Ballroom icon Jack Mizrahi: ‘We need to be able to sit at the table our talents demand’

Words: Kanune Morrissey; pictures: Jack Mizrahi; Icon Sinia B. Alaia showing some ball moves (Supplied)

Jack Mizrahi is one of New York City’s most legendary LGBTQs. An OG emcee and veteran pioneer of Ballroom – the underground LGBTQ subculture that originated in The Big Apple in the 80s – he went on to work for iconic TV shows like Pose (as a staff writer and actor) and Legendary (co-executive producer). And now, he’s bringing that multitalented NYC magic to The Big Smoke for Pride.

As he prepares to preside over a ball to remember at London’s palatial and recently-refurbished KOKO on 30 June (and featuring Sinia B. Alaia, pictured above), Jack chats to Attitude about self-confidence, chosen family, and how the energetic world of wrestling helped inspire his career…

Hi Jack! Tell us about your background in ballroom.

I didn’t even realise, coming into Ballroom, that this scene even existed. I’m born and raised in NYC. My family are Catholic immigrants that came from Haiti. I’m the actual first-born son here in America. As a child I knew there was something different about me than all the male siblings: they provided for me, protected me, gave to me; there was just one thing they couldn’t give me: this acceptance I needed. So, when I got to my first ball ever, that’s the first day I got my life.

I joined a house two days later. The House of Mizrahi had just opened. Me and the person who created the house had met a couple of weeks before. He took my number, we hung out, he was like: “Oh, you’re joining my house.” The rest is history. I was learning so many skills, survival things about myself, the community and history.

It feels like this career, this lifestyle, was destined…

You know, I was a dramatic kid with a flair. I wanted to dance, I loved Michael Jackson, theatre, movies, television, acting. I was going to be a wrestling manager. I wanted to be the mouthpiece. There’s a famous manager named Bobby ‘The Brain’ Heenan. Old school. His mouth was quick. The way he’d speak up for his champions: ‘There’s no way in hell you’re beating him, Hulk Hogan!’ All that stuff came into play later when I got a chance to become a ballroom commentator, and advocate not just for my [family], but for other people.

Early on, what stood me apart was the panache I had to be able to introduce and advocate for anybody. I can quote your history, how I’ve learned it from you, how I’ve seen it through my eyes and give you that same attitude Heenan did for his wrestlers going into a WrestleMania.

Tell us something that only decades in ballroom can teach you…

Having the nerve, audacity, the unmitigated gall to believe in yourself – there’s nothing wrong with that. If nobody’s going to big you up, sometimes you don’t need a person to big you up, you can big yourself up by looking in a mirror and saying: “I’m here, equal, worthy. I should, I can, I will.” In three decades, that’s what I try to teach everybody I come across.

Not everybody’s going to be a legend one day in ballroom. Not everybody’s going to be a trophy winner. But the will and the want to get out there and express yourself… Freedom of expression is one of those lessons. We were free to express ourselves and were doing it to pat each on the back, to raise each other’s self-esteem when the world told us we weren’t enough.

Can you share your insight into family and community?

I come from a beautiful, strong, close family that would fall on any sword for me. What they showed me: the traditions, the respect, the love. They gave me all that they could. I don’t make excuses for people, but a lot of our older generations were always taught that root of abomination, that who we were was not right. It was placed in their heads years ago. A lot of people don’t mean to be that way, but that’s all they know. When I came into my chosen family, and now I’m starting to hear the stories of broken homes and the tragedy – don’t forget, this is happening in the backdrop of the AIDS pandemic.

This was the 80s, 90s. TV and some shows still try to cover it, but they try not to be as graphic as what we saw. So, in all that freedom, in all that self-celebration, there were also waves of fear. “I can’t be that. That can’t happen to me. Oh my god, what if that’s me? I’m afraid to get tested, I’m afraid to know.” I was able to hold people’s hands, nurture people. I was able to be part of something that comforted some people in their last days when they couldn’t get that from their family. I took a lot of traditions from my family and when I finally rose and became head of the household in my own house, to this day, I try to pass that around. It’s important to me to be able to say to my [family]: “Happy birthday.” “Congratulations. You made it through school.” “I’m proud of you.” It’s love.

What do you love about your work?

I love that I’m reaching people, teaching while having fun. For example, the beauty and artistry of how we turned Vogue into a verb through dance. Now, the dance is liberation. Some of the greatest icons of Vogue, like Leiomy and Dashawn, used this art form as an expression. They Vogued to fight against the machine oppressing them. When they were in that space, you couldn’t tell ’em nothing. They were at the most magical moment in their lives. It was their time.

That resonates to this day. I go to a Ball and see somebody killing it. Vogueing with all their passion, and they’ll win. They’ll get the trophy. But sometimes that person goes back and they’re sleeping on a train. There’s no safe place for them. There’s no mantle for their trophy. That’s still happening.

Is that one of the things that you’d like to change for the future of our community?

I think all of us are trying to change that. We’re trying to get ourselves, first, as the LGBTQIA+ community on the same page. That’s why the history we’re making, we’re not leaving nobody out. There are no lines, borders that separates those colours in that Pride flag for us. Trans should be just as equal as our non-binary folk. Or cisgender gay men should be just as equal to our cisgender lesbian women. Right? That’s what I need people to understand. Because there’s a lot of work that’s always going to need to be done.

Is Ballroom important for our community?

Vital. There are people that come and find another group of people who are going to lift you up if you need it. The fact that it’s worldwide; something that started in Harlem in New York with a group of Latin and Black gay queers and trans women, to create something that now, we’re opening the doors and welcoming other people in, other colours, other nationalities. But we’re still under the same LGBTQIA+ umbrella.

What are your favourite encounters?

Each and every time I enter a Ball, it’s my favourite encounter. That’s my life source, my fortress of solitude. I leave up out of there like Superman, I can face the world again. That’s important, still at this age, still with all the credits that I have. I can go back to Ballroom and recharge. Just the other day, I went to Christopher Street pier. We call it the ‘Old Girl Picnic’: all the surviving pioneers of Ballroom meet every year after the Latex Ball and have a huge picnic on the pier.

To go there and see our elders still vibrant, still with the mouths, the candour, the attitude. It breaks my heart because they’re still part of the fabric, but things move so fast; the youth come up quickly; we start to phase them out, like we’re putting them out to pasture. One of my missions is to give back to them. Without them, braving those streets in the 60s and 70s, just daring to be them, where would we be today?

What are your career highlights?

I’ve worked with Bill Gates. I’ve sat with Vince McMahon. I’m not just in the room with these billionaires in the corner. I’m in the room working. You know my name just as well as I know your name. I hosted the inaugural Sean John fashion show. I got to work with Jennifer Lopez [on her track ‘Tens’.]

Tell us about the CÎROC Ultra-Premium Vodka’s Iconic Ball, in support of Queer Britain and the ‘Not a Phase’ charity?

There are five categories representing iconic moments and decades leading up to 2022. Each house will have one person representing each category. At the end of the night, the two houses that have the most points, the mothers have to say: ‘Now, mother knows best… let me roll up my sleeves and bring home the title!’

Tell us about the Houses…

We’ve created five organic houses. Each are named after one of the most iconic moments in UK queer history. Caribana, Shakti, Queer Nation… Each of these mothers is in charge of one of these houses. These houses have spent months in preparation. Every house will send one member to represent them in each category. We begin in the 70s and catwalk our way to 2022.

What are some of the categories?

We start with the Vogue category, ‘Smooches Darling’ in the name of Ted Brown, the 1970s. For the 80s, ‘Outrageous Power’, a fashion bazaar category. We want big shoulder pads, blue eyeshadow. ‘Face’ represents the 90s. A ‘Best Dressed’ category. This one is really important to me, for the 2000s. It’s about supporting our trans allies. I want to see them bring it in those colours [the trans flag]. Trans, non-binary – let people have their space. You never know, the cure for cancer could come from someone you did not restrict. Then, we have the ‘Runway’ category for the 10s in recognition of [marriage equality].

What does the event aim to achieve?

Inclusion. Awareness. We all need to be able to sit at the table that our talents demand. Events like this let you know: ‘look at the beauty of this, when you let people be free and accept where they’re at.’ 

The CÎROC Ultra-Premium Vodka’s Iconic Ball, hosted by Jack Mizrahi, Jonny Woo and Shon Faye, takes place on Thursday 30 June 2022 at Koko in Camden. For more information visit ciroc.com/iconic.

The Attitude July/August issue featuring the cast of Queer as Folk is out now. Order here.