Shadi Jurdi

Last Friday afternoon, I hopped on a bus packed with strangers who all had one thing in common: A deep love for John Waters. We made the two hour journey to our destination, the first-ever Camp John Waters at Club Getaway in Kent, Connecticut. Fans from as far as Australia had packed their best polyester to spend an immersive weekend with the cult filmmaker in the woods. On the bus, we threw back a few cocktails prepared by a Club Getaway staff member while Desperate Living played on the tiny TVs mounted above us. Jitters of excitement and anticipation built up what was sure to be a weekend to remember. While Camp John Waters had all the fixings of the increasingly popular adult summer camp trend (think s’mores and an open bar), this camp experience was designed exclusively with his faithful fans in mind. All the camp activities you remember as a kid were there, like zip lining, mountain biking and canoeing. But if you grew up as a queer outsider like me and many other campers here, the burlesque classes, drag lunch and outdoor screenings of Pink Flamingos and Female Trouble are what made this camp experience the one you wish you had in your younger years. I made this pilgrimage alone, and quickly learned that many others did as well. We all made quick friends and there were no cliques; just one big fluid tribe. During dinner Saturday night, a sea of Divine look-alikes—paying homage to the late drag performer and Waters' muse—filled the tent with her signature sky-high eyebr