For events like the Blue Ball in Philadelphia or Fireball in Chicago, there’s a steering committee whose job it is to book DJs and performers, design and distribute promotional materials, and arrange sponsorships and hosting agreements with airlines, local hotels, and media outlets. In the case of the White Party in Palm Springs, mega-promoter Jeffrey Sanker is the mastermind of the whole blessed event, while the Black Party in New York is orchestrated by an enigmatic foursome known as the Saint-at-Large. It depends on the scale and intent of the event; most parties – particularly the ones thrown for charity – rely on help from a small army of volunteers to keep things running smoothly.
Okay, fine: but what happens at these parties?
All charitable underpinnings aside, a circuit party is basically an excuse for throngs of gay men to converge on an unsuspecting city, turn everyday venues – like convention centers, steel foundries, or old naval bases – into one-night megaclubs. Of course, this partying involves a great deal of sex – not all of it protected – and the ingestion of large quantities of alcohol and other toxins – not all of it responsible. It’s not all drugs and sex; ask anybody who “does the circuit”, and they’ll tell you about all the fun, interesting friends they’ve made at various parties, and how cool it is to jet to a distant city, enter a monumental party, and run into a dozen people they know from all over the country. There’s also the fashion/art/performance element; dancing with four thousand sweaty bodies writhing around you while sequined, glowing acrobats descend from the ceiling above and twirl over the crowd as the DJ hits his or her peak isn’t something you see often.
