- Two of Us
- National
- Good Weekend
This was published 7 months ago
‘We need to meet’: The kooky-dressing duo who kick-started a queer sports league
By Gary Nunn
American James E. Shields III, aka “Jes” (right), 34, and his countryman Jamarr Mills, 33, bonded over a shared love of queer, kooky outfits. When they imported kickball to Australia, they created a league with a difference.
Jes Shields: “I respect his boundary-setting; it’s now a guiding value in our friendship.”Credit: Edwina Pickles
Jes: I was initially pegged as an attention-seeker here, partly because of the way I dress. I just see it as being authentically myself: queer, kooky. When I clocked this American queen wearing an equally kooky outfit at a party in October 2018, I thought, “We need to meet.”
We call these outfits – which other people would reserve for fancy-dress parties – “lewks”. They often involve gender non-conforming garments, animal print, bold colours. When we started going to house parties and gay nightclubs together, I wanted us to “twin”, but Jamarr said, “We’re more cousins than sisters” – in other words, his outfit would complement mine, not match it. I thought, “This person follows the beat of his own drum.”
Jamarr is a very honest communicator. I remember the first time he said, “You didn’t meet my expectations today; I’m a little upset.” I thought, “Oh my god, that’s so forward.” I had this shame. He’d invited me to his house and I’d brought some mutual friends. He pulled me aside and said, “No. When I invite you, it’s to spend quality time – just the two of us.” We call it “QT” now: time for just us to chill, laugh, replenish. I do that with other friends now, too. It’s really improved my relationships.
If you hear what Jamarr’s saying, there’s never any offence. During lockdown, he’d encourage me to go for a walk. I’d try to sneak him up to watch a movie. He’d say, “We’re not allowed” and I’d say, “Come on, we can just nip upstairs!” He’d respond, “You’re not listening. Please don’t pressure me.” I respect his boundary-setting; it’s now a guiding value in our friendship. We use very specific language that doesn’t attack, blame or shame the other.
“I remember the first time he said, ‘You didn’t meet my expectations today; I’m a little upset.’ I thought, ‘Oh my god, that’s so forward.’ ”
Jes Shields
Last year, Jamarr threw himself a “half birthday” six months out from his actual birthday; he said just surviving half the year was worthy of celebration. I love birthdays, too.
During COVID, he arranged for five friends to come to my flat separately every hour, each dressed in a theme I had to match. It was him saying: “You like chaos? Here’s chaos!”
He was the perfect person to help set up the queer Emerald City Kickball League. I grew up playing kickball [baseball meets dodgeball] in New Orleans and we decided to start it here as a way for the LGBTQI community to reconnect after COVID. Jamarr’s passionate about creating a space for “outsiders”. Each game has an optional fancy-dress theme. We’ve got 360 players Australia-wide now.
We call our friendship group-chat “The House of Darling”; there are 10 of us. It mimics the “houses” of ostracised queer/trans people of colour during Harlem’s 1980s vogue ballroom era. I’m “Zaddy Darling”, the house father; “Jamarr Darling” is the house mother. My family in the US sent me to gay conversion therapy. I now have a chosen family who’ve never questioned my sexuality and have a deeper understanding of me than anyone ever will. They’re my family. Jamarr is my family.
Jamarr: My back was up when I met Jes: I didn’t want to be an American who comes here and just hangs with Americans. I’d heard his name many times: “Wait till you meet Jes!” Sure enough, about two months after I got to Sydney in 2018, into my flat walks this weird balance of preppy, proper and brash. All the energy in the room went to him. I thought, “Who is this dude?”
The next time I saw him was a few weeks later at a gay party. It was all muscle boys without tops and there’s Jes, on the dance floor, dressed as a disco ball. I wanted to attach to that energy.
Jamarr Mills: “He’s an extrovert: I have to ‘switch on’. We balance each other.” Credit: Edwina Pickles
Our first big bonding moment was a trip to the zoo. He called saying, “I have this spare ticket to Taronga, leaving in an hour. Wanna come?” I like spontaneity, so I agreed. One hour later, I open my door to find Jes in an animal-print kaftan and leopard-print heels. I was like, “Do I need to change?” He marvelled at everything at the zoo. I’m more, like, “Yeah, that’s good. Not great, but cute.” He’s an extrovert: I have to “switch on”. We balance each other.
I’m a big birthday person. In 2019, I’d organised my birthday with some new friends in Australia. Jes decides I should say something I love about everyone in the room. I was incredibly uncomfortable; it felt forced and inauthentic. He thought he was facilitating a great moment. I pulled him aside and said, “Hey, can you chill? I’m not having a good birthday. I love you, but I don’t like drunk you. And I think we’ve got a really good shot at friendship.”
“I open my door to find Jes in an animal-print kaftan and leopard-print heels. I was like, ‘Do I need to change?’ ”
Jamarr Mills
We’ve had a few upfront conversations. Jes processes and sometimes intellectualises, but he’s mostly grateful: “Thank you for stating your boundary; now I know what to do around that.” He’s a big kid, really; he works hard to get the love back. He’ll read my face if something’s off and back off a bit.
Then there are moments when he really gets it, like when he pulled me into the Emerald City Kickball committee. I’m black, sometimes “femme”-presenting, often told I’m intimidating. It showed me he’d shifted from caring about me to valuing me. There’s a difference. It’s wonderful when someone says, “Oh, I love you”, but to be respected by someone? That’s even more affirming.
Kickball takes up lots of our time, but Jes and I do it because it’s bigger than us now. I proudly wear a skirt to open day to show people immediately that this is something different: a safe space for self-expression. The sport is secondary to the community; for Jes and I, that’s our north star.
I guess I am mother of the House of Darling. Just like any good mother and father, Jes and I have our disagreements, but it all comes back to nurture, respect and growth. It’s rare in your adult life to find your person, the one who loves you when it’s inconvenient. I respect Jes’s intelligence, sense of wonder – and willingness to take on critical feedback.
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