Summer had just begun, and it seemed the UV index was just high enough for the people of New York to embrace their long-suppressed trashiness which was disguised as patriotism—not that they’re mutually-exclusive. I showed up to Trans Pecos—a venue in Ridgewood, Queens—in a Minion bikini, a mini skirt, and a thirst for blood. I left humbled, covered in mud, and without my mini skirt.
It was the second annual Great American Mud Wrestling Show, and the event truly lived up to its name. We wrestled in the mud. It was most certainly great. That adjective doesn’t nearly do it justice, and speaking of justice, it might have been the most American thing I’ve ever witnessed.
I was one of the first to wrestle. It seems like my friend Catie and I had a lot of unresolved tension between us based on the way things went down in the mud that day.
We’ve both gotten dirty on my knees before, but this time it was in the name of patriotism. This time we did it for the founding fathers.
(Photos by JP Dougherty)
As for who won, let me just preface this by saying Catie won a $500 cash prize from Jello wrestling at an East Village party about 6 weeks prior to this. I was not present for that, but a friend said to me “I had my money on Catie for Jello wrestling, but the only person I thought could beat Catie is you. I’m kinda shocked you didn’t win mud wrestling.” Catie, herself, even said she thought I was the only person who could beat her. I had countless people swiping up on my Instagram stories and coming up to me days after saying “there’s no way you didn’t win” and more remarks of that nature. While I was flattered by countless people's utter shock at my loss, indicating a great amount of faith in my combat-capability, I was also ashamed. I was a sore loser—both figuratively and literally. My entire body was in terrible pain for days after this (Catie’s too), but my ego was even more bruised. I searched for any rationale to in an effort to justify my loss
“In my defense, I just got off work and have not eaten a single thing yet today, and I had several nip slips that I had to take care of in the ring because there were many cameras on us. That is not equity”, I took to my Instagram story to say. “I promise I am very combat-capable. In fact, I actually have training in boxing. I just didn’t want to have to use it on someone I consider a friend”…safe to say I didn’t consider her a friend after that day.
(Catie’s legs the next day…our friend Elizabeth said there was something poetic about Leg murdering Catie’s legs)
(Me being mature, feigning a smile, and hugging Catie after—despite harboring a lot of hatred in my heart in that moment)
When Matt Weinberger showed up and began taking pictures of me, I dropped and cracked my phone. At least the pictures he took were good enough to end up on the wall in his opening gallery the next week. I shattered my entire phone but more tragically my ego after the loss.
(Photo in Matt Weinberger’s gallery exhibition the following week of me holding up my cracked phone)
They were selling food—hot dogs, cotton candy, and things of that nature. I am—unbeknownst to many—a vegan, so thankfully they had a vegan hot dog alternative made from carrots (please trust me on this one), loaded with toppings and a side of chips. I re-fueled and held my iPhone to my head with a screen that said “who wants to wrestle”—in an effort to redeem myself. Nobody took me on. I truly hope this day didn’t reinforce the false stereotype that vegans are weak. My old boxing instructor would have been disappointed in me, but I truly think Catie is the only person there that could have beaten me (and I was having an off day). She’s an undefeated wrestling champion—Jello wrestling, mud wrestling, and next the WWE it seems.
(Photos by Mark “The Cobrasnake” Hunter)
After the mud wrestling, people attempted to clean up the aftermath—many beautiful but filthy young women used brooms and whatnot to move the mud closer to the drain. It was like Cinderella if she lived in Bushwick. Instead of being taken to the ball in a beautiful blue dress, accompanied by her Prince Charming, she would be taken to The Snow Strippers at Boiler Room, wearing Rick Owens, accompanied by her semi-clouted DJ or fashion bro boyfriend.
Many then washed down their losses with Pabst Blue Ribbons, and those who wrestled hosed themselves down just enough to not be dripping with mud when we all flocked to the inside of Trans-Pecos to dance to music.
There were performances by Gun, November Girl, and Veronica, followed by a DJ set by my favorites, Itg.url.
Here are some before and after comparisons:
(Photo by JP Dougherty of me after mud wrestling)
(Photos by Mark “The Cobrasnake” Hunter after hosing down)
I’d never heard any of the bands before then, and unfortunately I missed the entirety of Gun’s set and a good portion of November Girl’s set when I was rinsing myself off and tending to my need for an outfit change, but even from the outside, I could hear the inside booming, and when I eventually made it inside, I saw what all the roars from outside were about. Though I only caught the end of November Girl’s set, it was clear from the energy of both the crowd and herself, that frontwoman Willa Rudolph does not come to play (and she’s a baddie).
When Veronica took over the stage, it was all eyes on frontwoman Sofia Zarzuela who captivated the crowd with her hypnotizing stage presence and energy, good looks, and music that made me dance so long and hard I nearly had to check if my feet were still on. Zarzuela may be tiny, but she certainly doesn’t sound like it. She got on the ground a few times, and managed to still sound (and look) incredible while lying on the stage. To say I was impressed would be an understatement.
(The inside of Trans Pecos, behind the stage)
(Sofia Zarzuela of Veronica by Mark “The Cobrasnake” Hunter)
After Veronica, Itg.url took over. Itg.url is a DJ duo made up of two belles, Maraya and Sarah. They’re fun, they’re hot, they pull a crowd, and they never fail to get everyone dancing. This set of theirs had me dancing on an elevated surface (what’s new?) and caused me to add the song “Combat Baby” by Metric to my Spotify playlist—which would become stuck in my head for weeks after.
(Itg.url by Mark “The Cobrasnake” Hunter)
All of Trans-Pecos was bursting with hedonism that day, and I truly feel like that is the meaning of freedom. These are the values in which our country was founded. Washington and Jefferson and Hamilton fought for our independence so we could mud wrestle in minimal clothing in kitty pools in the backyard of a club. I genuinely believe this event was the epitome of patriotism, and at times like these I wholeheartedly understand why the Europeans hate us.
I made it home safely and took this mirror selfie right before hopping in the shower. I was able to wash all the mud off me, but I couldn’t wash away the disappointment I had in myself after losing. Rumor has it some of my dignity went down the drain with the remainder of the mud that day, and I was never the same.