The REsaca Report: Queer Party 'Papi Juice' Has Us Drinking the Kool Aid

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Photo Credits: Stefa Alarcon and Cristobal Guerra Naranjo

Welcome to our new series “The REsaca Report”. Recapping parties one hangover at a time.

“Are you going to Papi Juice at One Last Shag?” You don’t hear a question like this every Saturday night and yet my answer from here on out is a wholehearted YES. Papi Juice, a dance party celebrating male-identified queer people of color, is a night where inhibitions and attitudes are left at the door and expression is encouraged. “Papi Juice is my baby”, says founder Oscar Nuñez. Rocking a wide smile and a white T-shirt with Selena’s face and the word ‘Legendary’ freshly screen-printed across the chest, Oscar is bringing queer and colored bodies together to sweat fiercely and live in the moment on an otherwise tame block in Bed-Stuy.

It’s just not that everyone who was at Papi Juice was drop-dead-gorgeous– we all know you can encounter beauty in every hidden corner of NYC — but they were sweet as pie. Being a native New Yorker, I’ve seen NYC on it’s period and on payday, yet at Papi Juice no one seemed bothered when I had to squeeze by, pressing up against cliques and crowds to get myself another drink. Phrases like ‘You’re good baby girl,” and doors being held for me took me by surprise and made me feel like I was at a family BBQ where my brothers and sisters were hotter than summer in a Spike Lee movie.

Bed Stuy bar One Last Shag is the perfect home for Papi Juice. A narrow and packed dance floor led me through the fogged glass door to the patio where long wooden tables, trees decorated with white lights and an old, used-up 7-UP vending machine served as the center piece.

Anywhere I laid my eyes to rest, I encountered androgynous faces and deep voices, boys wearing pearls feeling up boys in knee-high socks, stories of sexual conquests, art projects and the human condition filling the already smokey air.

Once 1:30AM rolled by, tops came off and amidst all the grinding bodies there was hardly any room left to wack, vouge or twirl. With Adam Rhodes on his Mac, spinning tunes I hadn’t heard since the time of tape decks, our 4AM curfew seemed to come too soon.

I brought my coworker to party and quickly lost him, only to find him getting it at the bar from a very willing gentleman. Willing to buy us shots, and willing to take him home and tuck him in.

The 5th edition of Papi Juice was extra special with Oscar celebrating his birthday. As he blew out the candles on his ‘Puta’ cake, I looked around at the cheering faces and knew I was a part of something entirely unique and bona-fide dope.


Resaca Rating: 4 out 5. By 4.30AM I was feeling some type of way, hailing a cab to take me even deeper into Brooklyn for one last shag of my own. Waking up next to a booty call – or as we call it here at Remezcla,  a “puticol” – with a lead-heavy head = a time well spent. I’ll be back to party again with these papis and mamis very soon.