Wednesday, 27 August 2025

Reflections on ... Nico in Strip-tease (1963)

 

/ Pic above via /

In June 2025, I screened Strip-tease at my monthly Lobotomy Room film club. As I put it on the event page:  

"Join us on Thursday 19 June, when the FREE monthly Lobotomy Room film club at Fontaine’s (committed to cinematic perversity!) whisks you away to early 1960s Paris with Strip-tease (1963)! Note that this film is in French (ooh la la!) and will be subtitled (so bring your reading glasses!). This one (directed by Jacques Poitrenaud) should be catnip for cult cinema connoisseurs. For one thing, it stars Nico. Yes, that Nico! Strip-tease follows the German diva’s earlier vivid appearance in Fellini’s La dolce vita (1960), but it captures her a good few years before she became a Warhol superstar and the Velvet Underground’s chanteuse. (For some reason lost in the mists of time, she’s billed as “Krista Nico” – which seems to partially acknowledge her real name, Christa Paffgen. Strip-tease would be Nico’s sole starring role in a relatively mainstream film: her destiny lay in the underground cinema of Andy Warhol and her lover Philippe Garrel). And the moody finger-snappin’ cool jazz soundtrack is by Serge Gainsbourg (and he even appears in the film! The theme tune is huskily warbled by beatnik chanteuse Juliette Greco). Not without justification Strip-tease was promoted as a sexploitation flick (it was released in the US as The Sweet Skin in 1965 with the tagline “Fills the screen with more adult entertainment than you dare to expect! The intimate story of a striptease goddess!”), but more accurately it’s a stylish, melancholy melodrama. Nico plays Ariane, an idealistic ballet-trained German dancer in Paris with high-minded artistic ambitions. Out of economic necessity, Ariane reluctantly accepts a job at Le Crazy burlesque club – and soon captures the attention of a rich, louche playboy (John Sobieski). If you’ve seen Lobotomy Room’s presentations of other burlesque-themed movies like Too Hot to Handle (1960), Beat Girl (1960) and Satan in High Heels (1962), you won’t want to miss this obscure French gem!"

/ Italian movie poster for Strip-tease

Strip-tease is a criminally unsung and fascinating movie and boy, do I have notes. So, I had to write a blog post about it! 

In brief: Strip-tease shows Nico like you’ve never seen her before! So why have you probably never heard of this movie? Neither director Jacques Poitrenaud nor Nico herself took a lot of pride in Strip-tease. For Poitrenaud (1922 - 2005), this was probably just another assignment and he’s also seemingly not well known outside of France. (He’s certainly not a filmmaker I’m otherwise au fait with). 

Strip-tease is Nico’s sole starring role in a relatively mainstream film, but for the rest of her life, Nico never discussed it in interviews. It most definitely didn’t align with the deeply serious, austere and gloomy “Moon Goddess” image she embraced later in the sixties. BUT: within a few years after its continental debut Strip-tease was belatedly released in the US under the title The Sweet Skin (which makes it sound like a movie aimed at cannibals). In the 1995 book The Velvet Years: Warhol’s Factory 1965-67 by photographer Stephen Shore, there’s a great shot of Nico standing outside The World Theatre in New York where The Sweet Skin is showing on a double bill (“2 Daring Adult Films!”) accompanied by a group of her Warhol Factory friends, so clearly she assembled them to “come see this film I made in France in the early 60s!” (See below. Left to right: John Cale, Dutch author Jan Cramer, Paul Morrissey, Nico and Gerard Malanga). The other “daring adult film” on the double bill is called The Love Statue (1965), which I’ve Googled and it sounds interesting. 

Similarly, in her lifetime Nico seemingly never mentioned that singing the bossa nova-tinged theme tune to Strip-tease (by none other than Serge Gainsbourg) was her true recording debut. (It’s always been widely assumed that the 1965 folk single “I’m Not Sayin’” was Nico’s debut). For whatever reason, Nico’s rendition was ultimately scrapped (we hear the sublime Juliette Greco huskily crooning it over the opening credits instead) and went unreleased for many decades. (It’s easy to hear online now, and Nico’s hushed, whispery singing is alluring in the tradition of The Velvet’s “I’ll Be Your Mirror” and “Femme Fatale”). 

Anyway, Strip-tease beautifully captures Nico (née Christa Päffgen, 1938 - 1988) at 24 years old. By this point, she had been modelling since the mid-1950s (by today’s standards, she’d be described as an international supermodel). Nico had already appeared (essentially playing herself, and beguilingly so) in Federico Fellini’s La dolce vita in 1960. Yet to come: being discovered and adopted by Andy Warhol, joining the Velvet Underground as their resident chanteuse and then her own long, erratic musical career as a solo artist. 

We do know that Nico was serious about pursuing acting: when in New York on modeling assignments, she studied Method acting at Lee Strasberg’s Actors Studio (and used to claim Marilyn Monroe was in her class – something we’ll never be able to verify).   

/ Above: Nico - like you've never seen her before! /

What is relevant for Strip-tease: Nico gave birth to her only child, a son called Ari, in August 1962. (Ari Boulogne - who died in 2023 - was her son by the French mega-star Alain Delon. Delon never accepted or acknowledged paternity). Filming began in November ’62. According to Nico’s definitive biographer Richard Witts, she was sensitive about her post-natal body (and Ari was delivered by Cesarean so there was a scar to conceal). In any case, Nico looks impressively svelte in various degrees of undress in Strip-tease – almost certainly via diet pills. (Nico always claimed her introduction to drug-taking was diet pills – which in the 1950s were essentially amphetamines). Interestingly, Witts also suggests that the reason she’s billed as “Krista Nico” in the credits might be for tax reasons! 

Strip-tease was promoted – not without reason – as a sexploitation flick, but I’d argue it’s more of a romantic melodrama – and a deeply moody and stylish one. Nico portrays Ariane, a gloomily earnest German ballet dancer barely scratching out a living in Paris. (As a bonus, we see glimpses of what Paris looked like in winter 1962, especially around Pigalle. Later we see the Seine and Notre Dame at dawn in misty grey light). Just when it appears the struggling Ariane’s dreams have come true (“I had the lead in a ballet!”), they are abruptly snatched away. Due to some bad luck, Ariane is dropped from a big production – and is flat broke! 


At this low ebb, by sheer coincidence Arianne reunites with Berthe (Dany Saval), an old friend from dance school.  Under the “stripper name” Dodo Voluptuous, Berthe has been raking it in as an exotic dancer at a high-end burlesque joint called Le Crazy – and she urges Ariane to consider it. “I could never be a stripper,” the idealistic Ariane protests. “It’s not the money; I just couldn’t do it!” If not an actual beatnik, Ariane is “beatnik-adjacent” and is a habitué of the smoke-filled Blue Note jazz cellar, where she seeks the counsel of her confidant and adopted father figure, African American jazz musician Sam (played by Joe Turner, but NOT “Big Joe Turner” as sometimes implied online – that’s someone else entirely). The worldly-wise and protective Sam is wary of her taking the job at Le Crazy. (As mentioned earlier, Strip-tease’s stunning cool jazz and Latin exotica soundtrack is by the young Serge Gainsbourg – and we even get a fleeting glimpse of him smoking and playing piano at the Blue Note). 

Nonetheless, needs must and soon Ariane is auditioning at Le Crazy. She may be a trained ballerina, but as an exotic dancer she is stiff, self-conscious and uncertain. (Nico was many things, but she was not a dancer and it’s fun to see how Poitrenaud attempts to conceal this). Interestingly, throughout Strip-tease other characters offer meta-critiques of Nico’s performance: “You walk like a marble statue!” “You’re hard to read …” and most significantly, “She’s wooden!” The latter comment leads to a unique gimmick for Ariane’s stage act – she’s partnered with a lookalike wooden marionette. (Strip-tease has a weird emphasis on marionettes). 


/ Pic above via /

/ Pic above via /

Le Crazy has a packed house for the big unveiling of its new starlet, but Ariane is a reluctant, conflicted “strip-teaseuse” who hates being stared at and at the climax, she stops short of baring all. (There’s an eerie moment where her lookalike marionette seemingly makes eye contact with Ariane and silently judges her). Rather than being disappointed, Le Crazy’s clientele finds her shyness adorable, declaring “Very charming!” “What style!” and “Post-modern striptease!” Le Crazy’s owner Paul (played by Thierry Thibault) is thrilled by Ariane’s reception: “Do the same thing every night!” 


/ Pic above via /

(One fascinating aspect to note here: we see ample burlesque sequences of Le Crazy’s performers onstage with copious boobage and buttage on display, but these scenes are deliberately designed to be easily deleted or censored if required depending on the local market without disrupting the narrative). 

Within no time, Ariane is a nightlife sensation in Paris. Pierre (Italian actor Umberto Orsini), an associate from the ballet troupe, discovers Ariane’s current workplace, assumes she’s “easy” now and turns ugly, sneering, “Can’t be too choosy in the work you do. I’m as good as all the others …” More happily, one night Ariane encounters impossibly pretty playboy Jean-Loup (played by Jean Sobieski, who I also know from the bizarre 1968 Italian giallo Death Laid an Egg and who possesses sapphire blue eyes Paul Newman himself would envy) and they embark on a love affair. 

/ Pic above via 

“You’re a very complicated girl,” manipulative Jean-Loup sweet-talks Ariane. “Et alors?” (So what?) she shrugs. “There’s a sadness about you. That’s what attracted me,” Jean-Loup continues. But alarmingly, he also confesses, “I’m naturally cowardly. A bit of a liar.” “Poor little rich boy,” Ariane chides. Later, Jean-Loup – who’s never worked a day in his life - patronizes Ariane by saying, “It’s good that you work. Work is ennobling. Even if it’s stripping.”  The sight of Jean-Loup and his jaded idle rich entourage of chic nightclubbing friends smoking and drinking cocktails, in formal evening wear can’t help but help but overlap with Fellini’s La dolce vita. (As Poitrenaud summarized in the 8 December 1962 issue of La Cinematographie Francaise, Strip-tease is “a film with two main themes: the solitude of a beautiful girl, one is who vulnerable and foreign, but also the life of Paris between midnight and morning, the life of those that fritter their existence away”). 

Strip-tease adopts an almost soap opera tone as their romance deepens. There’s a misunderstanding when Ariane insists that she can’t be “bought” with a diamond brooch that Jean-Loup attempts to gift her. “You’ve got it all and yet you’re as lost and lonely as me,” she consoles him after they reconcile. We see a campy whirlwind “date montage” representing their sojourns together: hunting weekend. Racecourse. Nightclubbing. Ariane’s birthday party scene feels overtly autobiographical for Nico. Like Nico, Ariane is from Cologne. They are both German women living in Paris and were children during World War II. Talk of fireworks makes Ariane reflect on the dropping of bombs (“Cologne in flames … I lost my parents that night …”). Jean-Loup gives her a mink coat: “Take this as reparations …” Later, we see Jean-Loup and Ariane in his car. She is swathed in her new mink and lighting a cigarette with hands gloved in black leather. It’s an impossibly chic image, sleek, fetishistic and almost kinky, worthy of Helmut Newton. 


/ Pic above via /


/ Pic above via /


/ Pic above via

Ariane continues her ascent to stardom. (Watch for her very strange new burlesque routine wearing a harsh jet-black bouffant wig). Sam is concerned Ariane is being corrupted and has forgotten her ballet aspirations. Ominously, Jean-Loup takes Ariane home to meet his aristocratic old money family ... Will Ariane come to her senses and swap the mink for the modest old cloth trench coat she was wearing at the beginning? No spoilers, but in the finale of Strip-tease, Ariane’s number is like Marilyn Monroe’s “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend” routine in reverse … I’ll say no more! 


/ Doesn’t Nico resemble Italian actress Silvana Mangano here with the black wig? (In fact, Nico and Mangano were friends; Nico credits Mangano for Federico Fellini casting her in his 1960 masterpiece La dolce vita. But that’s just one of many theories – others have claimed it was via Nico’s friendship with Anouk Aimee! There are MANY myths surrounding the eternally enigmatic Nico) /

/ Pic above and below via /

And what of Nico’s acting? “Her acting is only fair – she moves stiffly, a simple wave goodbye seems difficult, as if she’s never done it before,” Don Stradley – not inaccurately - assesses in his This Dazzling Time blog in 2016. I’d argue her approach is hesitant, remote, ethereal and inscrutable in the tradition of Kim Novak. At some points, Nico is so detached she suggests a gorgeous sleepwalker. Maybe she’s more of a presence than a conventional actress. Unsurprisingly, Nico communicates best in spectacular close-ups. Crying perfect crystal tear drops, she suggests an idealized illustration of a woman, like “Crying Girl” by Roy Lichtenstein. (Nico was already pop art even before Warhol!). Revealingly, her finest acting moment is entirely wordless. For a laugh, Jean-Loup and his parasitic friends go slumming at a low-down dive, very different from Le Crazy. The resident stripper gyrating onstage is older, rougher, raunchier, fleshier. “It takes genius to be so disgusting …” Jean-Loup sneers, almost admiringly. Ariane silently listens and absorbs his contempt in a giant hypnotic close-up that moves ever closer until Nico’s features fill the screen. The moment is akin to the famous close-ups of Nico’s spiritual godmothers Greta Garbo (especially at the end of Queen Christina (1933)) and Marlene Dietrich (especially at the end of Morocco (1930)), in which the viewer is invited to contemplate their exquisite faces and attempt to unravel their mystery. 

In cinematic terms, Nico’s contribution was to bridge the gap between the glamour of classic Hollywood and the avant-garde. She casts a melancholy spell over Strip-tease.  



Wednesday, 6 August 2025

Reflections on ... My Mom Jayne (2025) for Filthy Dreams

“Jayne Mansfield was the ultimate sex kitten-gone-berserk, the eternal starlet grasping for fame with both hands, Kenneth Anger’s cooing, squealing Hollywood Babylon made flesh. What, one might justifiably wonder, must it have been like having this outrageous creature for a mother?” 


/ Jayne Mansfield and daughter Mariska Hargitay, 1964 /

Yes! Read my new article Bow Down Before Jayne Mansfield, the Queen of Low-Brow Trash Culture which features my reflections on Mariska Hargitay’s 2025 HBO documentary My Mom Jayne on FilthyDreams – the provocative blog (for minorities who don't even fit into our own minorities) that analyses art, politics, and culture with a touch of camp! 




/ Pictured: a glamour shot of Jayne Mansfield promoting the 1963 film Homesick for St Pauli /

Wednesday, 2 July 2025

Las Vegas Grind! Viva Las Vegas 2025 Rockabilly Weekend #28: 24 – 27 April 2025 - followed by Palm Springs!

Finally, here is my belated revoltingly frank and disgustingly candid “scene report” from my trip to the US this spring! Look, I’ve been regularly attending the Viva Las Vegas Rockabilly Weekend festival off and on since 2003 and its glory days are undeniably a distant memory. Like many festivals, it’s probably never fully rebounded post-Covid. But I’d argue the decline started when organizer Tom Ingram stopped inviting longtime VLV fixture and much-loved Ambassador of Americana Charles Phoenix to present his slideshows. What a joyless, buzz-killing move! Also, the venue (The Orleans Hotel and Casino) is in decay. (Although it must be said The Orleans raised its game compared to 2024, when the bars ran out of beer, stopped honouring drinks offers and shut early!). The vendors are tragic: any good, interesting vendors have been priced out over the years (or – let’s face it – may have gone out of business in this tough economic climate). What’s left is polar extremes of wildly expensive high-end vintage way out of my price range, and the most garish bad reproduction clothes. The VLV demographic is noticeably significantly older: the cost of attending is simply too high for most young people. Plus, there’s been a steep downturn in tourism to Vegas in general. (For example, the Burlesque Hall of Fame museum is permanently shuttering this summer due to the decline in visitors. Thank God we visited last year when we still could! The Orleans is probably hemorrhaging money these days, too). And for non-Americans, traveling to the US now is a frankly scary proposition (in the UK we’re inundated with horror stories about tourists being interrogated, denied entry – and even detained!). 

Having said all that – I don’t mean to sound too jaundiced. If you go to Viva Las Vegas (or just Vegas itself) and don’t have fun, check your pulse! It was a blast reconnecting with old friends I only ever see at VLV, hitting all my favourite bars, basking in the sunshine (Bloody Mary’s by the pool! Palm trees!) and seeing some truly amazing musical acts.  

Thursday 24 April 2025:  



/ The In-Kraut! Knut and Anne Kathrin at the Alligator Bar at The Orleans / 


/ Anne Kathrin and I / 

I arrived in Vegas on Wednesday night. (I’ll never tire of arriving in Vegas by night, hailing a cab and whizzing past all the neon-lit casinos). The reunited gang this year again was Kevin, Anne Kathrin and Knut (aka the In-Kraut!) – but sadly no Louise (aka Weezie). Boy was that devilish redhead and her madcap antics missed! Highlights of the first day: Sweet Pea’s Hooch’n’Smooch meet-up. The LGBTQ meet-up. A ferocious set by Southern Californian surf band Los Pakalolos on the Bienville Stage.  


 

  / Above: Los Pakalolos / 




/ The royal couple of Viva Las Vegas 28: Les Greene and Vicky Tafoya. All hail! / 

Wailing, crotch-thrusting and cartwheel-turning rhythm and blues sensation Les Greene was the breakout performer of the Viva Las Vegas R&B showcase in 2024. Briefly, the ultra-charismatic Greene is a former American Idol contestant and provided the singing voice of Little Richard in the Baz Luhrman-directed biopic Elvis (which I will never watch - I’m allergic to the cinema of Baz Luhrman. Greene apparently sings “Tutti Frutti”). This year he triumphantly returned with his own solo set. Think of him as the fiercely pouting Little Richard and Esquerita du nos jours – with a nose piercing! No modern performer taps into the raunchy flamboyance of 1950s / early 60s rhythm and blues quite like Greene. Anyway, flaming creature Greene is pure sex and an ideal world, should be a mega-star in waiting. Investigate Greene’s song “Can You Keep a Secret?” 



Hot on the heels of Greene’s set: Santa Ana, California’s Vicky Tafoya. Tafoya is my idea of total glamour: the teased jet-black mane of hair! The sequins! Those sensational trademark false eyelashes, like two black tarantulas glued to her lids! I’ve been watching the mighty Tafoya perform at VLV for years now, always been dazzled and it was gratifying to see her land this peak slot – and slay! For the uninitiated, Tafoya possesses a belting, soaring Ronnie Spector-like voice and her music is permeated in classic rhythm and blues and doo-wop. If VLV 28 had a royal couple, it was Tafoya and Greene. (They’d never met. I was quickly spoke to Tafoya in the hallway while Greene was setting up his merch table and she pointed out to me they’d never met – so it was me who introduced them! C'était mon plaisir! We all grabbed our phones for a red-hot camera session to mark this historic occasion!). 




Friday 25 April 2025:  

A day of Tiki barhopping. The UK simply doesn’t get Tiki culture right, so when I visit the US, I luxuriate in the genuine article. First, the Golden Tiki followed by the essential Frankie’s Tiki Room for more daytime Mai Tais. Miraculously, we even scored our favourite table in the corner! (Because, boy, it gets rammed at Frankie’s). Frankie’s Tiki Room will always be one of my happiest places on earth. Scatter my ashes there! 






/ Above: hi-jinks at The Golden Tiki. Anne Kathrin and I, Knut and Anne Kathrin / 






/ Above: cocktail capers at Frankie's Tiki Room /

I sobered up from my Mai Tai binge for the Rhythm and Blues Showcase (aka the Viva R&B Show) that night. This was another dazzling and memorable VLV musical highlight. Les Greene and Vicky Tafoya performed again (and rocked the freakin’ house), joined by the likes of ultra-poised and glamorous Tammi Savoy, the wildly charismatic Shy But Flyy (in another life, Ike and Tina Turner would have snapped Shy up as an Ikette for their revue) and Britain’s own The Treats (aka husband and wife duo Fifi and Gabriel). Fifi is a true star: every bluesy phrase, every elegant gesture, every mock-aggrieved campy eye roll she made was informed by great 50s divas like Ruth Baker and LaVern Baker. And even better – Fifi was snapping gum the whole time! So nonchalant! I’m pretty sure the Treats dueted on the old Dinah Washington / Brook Benton track “A Rockin’ Good Way” (or was it “Baby (You Got What It Takes?”) – my memory is misty. 




/ Above: R&B duo The Treats - who are British! Fifi and Gabriel /


/ Tammi Savoy /




/ Les Greene serving c*nt -- again! /


/ L-R: Les Greene, Vicky Tafoya, Fifi, Shy but Flyy, Tammi Savoy and Bobby Brooks Wilson /

Other highlight: Deke and The Whippersnappers.  

Saturday 26 April 2025:  

/ "You may now kiss the bride ..." Couple getting married by Elvis impersonator at the car show /


/ Above: Patrick, me and Kitty /

Not going to lie – the car show felt underwhelming. The vendors were a massive disappointment. I wasn’t remotely curious about headliner Imelda May. We spotted a MAGA flag displayed on one of the cars. More happily, later that day, I had an emotional reunion with my old pal, burlesque performer Kitty Baby! I’ve known the vivacious Kitty - formerly of Seattle, now a Vegas resident – since the old days when she go-go danced (and shook her fringed outfits HARD) at VLV pool parties.  

We opted to dig the pool party scene on Saturday afternoon. (Most people prefer doing it on Sunday, so there are long queues to get in, not to mention long queues for the bar!). On the plus side: surf band The Volcanics provided a perfect soundtrack. GREAT Bloody Marys. Swimming in the pool. Downside: the unexpectedly cool windy weather! In retrospect, this was the day I caught a cold.  




That night: Kevin and I went to the Wild Records showcase (a truly great Los Angeles record label focusing mostly on Latino neo-rockabilly).   


/ Me with charismatic star on the ascent Shy but Flyy, who performed again at the Wild Records showcase / 


/ Some of the striking attendees at the Wild Records showcase on Saturday night. These two pics by Kevin - who has a good eye and is fast becoming the Diane Arbus of the rockabilly scene! /

Sunday 27 April 2025: 

We revisited Champagne’s Café cocktail lounge, our big discovery last year. I will always love this vintage old-school dive bar with its good-natured sleazy ambiance and flocked red velvet wallpaper, but this year it felt a bit tepid – it just wasn’t the same without Weezie and Arlene (our gem of a bartender from 2024) wasn’t working when we visited. 






Then: the Neon Museum. I can’t believe I’ve been going to Vegas since 2003 but had never visited this outdoor museum until now! The preserved vintage Vegas casino neon signs will make you swoon. 


/ At last! I'm finally a Vegas showgirl! Me in front of an old sign for The Flamingo casino / 





I'm so old I went to The Algiers casino when it was still open (it was great! It had a David Lynch-ian vibe. It closed in 2004). / 




Monday 28 April 2025: 

That morning, we all checked out of our hotels, bid adieu to Kevin and then Knut, Anne Kathrin and I split for Palm Springs. After collecting the rental car from Herz, we stopped off for a gut-busting breakfast at Omelet House. The décor is naïve outsider kitsch (the sign is pure Gilligan’s Island), the service is friendly, and the servings are unfeasibly gigantic. I still salivate recalling the Omelet House’s pumpkin bread, studded with walnut chunks, still warm from the oven. (Its hardly their fault, but Omelet House is where we had our second MAGA encounter: the grizzled patriarch of the family seated in front of us - who looked very "January sixth" - was wearing a t-shirt emblazoned “Ultra MAGA”). 




Next: the 4 ½ hour drive through barren lunar desert landscapes to Palm Springs. It’s a fascinating experience: you can drive for miles without spotting any signs of civilization – maybe the occasional abandoned rusted-out car or trailer in a field. At one point Anne Kathrin exclaimed, “What’s that?” It was a coyote standing nonchalantly in the middle of the highway! And it was in no hurry to move. I’d never seen a real coyote “in the flesh” before. He was beautiful, majestic, stared at me with wise unblinking eyes and it felt like he was looking into my soul! 

We also investigated the weird, desolate ghost town of Amboy on Route 66. Decades ago, Amboy was a thriving community and then the new highway diverted travelers, and it died. You can still see the diner, post office, gas station and church, and the convenience store is still functions for supplies. (Behind the store the skeleton of a once impressive, abandoned hotel is visible through a chain link fence). We passed through the bohemian desert community of Joshua Tree (which looked enticing). Then back to scrubby desert, you turn a corner and suddenly you see mid-century moderne buildings and you’ve arrived in Palm Springs. We checked in at the Worldmark by Wyndham. (This hotel had its windows blown out and had to close for refurbishment when some incel wackjob bombed the fertility clinic across the street shortly after our stay. Miraculously no one was injured). After our epic car journey, Anne Kathrin and I soaked in the hot tub staring up at the palm trees. Sublime! 





/ The sights of Amboy! /

Tuesday 29 April: 

While Knut and Anne Kathrin were still sleeping, I sloped off for a solo breakfast of Mexican-style scrambled eggs at Billy Reed’s. 

Then we all headed to Trixie Motel (only two blocks away from where we were staying). This is of course the hotel owned by fiercely entrepreneurial drag queen and Drag Race mega-star Trixie Mattel. The place is a shimmering ultra-kitsch pink-and-white vision that would make Jayne Mansfield herself coo with delight. I was in a privileged position as Trixie Motel’s General Manager Angel is an old friend. Suave host-with-the-most Angel gave us a tour that normally only paying guests get to see. Then we drove around admiring old movie star houses (the Sinatra family compound, the Elvis and Priscilla honeymoon pad, Liberace's place) and the exquisite mid-century moderne architecture. 


















/ Above: the Pink Flamingos room at Trixie Motel /



/ Above: the Queen of Hearts room at Trixie Motel /


/ Above: one of Trixie Mattel's wigs displayed in the gift shop (with her collection of vintage Barbie dolls visible behind it). /

Later: when Angel finished his shift at the motel, he joined us for cocktails at Bootleger Tiki. As their website summarizes: “Located in the same space as the original Don the Beachcomber restaurant that opened in 1953, we are fortunate to inherit an incredible piece of Palm Springs history and want to uphold the tiki traditions that were originally built here - craft cocktails, good friends and a couple of giant tiki torches thrown in for good measure.” Highly recommended! 

/ Angel and I at Bootlegger Tiki /

Angel then took us to a dark and moody speakeasy-style bar called The Evening Citizen for further drinking. (The foxy bartender looked like François Sagat!). The Evening Citizen is in Palm Spring’s thriving gay district – this was the sole time I ventured there, sadly. I had a cold the whole time and just didn’t have the energy (I know – a drag, huh?). 


/ The gang at The Evening Citizen. Note the framed portrait of Udo Kier behind the bar! / 

Wednesday 30 April: 


We explored downtown Palm Springs. Stopped for the inevitable selfie with the controversial Marilyn Monroe statue. (Looking at this shot, I can tell by my t-shirt this is from the day before. Look, my brain is scrambled! I've lost track of time!). We stopped by the Tonga Hut (yet another great Tiki bar!) for their special offer of a Mai Tai and three seafood tacos (insanely good; the tacos came with fresh pineapple chunks). 



/ The Lucille Ball statue giving side-eye. Note that someone wedged a cigarette between her fingers / 

/ Black velvet painting at the Tonga Hut /

Ice cream break: on his YouTube channel,Charles Phoenix had emphasized the “taste of Palm Springs” is a date milkshake and that drinking one is compulsory. So, I had one – the ultra-sweet, frosty-cold date milkshake cured my headache (well, that and the powerful painkiller Anne Kathrin gave me earlier. But still! Phoenix never steers you wrong).  

Thursday 1 May 2025: 

We checked out of the hotel and split for Los Angeles, where Anne Kathrin and Knut would stay for a few days and I would catch my flight that night from LAX to Heathrow. I’d never been to LA before and got a quick whistlestop tour: we met Kevin for lunch at a Mexican restaurant, then checked out the Walk of Fame on Hollywood Boulevard (spotted the stars of Jayne Mansfield, Kim Novak and Elizabeth Taylor!) followed by the Hollywood Forever Cemetery (spotted the grave sites of David Lynch, Paul “Pee-wee Herman” Reubens, Maila “Vampira” Nurmi, Jayne Mansfield’s cenotaph. Caught up in the moment, I totally forgot that Ed Wood, Holly Woodlawn and Yma Sumac are also buried there!). 








I arrived back in London on 2 May.