BroadSlay: sashay away

In investigating BroadSlay’s tragic death, I discovered the event’s spirit.

Image credit: Zara Upfold

Editor’s note: this article was first written in March 2023.

We’re in the elevator going up. Woozy and bedazzled, I fall into a monologue about what a gay-old-time Hayley, Kit and I are destined to have. Customers enter the Broadway Shopping Centre lift and I pretend not to be tipsy. The Pride event that we are about to attend, crudely titled ‘BroadSlay’ (as opposed to ‘BWYASSS’ or ‘Glampol’) promised an “open air Mardi Gras party extravaganza.”

The elevator doors pucker open onto a grey wasteland. A rooftop carpark sprinkling with rain. No sign of a rainbow on the other side; not a single queer person in sight. Feeling melodramatic, I need to know — ‘Who killed BroadSlay?’

I realise there is a murder mystery to be solved. Who better to answer than a detective as queer coded as Benoit Blanc. I seek out suspects and witnesses and line them up for questioning.

The first suspect is the ingénue: the rain. She acts naïve, and trickles with either tears or sweat. Was this due to fear or guilt? Inconsolable, she leaves me to my own research.

Last year’s Mardi Gras saw threats of a heavy rain bomb without cancellation. A commenter noted the queer tendency towards being a pluviophile, “They’re called floats for a reason.” Surely a bit of rain wouldn’t stop Sydney’s LGBTQ+ community from attending BroadSlay. If it wasn’t the rain, what was it?

Coming out of the elevator, we hear whispers of campy music from the floor below. We pile back into the lift. Going down this time.

From the inner carpark, in the darkness, we see it — the proverbial dead body. It is BroadSlay: a lower parking lot with bar staff on their phones, DJs playing for one drag queen and snoozy security guards. My stomach drops. We are the only attendees. My sparkling friends and I huddle together, whispering “Just an hour? Just an hour…”

I line up our next suspect, Broadway Shopping Centre, the recluse.

The rainbow washing’ of Broadway for World Pride includes the Yassification of the escalator by artist Jeff McCann and banners with the slogan ‘BroadSlaaaay’ — written with enough ‘a’s to include every colour of the rainbow. It, and others like it, has been met with scepticism from the LGBTQ+ community, suspecting the decorations to be a brand tie-in as opposed to genuine support.

“Who dressed you?” I ask Broadway. Aloof, he tells me it was Daddy Mirvac, the alpha male.

Broadway Shopping Centre is owned by Mirvac, a property entity concerned with constructing and managing shopping centres. The company incited this rollout of rainbow across their 15 shopping centres. The centres combined contribute $2.57 billion to the company’s real estate holdings, 30% overall. And Broadway on its own is valued at a whopping $132.8 million.

Is Mirvac the real culprit? Perhaps incentivised by the economic power of inclusivity? Mirvac didn’t respond to my Instagram DM request for comment and answers .

Vaguely embarrassed, we tip-toe towards the clothed table representing a ticket booth. I can see despair behind the volunteer ticket clerks' eyes. The staff at the event work for 107 Projects, a charity initiative collaborating with Broadway to raise funds for Twenty10, a foundation providing housing, peer support and counselling to LGBTQ+ youth.

Following a strained silence, a young volunteer bursts into an apology, offering us free entry. She emotively explains that 480 people arrived in glitz and glam in 2022. This year 120 tickets were sold but no-one showed up. “We should be stopping soon,” she mumbles.

Hoping to discover the reason behind the steep decline in sales that may have starved BroadSlay to death, the next week I attended the free 107 Projects screen-printing workshop. Below a pair of giant rainbow heel earrings, I questioned our next subject, the sidekick: 107 Projects. It was there I met Onur Ka, the BroadSlay events manager.

Ka explained that Mirvac, unfamiliar with the LGBTQ+ community and their needs, outsourced their pride events. This year, they turned to the 107 Projects team to take on the role.

The death of BroadSlay was a result of the disconnect between the conglomerate and charity, “It’s about the bridging,” he said, uncertain that Broadway’s outward support of the LGBTQ+ community would continue into the future. This became clear when I learnt that the newly appointed CEO of Mirvac, Campbell Hanan, may be planning to sell off their retail portfolio, which includes Broadway. It’s up in the air whether queer people will be represented by the next owners.

Ka still holds out hope, “It’s only the second year of BroadSlay.”

To further understand their involvement, I spoke to CEO and founding member of 107 Projects, Jess Cook, who has been making space for diverse communities for almost 20 years. For Cook, hosting BroadSlay was both an opportunity and a challenge.

“You want to focus on that community essence, but for longevity and sustainability you also need to navigate commercial, government, corporate and community partnerships. It’s a very fine balancing act.”

There was a last minute shifting of logistics, that Cook infers caused BroadSlay’s untimely death. The Broadway division of Mirvac had chosen to price tickets at $30, in fear of the financial risk, and 107 Project’s request for more accessible $10 tickets was only approved right before the event.

The date of BroadSlay was also brought forward from Sunday to Saturday, creating staff availability issues. The creative producer, Sam G. Eacott, along with the talent pool had overloaded schedules due to World Pride, and even shifting the event by an hour would have been disruptive. Cook reflects that “everyone was exhausted and everyone was booked a lot, so shifting a date isn’t like normal times.” Her organisation was forced to rapidly rebook each individual, due to their policy against collaborating with commercial agencies. Cook ensured that every creative was paid, despite the commercial failure of the event.

A major contributor to BroadSlay’s vibrancy last year was the LGBTQ+ community events promoter Heaps Gay. Cook noted that they were absent this year “because Heaps Gay was doing a lot of work on World Pride, BroadSlay wanted this event to stand out more, and not be so Heaps Gay heavy. Which I think was a key failure, because Heaps Gay has that community trust.”

During this oversaturated Pride season and without promotion from Heaps Gay, 107 Projects didn’t so much run a financial loss as a social loss. According to Cook, “we didn’t deliver to the community that could have enjoyed it.” Cook took on a sense of responsibility for BroadSlay.

“Without the community, the place doesn’t have any heartbeat, so that’s where I think we failed.” BroadSlay couldn’t live without a heartbeat.

While searching for a real heartbeat, I discovered BroadSlay’s nemesis: Jurassic Lounge: Pride Edition. Run at the Australian Museum on the same night, the event was sold out. It had dancers dressed in dinosaur costumes — it was unmissable. With a single snap, the rainbow ‘Progress Shark’ had snatched up prospective BroadSlay attendees in its sharp jaw.

Leaving me and my pals to dance the night away in a campy rendition of Plato’s Cave…

Inside the event, we tip-toe to the side of the dancefloor, trying our best not to draw any attention. We’re immediately approached by the photographer. She peers at us with longing and we agree to have our photograph taken, hoping we weren’t the only ones to do so this evening. I imagine the image: three deers-in-headlights, with prison cell like bars behind us. A far-cry from the advertisement photos I had seen online.

The final suspect is the trickster: the BroadSlay social media campaign.

In 2022, the event was advertised as a ‘Heaps Gay Sunset Party’. This year, the emphasis was more on Broadway, not the most trendy of venues and one which is lacking in community trust. I discovered the online reception towards BroadSlay was quite negative, from angry reacts on Facebook, to a Tweet from a member of the LGBTQ+ community responding to BroadSlay banners with the caption “this makes me hate myself.”

We muster enough courage to join the performers in embracing Sam Smith’s ‘I'm Not Here To Make Friends’. It’s thrilling, fun and prideful. We oddly start to miss the crowd that never came. And just quietly, we sashay away.

In a typical whodunnit story, I would discover the killer. The murderer of BroadSlay would call me a ‘meddling kid’ and the day would be saved. But in postmodern fashion, the ingénue, the recluse, the alpha male, the sidekick, the nemesis, and the trickster all played a part in the event’s demise.

Amidst the complexities of rainbow capitalism and cultural capital, what struck me about BroadSlay was the silence. In an age of social media noise, amidst the oversaturation of pride events, it was as though BroadSlay never happened. The effort of 107 Projects to raise funds for Twenty10, the brilliant performers who sprouted like rainbow roses out of the concrete, my fabulous friends and other attendees seeking family, all seemed to vanish. By investigating BroadSlay’s tragic death, I discovered the spirit of the event. Immortalised by the many colourful lives that were caught in the grey.