops, and testing the stretch of their thigh muscles as they squat into deep duckwalks.
Hazell, voted Best Voguer in the 2024 City Paper Readers Poll, became interested in ballroom as a young teen and marvels at how much the scene has grown.
“I didn’t think, way back in middle school, that I would be traveling continent to continent competing in ballroom,” says Hazell, who has vogued in places such as Paris, Puerto Rico, Miami, and New York.
Hazell competes as part of the Pittsburgh chapter of the House of Revlon and explains how houses, defined as a “group or conglomerate of people that operate as a sorority, fraternity, or organization,” are an integral part of ballroom. Hazell says, typically, houses have a mother, father, prince, princess, and other members (Hazell serves as the mother of the Pittsburgh House of Revlon). Houses distinguish themselves with special chants or “battle cries” heard at balls.
Hazell says that, while ballroom has grown worldwide, the scene in Pittsburgh remains small, mostly due to the city’s relatively small population. Hazell estimates that the city has around 100 ballroom dancers compared to thousands in major metropolises like New York City.
While Hazell says being smaller makes Pittsburgh’s ballroom scene more “intimate,” it can also lead to fiercer competition in local balls.
“It’s like crabs in a barrel; they’re all squeezing for the same moment,” says Hazell.
Hazell says anyone interested in ballroom should immerse themselves in its culture and history, learn from ballroom elders, and familiarize themselves with localized scenes, stressing that ballroom looks different in every city. Hazell also emphasizes the importance of community in ballroom, as the scene often attracts marginalized groups facing discrimination and alienation.
“People come into ballroom because they’re trying to escape something,” says Hazell. “So that could be escaping reality, escaping unemployment, escaping homelessness, escaping hunger — maybe you could be a resource for a person that gets them off the street, or put hope back in their life.”
Hazell expands on this, saying ballroom has deep ties with healthcare nonprofit organizations because “there were a lot of people in the scene who needed help.” Hazell exemplifies this as the community outreach and engagement coordinator for AIDS Free Pittsburgh, described as a “collaborative initiative comprised of government agencies, healthcare institutions, and community-based organizations that strive to support and improve the care of people living with HIV/AIDS, as well as communities most at-risk for HIV.”
Hazell says that, even if someone finds themselves unsuited to compete in balls, they can still support ballroom in other ways.
“Not everybody is meant for ballroom, just like everyone isn’t meant for every sport,” Hazell says. “But everyone can watch it and appreciate it, everyone can understand the basics and fundamentals. But you’ll never truly understand a sport or a culture until you fully submerge yourself in it.”
Editor’s note: This article was updated to accurately reflect where Hazell has performed internationally.”
This article appears in May 28 – Jun 3, 2025.
