At Middle Church in New York City, on the so-called “International Transgender Day of Visibility,” a drag-clown named “Alok” stood behind a pulpit and delivered what can only be described as a blasphemous fashion show being passed off as a sermon.
“We are an everyday miracle,” he gushed. “Thank you for blessing this often cruel and utterly unchic world with your divine and transcendent beauty.”
Unchic. That’s the word he chose. Not unholy. Not unrighteous. Just unchic. In Alok’s gospel from Hades, the cardinal sin is a lack of style—not rebellion against God.
He praised these sexually confused people as mystics and miracle-workers, part of an “unbroken, sacred chain” of truth-tellers with the power to “manifest and femifest” themselves. Yes, that’s a real word he invented. “Femifest.” Because when you’ve abandoned reality, why stop at language?
