Connexion
These trans collectives are fighting hate with a lot of laughter & a little lube wrestling
In a backyard in central Florida, there’s a rowdy wrestling match going on.
But there are no alligators here (as far as anyone can tell) — just dozens of trans people ready to watch their friends wrestle each other in an inflatable pool full of lube. Some wear neon fringe or gold lamé bodysuits, an homage to the high camp pro wrestlers of old. People embrace and kiss and cheer on their friends. Some even brought signs. There’s cotton candy and drag performances and sunshine, and so much laughter.
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The hosts of this party of the summer, known as Lubor Day, are the Swamp Bois, a transmasc collective in the Tampa Bay area who, alongside transfem sister collective Doll Dynasty, are building transformative spaces for trans Floridians in a time and place that has been legislatively hostile to trans people.
Swamp Bois and Doll Dynasty are both rooted in a belief that joy, play, and social connection are essential to mutual aid and caring for a community.
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“Let the haters hate,” J, an organizer with Swamp Bois who requested a pseudonym for privacy reasons, tells LGBTQ Nation. “We wrestle alligators and survive.”
In a number of studies and polls over the past decade, Florida has ranked in the top five of states with the highest trans population, highlighting a need for connection and collaboration among communities, especially amidst political attacks on trans existence both locally and nationally. J says Swamp Bois formed out of the success stories of other community-building and mutual aid initiatives in Florida and across the country, including Transmasc Seattle, Transmasc Orlando, and Brooklyn’s Tboy Picnic.
A group began envisioning Swamp Bois in late 2024, and by January 2025, they hosted the first event, a meetup complete with a sheet cake featuring the image of an alligator in front of a frosted trans flag. From the jump, Swamp Bois built a community and administrative manual to intentionally define the group, its focus, and some safety protocols. Leaders also hosted a town hall to ensure everyone who wanted to participate could be heard.
Swamp Bois and Doll Dynasty frequently collaborate. One of Swamp Bois’ initial pillars, J says, was around healthcare access. Swamp Bois initially planned to award two scholarships this month to help cover the costs of gender-affirming surgery, one to a transmasc person and one to a transfem person. Doll Dynasty has raised about as much as Swamp Bois has towards these scholarships. “It’s become a beautiful joint process, and one that’s going to expand a lot in the coming years,” J says.
Space for joy
When Doll Dynasty founder Unity Jalal first came out, she found that at most events, she would be one of the only trans women there, even amongst the Tampa Bay area’s thriving queer community.
She tells LGBTQ Nation the experience made it easier for her to internalize the media’s negative messaging about trans women and the talking points often repeated, even on the left, about the life expectancy for trans women of color.
“I’m like, ‘Geez, I’m just gonna f**kin’ die,’” she says. “It was only once I started finding people and finding community that I realized that’s not an accurate narrative.”
She eventually found a group of close transfem friends. Then, in 2023, the Florida legislature passed Senate Bill 254, which outright banned gender-affirming care for minors and placed heavy restrictions on adults seeking gender-affirming care, as nurse practitioners were now banned from prescribing hormone replacement therapy (HRT).
Most of the trans people Jalal knew who were financially able left the state. Her entire friend group left for the relative safety of Maryland and asked her to go with them. Jalal said no.
“We’re here, and we have the ability to build something together to support this community and fight for us,” she says. “I’m not leaving.”
As she began to explore the queer scene, she found thriving events in the lesbian community, as well as a wellspring of new organizations for transmasc Floridians. But no one was creating similar spaces exclusively for trans women.
There were plenty of support groups, Jalal says, and while these gatherings are important, she wanted to build something other than a space to vent. She wanted to create something fun, where transfeminine people could be centered and unapologetically feminine. She began talking with a few friends about her vision, which led to a steering committee, which in turn led her to call J to learn more about how she could replicate Swamp Bois’s work for transfems.
In May, Doll Dynasty hosted its first event, a gathering exclusively for trans women and transfeminine people where guests were encouraged to dress up and connect over food. More than 40 people showed up.
“We were the standard, the center,” Jalal says. “For all the talk I hear about centering trans women of color, and how we’re the front of the movement, I rarely see us. And when I walked into that room and everyone there was like me, I was like, ‘Wow, this is different.’ This is special.”
It’s not charity, it’s family
By combining mutual aid with joy and play, J hopes the trans people who attend events with Doll Dynasty and Swamp Bois not only experience affirmation and community but also empowerment and tools to take into their everyday lives.
“Play means a lot of people get to engage with their inner child and inner child healing,” they say. “With events like Lubor Day or a beach day, or going to a park and doing crafts together, we’re finding different ways to hit all those intersections in a way that feels supportive and accessible.”
Building relationships through play and social events is essential, Jalal says, not just for combating the isolation many trans people experience, but for exploring and building a relationship with their own identities.
“How do you deal with a part of yourself that is inherently social and inherently about how you exist in the social context of the world when you have no social connections?” she says. “Existing with any social constructs — race, socioeconomic identity, sexual identity — none of that happens alone.”
“The people we want to take care of and live our lives with, the people we want to go to the doctor’s office with — that’s not charity, that’s family,” Jalal says. “You don’t have that without Lubor Day, without the picnics and days like that. Without those social connections, there is no mutual aid.”
Centering play and joy as a core component of mutual aid makes it easier to prioritize sustainability and safety, J says. Everyone at a gathering has different needs and comes to the space with different experiences, but by keeping joy top of mind, it becomes natural to consider things like health and safety, especially accessibility and sustainability (to stave off leadership burnout). One of the core safety tools Swamp Bois uses is the “Swamplight,” a system developed from Transmasc Seattle’s stoplight code that marks which events and spaces are transmasc-only and which are open to partners, loved ones, and allies.
Some Swamp Bois and Doll Dynasty events are purely mutual aid-focused, like Swamp Bois’ binder recycling program or Doll Dynasty’s participation in a gender-affirming resource fair. Many are purely about connecting and having fun, like an ice skating outing or a nature walk to explore Florida wildlife (including gators).
But many combine the two threads seamlessly, like an affirming clothing swap in the park on a sunny day, complete with ice cream, dogs, and a partnership with an outside organization to ensure any additional clothes find good homes. There’s also Swamp Bois’ 2026 calendar, where members put on their most elegant fits and elaborate makeup, giving their best poses for a photoshoot to support the surgery fund.
The one that stands out, naturally, is Lubor Day, which raised more than $1,400 for the gender-affirming surgery fund, and where J says the full spectrum of human emotion was on display.
“So often, we have trauma and experience and many other things that force us to put our walls up and shut down,” they say. “When I looked around that day, I saw people laughing their asses off. I saw people screaming and roaring and lifting their friends up in the air and throwing them down.”
People cried, too, during the drag performances, in particular during a 10-minute Ethel Cain number. The shared vulnerability, he says, will stay with him.
“It’s so rare we feel the safety and connection to show up in spaces where we are allowing our bodies vulnerability, skin to skin contact with one another, even to have fewer pieces of clothing, to embrace our sexuality, to embrace feeling ourselves in those moments,” J says. “Those are things that are often taken from us, especially as trans people. Our own autonomy, our ability to decide what we want to wear, our ability to show up, those are often taken from us. It was the gift of reclamation and joy.”
Go outside
Following the massive success of Lubor Day, Doll Dynasty and Swamp Bois collaborated on a Halloween party, complete with a Gomez and Morticia Addams-themed invitation. In addition to the two organizations, a host of other orgs and creatives supported the event, including drag performers, DJs and the Tampa Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, who helped hand out raffle tickets in their full nun regalia. Dozens of trans Floridians showed up in elaborate costumes to dance, mingle, make friendship bracelets, laugh, and be together.
“Everyone felt so safe to get freaky with it and dress up,” Jalal says. “I got so many messages from people who were like, ‘I don’t really go outside or go to these types of things. I never feel safe. Can I come to this?’ And I’m able to say, ‘This is for us. You’re safe here.’”
With the help of ticket sales and raffles, the party raised $1,000 for the gender-affirming care fund.
As J works alongside other Swamp Bois leaders to strengthen the community, they draw inspiration from queer and trans ancestors like bell hooks and Miss Major Griffin-Gracy. They also connect with other leaders from across the state and country. He says other trans people across the country looking to replicate the work of Swamp Bois and Doll Dynasty should use the tools that exist for them and seek out those who have come before.
“We’re not just going to magically adapt and get all these tools at once, especially as young trans people,” they say. “What you can do is be an open vessel to learning and making mistakes as you go, and what comes out of that will be beautiful.”
Jalal’s advice to her fellow trans people seeking community, especially in politically hostile areas, can be summarized in two words: Go outside.
“It’s hard, it’s risky, it feels dangerous, but go to that meetup you wouldn’t normally go to,” she says. “Go to all the little Pride events and queer things. It’s critical that we connect with each other.”
In 2026 and beyond, Swamp Bois and Doll Dynasty are looking forward to “a lot more lovin’ and a lot more fightin’,” as J puts it, focusing on goals both short-term (exciting programming for Trans Day of Visibility in March, twice as many grant funds for gender affirming care by early 2027) and long-term (connection and liberation). Swamp Bois is also working to deepen relationships and collaborations with trans organizations across Florida and the broader South. Their online server currently welcomes about 200 members from across the state.
“That collaboration across miles, across our state and across the South is a very vital building block, not just of our survival but our ability to thrive,” J says. “We have to look out for one another.”
The national narrative around the experiences of queer and trans people in the South, especially in Florida, remains a dismal one. Jalal says it still hurts her to see advisories urging trans people to avoid the South, and to avoid Florida altogether.
“We’re out here, we’re thriving,” she says. “There’s a lot of stuff that sucks, but there wouldn’t be so much effort to take us down a peg if we weren’t doing so well. And we are. We’re finding love. We’re always winning.”
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