I’ve heard of being over-dressed or under-dressed for the occasion but standing in Dusseldorf’s Nachtresidenz Club, I’m not sure if I can even be put in either of those categories. Looking down, I’m dressed in a crusty old pair of Vans, jeans and an old band T-shirt that’s seen better days. Next to me stands a troop of buff Roman centurions in full armour, their faces covered in sparkling gold glitter. I watch as Alice in Wonderland’s Mad Hatter collects armfuls or altbiers from the bar, and pushes through the crowd past a woman in a full-length LED spotted dress made entirely from balloons stood chatting to a skeleton wrapped in a feather boa.
While this may sound like a fever-dream or the insane ramblings of a man that has imbibed 10 too many German beers, I am, in fact, completely sober and lucid. This is all real. I am at Tunte Lauf, literally meaning ‘drag walk’; a charity drag show that has been running each carnival season for over 20 years, and at Nachtresidenz since 2012.
Dusseldorf’s Carnival is one of the largest and most celebrated in all of Germany and technically dates back to the 13th century when it was known as Fasching, or in modern German Fastenschank; the last serving of alcohol before Lent. However, the modern version of carnival and its traditions date from the 17th century. Back when most of the Rhineland was occupied by the French, the Rhineland carnival’s military-like parades, colourful military-style uniforms and the “fool’s greetings” shouts were a way to make fun of the French and their militaristic posturing. For obvious reasons, the French decided to ban the tradition.
When the ban was finally lifted in the early 19th century, carnival committees, or Karnevalsvereine, were set up to re-establish the carnival tradition – complete with parades and comical military uniforms. Over time, different committees have been introduced to represent different aspects of Dusseldorf’s culture, population and diversity, with the LGBT community celebrating in style on the Saturday of Carnival weekend with Tunte Lauf.
I should have known that I was under-dressed as soon as I arrived in the city. As I walked from the tram to my hotel, I passed groups of revellers dressed as clowns in brightly coloured wigs and red noses, hauling kegs of beer over their shoulders as they made their way to carnival parties. The closer I got to the city centre, the more common these encounters became until I reached the Nachtresidenz, where I discovered a queue a few hundred people long, every single person dressed in an elaborate costume except, obviously, me.
I self-consciously shuffle to the front of the queue, past the waiting crowd, and make my way inside. Even the man collecting tickets is decked head to toe in finery, wearing a shimmering blue and white checked suit, dozens of medals pinned to his chest and feathers erupting from his bicorne. I head straight to the bar for a beer that I hope will loosen me up a little and make me feel less uncomfortable with my attire. Already the bar is becoming packed but the main room, a huge hall where the big screen and stage are located, is shoulder to shoulder. The two spiralling staircases that bookend the room are heaving with people straining for an elevated view of the show and below, men carrying wooden kegs of altbier above their heads, squeeze through the audience.
Cradling my camera in one hand and my beers in another, I push my way through to try and get a vantage point. The show is underway but my 2 years of secondary school German lessons fail me and I have no idea what’s going on. Some old men in tops and tails make an impassioned speech and a troupe of dancers in traditional German dress perform a cheerleader-style routine but you can feel the anticipation in the crowd for the show to start in earnest.
And then it begins. One by one the queens take to the stage in a cloud of glitter, feathers and streamers. The music begins and each performer strolls down the runway, stops, and then launches into choreographed campness. The Audience goes wild for each raunchy move, their approval measured by a clap-o-meter to decide which of the queens will be victorious come the end of the evening,
I take my place at the back of the room, standing on a platform to try and take it in. Standing beside me I have Aladdin, a gladiator and a buff, shimmering Poseidon. Engrossed in the show, none of them seem to notice my lack of costume and it doesn’t really matter anymore, even to me. We’re here to enjoy the performances and all that matters is crowning a winner and raising funds for Aids-Hilfe Düsseldorf e.V.
My visit to Dusseldorf was facilitated by the Dusseldorf Tourist Board. However, all opinions expressed are my own.
