Emoji Nightmare is living the dream

Part of the reason it took Marsh more than seven years to book a local show was simple: until Stowe Cider expanded its space last year, there was a lack of big rooms to perform in the area that aren’t bars or theaters or VFW halls. Also, that pandemic? It put a dent in live shows.

Another reason is Marsh has been too busy bringing Emoji to big cities across the country and tiny towns around Vermont — Stowe was just one of four stops in three states in eight days. Heck, she played the Big Apple before playing the small apple cidery.

Emoji Nightmare, along with fellow queens Nikki Champagne and Katniss Everqueer, have, for the past five years, been on the library circuit, bringing some color and spice — G-rated for the kiddos — to rural communities where there aren’t as many LGBTQ offerings.

Marsh in 2017 co-founded the Vermont chapter of Drag Queen Story Hour, which features the queens reading books to kids at libraries. The Vermont chapter’s very first event was held in Lamoille County.

“It was important for me to bring my whole self to the place I love,” Marsh said.

Dragged down

Drag queens are taking a hit, with states and cities across America proposing bills that Marsh says target LGBTQ communities.

Tennessee, for instance, just passed a law prohibiting people from performing in drag in public spaces, which has performers concerned, not just for the drop in income they get from performing but for the fear of being arrested for doing so.

“It’s happening across the country, as more and more of these states sort of see what can be done and, I think, are feeling empowered to do it, which is frightening,” Marsh said.

Vermont is not immune and drag queen story hours have elicited protests in some Green Mountain burgs. Last year, the town of Chester’s library trustees pulled the plug on the event and one trustee resigned, with some residents saying the trustees had scrutinized the event because of its LGBTQ ties, according to VTDigger.

Marsh said library officials in the nearby town of Weston, upon hearing the news, invited the queens to its Wilder Memorial Library.

This month on Town Meeting Day, residents in the tiny town of Ira voted 19-18 to reject the town’s $3,157 appropriation to the Rutland Free Library, partly because the library hosted a story hour in January.

The Rutland Herald reported that 115 Ira residents, roughly a third of the total population, hold library cards at Rutland Free. An online fundraiser quickly brought in $4,800 to replace the nixed appropriation, at least for this year.

There was also some pushback against Drag Queen Story Hour in Marsh’s hometown by a House candidate in the district that represents Cambridge and Waterville. Last year, House hopeful Rebecca Pitre had to answer to Front Porch Forum comments she made in 2017 equating the story hours to “child abuse” and saying drag queens were using kids “to further their social and political views.”

Pitre was defeated at the polls 1,470-623.

Despite the frequent pushback from concerned conservatives, Marsh said the only time they felt threatened was when the Northeast Kingdom town of Brighton canceled the story hour that was part of “a gay weekend” that also included male strippers and drag queen Bingo. Marsh said word got around that the KKK still had a presence in the NEK and had threatened the story hour — not the mostly naked men at the VFW, mind you, but the drag queens at the library.

“That’s probably the worst that I’ve had it,” Marsh said. “We’ve had protests, we’ve had people dox us in a lot of ways and tell their followers to show up, and no one ever does show up. But it doesn’t take much for it to become a call to action, and then have that action be taken.”

Country queen

Marsh began performing as Emoji Nightmare in 2015 but has been putting on makeup since high school at Lamoille Union, despite eye-rolling from their mom about just wanting to do it “to be different,” to which Marsh replied, “I want to do it because I want to do it, just like anyone else.”

When Marsh began exploring gender in public, they would go to the Brewski, a dive bar popular with locals and Smugglers’ Notch Resort employees with a simple get-up like big eyelashes and a sparkly dress.

Of course, mom got wind of it and called Marsh concerned, suggesting they might be safer in a more progressive and bigger place like Burlington. But Marsh, pre-Emoji and working in food service at the resort, really hadn’t yet become part of the Queen City queer landscape.

“At the time, I had no community in Burlington and all my friends were Smuggs people, and I knew everyone from working at the café, so I felt safe at the Brewski,” Marsh said. “I told my mom, ‘I don’t feel safe in Burlington. Who would I hang out with? Who would protect me?’”

Becoming Emoji gave Marsh the initial boost of confidence needed to experience the larger Burlington and statewide queer community. Previously, it was hard “to exist as myself in a lot of those spaces,” but the positive attention Emoji received made it much easier.

Emoji retains some of Marsh’s rural upbringing, and they call Emoji Nightmare the “country queen,” sporting cow-print dresses and performing Shania Twain and Dolly Parton standards.

However, as much as the country queen helped shape Marsh, Marsh no longer relies on Emoji for swagger and confidence. They love putting on the makeup — it used to take three hours to become Emoji but now Marsh can do it in 45 minutes flat. It’s not exactly Clark Kent in a phone booth, but it’s still a relatively quick alter-ego switcheroo, and it’s one Marsh can switch out of just as quick, because sometimes Justin just wants to be Justin.

“There are times that I’m, like, ‘God, I really wish I wasn’t doing this in drag. I wish I could just roll up as me and have the same conversation but look boring,” Marsh said. “Because it’s the same brain. It’s the same mouth. It’s just a different package.”