Filth and Glory at Twinks vs. Dolls Olympics 3.0
Singers’s third annual Twinks vs. Dolls Olympics kicked off with the event emcee, journalist P.E. Moskowitz, breaking a glass bottle over bar owner Mike Guisinger’s head. Guisinger, clad in a Trumpian blue suit and red tie, met his demise while explaining that as the owner of the bar, he has a special place in his heart — and wallet — for the queer community. “When I see all of you out there, I see dollar signs,” he shouted excitedly just before being bludgeoned in the ring WWE style. The audience erupted into cheers as he went down, setting the tone for the rest of the afternoon. The massive and growing crowd was hungry for violence. Shortly after this human sacrifice, the performance artist Claywoman, dressed as an old crone, came forth from the crowd impossibly slowly to sing the national anthem in the most enfeebled manner possible. The crowd struggled to keep pace with her. It was hilarious.
Two summers ago, Moskowitz, Ben Mora, and Singers’s social-media and events coordinator, Erik Escobar, came up with the Twinks vs. Dolls Olympics concept. “It started kind of as a joke where we were trying to think about how to make a Pride event for Singers,” said Moskowitz. “We were all very sick of boring, respectable Pride events … we wanted to be more disgusting and make fun of ourselves in a way.” And so the trans event of the summer was born. In two short years, Twinks vs. Dolls has become a Pride-month staple among Brooklyn queers looking for freaky fun. This year, before doors even opened, the line for the party on June 29 stretched down the block. Vapes, cutoffs, and baby tees were in abundance — Charli XCX’s influence was undeniable.
Twinks vs. Dolls is equal parts competition, pageantry, and filth. It’s sort of like if Jackass were a day party. In 2022, the first-ever iteration of the party was small, with maybe 150 people crammed into the backyard of a still-new Bed-Stuy gay bar. But videos of the cigarette-race portion — in which contestants race to see who can finish a cigarette fastest — went viral, and the event has only grown in size since. Ultimately, the party has served as incredible marketing for Singers. “We didn’t think about social media at all,” said Moskowitz. The trio were shocked to see the extent to which the event had generated waves online. There were haters, sure, but there was also a genuine desire out there for something new and weird.
Among this year’s attendees, the event’s reputation preceded it. “I’ve always wanted to get in on the cigarette competition, but this year, to maintain a quality show, there is no audience participation,” a first-time attendee named Sadie said ruefully. But that didn’t stop Sadie from having a good time. “I loved it. I was seeking scandal and I got it.”
This year’s Twinks vs. Dolls Olympics consisted of multiple rounds of bracket-style tournament competition, including a one-line joke contest, a (distance) spitting contest, a (volume) spitting in people’s mouths contest, a toe-sucking contest, the signature cigarette-smoking race, and, to cap things off, a baked-bean wrestling contest. Particularly entertaining was the generational-trauma contest, in which contestants were made to hold sandbags representing their trauma until finally, humiliatingly, succumbing to their weight.
To put it bluntly: The Olympics were funny, but they were gross. It didn’t help that the venue — a large commercial studio — wasn’t air conditioned. More than 2,000 sweaty queers stood jeering, laughing, screaming in disgust and delight. It was almost as filthy to be an audience member as it was to participate. At some point, one of the machines misting the crowd gave out and started simply blowing hot air. Shirts that were not crop tops became crop tops. Everyone in attendance, contestants and spectators alike, pushed themselves to the brink. The indoor temperature hit 90 degrees. A friend briefly passed out and left the venue to go find Pedialyte before immediately returning.
Outside of the venue, two food trucks were parked next to a row of absurdly gendered blue and pink porta potties. No one was eating, but everyone was smoking cigarettes and drinking Club Mate. It was all very Berlin. Attendees stumbled out of the building stunned, dripping in sweat, for a smoke break. As they stepped out and onto a rolled-up carpet (it was a big step), I realized there was something in the rug. When the rug moved of its own accord, it became clear there was a person inside. Another attendee confirmed my suspicions: There was a man, Kevin Carpet, rolled up in there who enjoyed being stepped on by unsuspecting pedestrians. I stepped carefully over his body as I returned to the venue. Stepping on men for free? I don’t think so — not in this economy.
With each round of competition, a twink or a doll was knocked out of the tournament until just a few finalists were standing. The crowd had been showing more love for the dolls than for the twinks all afternoon, and after nearly three hours, it was down to the wire. An inflatable kiddie pool materialized in the crowd and made its way into the ring. Referees emptied industrial-size cans of baked beans into the pool for the final round of competition. The crowd buzzed with excitement. By this time, someone had managed to open a massive side door and fresh air was finally circulating through the space. The final wrestling match, between Jae Grumulaitis and Marley Gotterer (doll-on-doll violence), was something to behold. After the match, the pair shared a baked-bean-covered kiss to rapturous applause. Grumulaitis won first place overall, with twinks Holden Seidlitz and Dylan Givens coming in second and third place respectively. The first-place prize was a $600 gift certificate for fillers.
“I wavered for a moment in the ring,” second-place winner Seidlitz told me while clutching a trophy the size of his body. He had been a fan of the party before deciding to compete this year. When I asked what made him take the leap to become a contestant, he told me that top surgery gave him the confidence to compete as a twink. “I did tear open my top surgery scars today and was bleeding, so I figured I was in too far,” he said, “and after the event horizon of carnage, I just needed to take the crown.”
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The Cut, Editor-in-Chief
The Cut, Photo Director
The Cut, Photo Editor
The Cut, Deputy Culture Editor
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