Members of a collective celebrate their diverse histories with dramatic flair, finding liberation and joy on the runway and in performances.
Our mission at the House of Spice has always been to lift up and celebrate brown queer excellence in all its glory. Ever since we came together to form our group in 2021, those words have carried real weight. There have been many insightful and eye-opening conversations within the collective in terms of understanding what those words mean for each of us – and, subsequently, for us as a whole. When we reflected on the theme of “Otherwise” for this piece, it felt like sharing those same nuances would be the most celebratory way to explore how our experiences connect with the theme.
A key starting point for us when we were forming our House was in understanding what brought us together. Brown queerness is our common thread, and it carries with it a deep sense of community, solidarity, and belonging. We are often seen as an “other” in mainstream UK society because of the ways our races and ethnicities overlap with our genders and sexualities, and these navigations can sometimes put us in the margins of racialised spaces (because of our queerness) and queer spaces (because of our brownness). Coming together has been liberating because we get to be our full selves without apologies or caveats.
But common ground does not mean a flattening of rich identities into an easily palatable monolith. Our collective comfort and safety are at their strongest when we unpack and sit with the myriad complexities that our identities bring. Brownness in the UK carries an implicit sense of migration, which has been heightened in an age of growing xenophobia and anti-immigrant rhetoric. However, we do not all ascribe to that label. Some of us are, indeed, migrants to the country. Some of us have histories of migration in our ancestral backgrounds while being fully British. Some came to the country as migrants before becoming British.
But common ground does not mean a flattening of rich identities into an easily palatable monolith. Our collective comfort and safety are at their strongest when we unpack and sit with the myriad complexities that our identities bring.
Our connections with our homelands are complicated and sometimes even messy. Some fully identify with a nationality other than British, even when that nationality may not be fully welcoming of our queerness. Some connect with an ethnic and cultural background which showcases the diversity of modern Britishness. Some carry both selves, a deep sense of belonging in both the land under our feet and the land in our pasts. And some, still, do not engage with those kinds of labels at all, because it is no one’s business but our own how and if we commune with our heritage.
These complex navigations are part and parcel of the work we do. Even our House name is a tongue-in-cheek reclamation. Brown people and other people of colour are often fetishised by white people in romantic and/or sexual relationships. A common refrain is that we are very “spicy,” as if correlating our humanity with food is the height of seduction. Not to mention the painful histories of how spice trade exploitation was often at the heart of early European colonisation in many of our ancestral homelands. By naming ourselves the House of Spice – after much deliberation, it must be said – we intentionally reoriented these power dynamics.
Instead of being an exoticising remark on our migrant and migrant-adjacent bodies, it was a call-out of global histories, and a joyous reminder that, when we get to showcase culture on our own terms, there can be nothing more empowering. In a fitting, full-circle moment, our artistry is also embedded with the same sense of movement that our various histories all share. As stage performers, we take part in runway shows, dance programmes, lip sync competitions, brown cultural events, and queer cultural events like Pride. Our choreographies showcase the movements inherited from our forebears, and the costumes we wear navigate those lineages.
We end our collective reflection here, as a message of solidarity and togetherness, a call to action to show up for and with marginalised voices. But we also want to provide some individual, personal thoughts as well. As we said, the ways in which we experience our brownness and our queerness are not the same, and it feels exciting to invite readers in to share our thoughts. What follows are some words from some of our members, all of whom are co-founders of the House.
As a reminder, not all House of Spice members have shared individual thoughts, so we encourage you to simultaneously sit with the richness of the stories we are sharing and not ascribe these reflections to everyone. We are not the arbiters or spokespersons of brown queerness, just the storytellers of how we ourselves belong in those spaces.
Lucky Roy Singh, House Mother: This look is a love letter to my South Asian heritage. Through the bridal-inspired veil, henna, and floral embellishments, I honour the traditions I was raised with, while the bold styling reflects my journey as a queer Sikh artist. It represents a meeting of culture and self-expression – showing that my heritage and my identity can exist beautifully together. There is a richness to the textiles, claiming the vibrancy of my heritage and the wealth that it represents, both materially and artistically. At the same time, the weaving, the embellishments, and the henna work are all delicate, not from any sort of fragility, but from an intricacy that highlights the beauty of artisanal craftsmanship that is so present in South Asian cultural garbs.
Mixed Spice: This costume represents more than a link to a single heritage. It brings together migration histories of my Sri Lankan family, my husband’s Indian family, and my own experience of growing up and attempting to be white-passing in Britain. As I’ve grown, the sense of feeling caught between cultures has dissipated, and I now see myself as part of a continuing story of movement, adaptation, and cultural exchange that spans generations and continents. There is also a literal weaving together of multiple layers of belonging, as the look includes two saris from my mother-in-law incorporated with Western tailoring silhouettes, while the overall palette references Sri Lanka’s cinnamon. It shows not only the union between me and my husband, but the acceptance from his family.
Saffy Saffron Spice: My main connection to my family’s culture has always been the beautiful language, incredible food, and meaningful celebrations. Whenever I return to Tehran, I see modern clothing, so I don’t necessarily have any “traditional” or “cultural” Persian costumes that truly represent me. Instead of trying to force my multicultural self into a stereotypical costume, I choose to use the gorgeous Iranian patterned cloths and fabrics to make outfits that represent me, as someone from a fluid, multicultural background, so that I can celebrate all facets of my identity. I reject the idea that me being Iranian or Persian or brown has to be represented in a certain way. Showing off my full self is more meaningful – and fun! – than fitting outdated expectations.
Indigo Spice: Growing up in Bangladesh meant that I was not a racialised minority until I moved to the UK. Suddenly, it was not just my queerness that was different, but also the colour of my skin. Traditions, rituals, and fabrics I had taken for granted in my youth became extra meaningful and even subversive. This cape – the first piece I ever sewed myself, with guidance from a fellow queer Bangladeshi – is a love letter to my heritage. A patchwork of lungi cotton (a sort of long tube skirt worn by mainly working-class men), it combines a dramatic flair I like to bring to the stage with an everyday experience of distinctly Bangladeshi masculinity. It is vibrant. It is complex. It is camp. It is me.
