«Are there some Hos in this House? Like, at all?»

Theater Basel, with its various venues dedicated to theater, drama, and ballet, is a complex institution. It doesn’t rest on its laurels but experiments with new formats to reach a broader audience.

Each year, Theater Basel hosts a New Year's Eve party, organized by a different division. For the transition into 2025, the drama department took charge, with actors singing and hosting the evening. A DJ—possibly from the theater itself—played a medley of 2010s party hits for those eager to shout “whohooo!” when Will.I.Am declared, “I got a feeling.”

Sequins, Leather, and Blow-Dried Hair

After the evening’s performances, the audience, averaging well over 45, streamed into the grand foyer, clad in sequins and leather, fitting for the occasion. A cover band played hits, and on the improvised dance floor, well-coiffed hair swayed to the sounds of Amy Winehouse and Gloria Gaynor.

We felt out of place—like at a high school prom or a village wedding where you wonder why you were invited. But we stayed, waiting for the drag show, enduring even “Sweet Child of Mine” for the cause.

Midnight struck. Confetti rained down, a large-scale projection simulated fireworks, and the new year arrived. No resolutions were made; the general mood seemed to be: “I’m fine as I am—time for others to put in some effort.” And then, finally, the moment came. Klamydia von Karma and Fiorelle Lores descended from the balcony, ready to take the stage. Dressed in red with bold makeup visible even from the last row, the divas made their way through the crowd.

Frozen in Shock

A thirty-minute performance followed—mostly classic drag lip-syncing, with a few brief speeches. We stood in the front row, surrounded by other queer attendees, cheering, whistling, and dancing. Then I turned around.

Behind us, about 500 white patrons stood motionless, arms crossed, staring blankly at the stage, seemingly paralyzed by uncertainty—afraid of doing the wrong thing.

The absurdity of this mix of confusion and refusal became clear when Klamydia performed “I Am What I Am” by Gloria Gaynor. An hour earlier, the audience had danced wildly to the cover band’s version. Now, the same song left them frozen in shock. Context is everything.

And there we were, caught in the middle—in the front row, between the slowly sweat-dissolving drag glamour and the cultural elite, metaphorically walled in by bookshelves. Who holds the interpretive authority over theater and its programming?

As their opening number, Fiorelle and Klamydia performed an operatic rendition of Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion’s “WAP,” repeatedly declaring: “There’s some Hos in this House.”

Given the audience, it might have been more accurate to say: There are very few Hos in this House, and their Wet Ass Pussies are not very much appreciated by the Patrons.

Q.U.I.C.H.E. are semi-monthly reflections on cultural moments in Basel and its surroundings. Written by a loosely organized collective of queer individuals who dance in the haze of Basel’s cultural scene.