Honfest Report

June 18, 2008 by Abby  Send to a Friend

all photos: Robert A. Macy

Honfest was in Baltimore this weekend and John Waters was being a little bitch about it . The festival was started by a local business owner to pay homage to the “Hon,” the blue-collar matron of 50’s Balmer. With her high hair – the closer to god – and leopard print leggings, the Hon has become somewhat of an icon – not in small part due to Mr. Waters’ characterizations. But apparently the image and the festival are “played out” now, as if making fun of yokels ever gets old. And ok, so Hampden is yuppifying like everywhere else, and there were more tourists there this weekend than natives, and it was more county fair than block party.

Still, Honfest is for the Hons, and don’t let that pencil-lipped frog tell you diffrnt.

I have a Hon in my family actually. My mom is from Baltimore and she totally had this Aunt, Fran, who was mad old and had a white-yellow beehive and wore cats-eye glasses and smelled like Almond Smash and cigarettes. This one time when I was 5 she came to visit and she was like – Come to Baltimore, little girl, and I will show you a boundless land of treasures. She told me if I came to Baltimore she would take me to this magical place where they serve ice cream in cones made out of waffles (WAFFLES!) and they actually let you assemble your own sundae (SELF-SUNDAE!). I dreamt of the day I’d bask in the sweet paradise called bal-tee-moah. Then she died of lung cancer and I developed an intolerance to the lactose, and the rest is straight breaks.

Fast-forward to now – I find myself working in Baltimore. It’s the weekend of Honfest. I have an excuse to dress like a tranny. Done.

The festival ran all day Saturday and Sunday, ending with the crowning of Miss Hon 2008. 36th St in Hampden was packed with people selling crap, grilling meat, and frying dough. There was a “glamour lounge” where you could get yourself did while everyone pointed and stared. There were babies and pink flamingoes, fanny packs and rockabilly types, real Hons and faux Hons all co-mingling.

It was also hot as balls and there were people everywhere and I was hungry and then it rained.
Every couple of feet, I’d run smack into something mannish in a pink updo and feather boa (you know, like Pride). Somewhere in there, they had a pageant for young Hons, and a then band called the “Hormone Replacements” played Klezmer music or something. My friend thought they were making a progressive statement about transsexual identity politics, but I’m pretty sure it was a whimsical nod to menopause (you know, like the Sex and the City movie).

Honfest was kitschy and fun, a light-hearted celebration of a city tradition – and of female business owners, with every store on 36th St (except 7/11) proudly, locally-owned. And this year, some of the profits from the festival go toward a establishing new non-profit called “Project Twelve,” started by the owner of Café Hon to help Baltimore youth graduate from high school.

So HONestly, sour grapes Waters, let ‘em be. Hon.

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