The Gospel According to Silky

For Silky Nutmeg Ganache, Pride looks different this year. Not because the stakes are any lower. Not because the political climate has suddenly become less hostile for LGBTQ people, drag artists, or trans communities. And certainly not because the need for advocacy has disappeared.

In fact, it’s quite the opposite. After years of showing up, speaking out, fundraising, entertaining, and carrying the emotional weight that often comes with being a visible queer Black public figure, Silky is choosing something else this season: joy.

“As a queer Black person, this year Pride is gonna look different for me,” she bluntly states. “I am tired of being the advocate. I’m tired of being the activist. I need a break.”

That declaration may surprise some fans who have long seen Silky as an outspoken entertainer who is unafraid to take up space. But her reframing of Pride does not come from feelings of apathy. It comes from self-awareness and a deeply considered understanding of what survival sometimes requires. “Do I want to be a person that is seen as hope? Yes,” she says. “But this Pride season, I also want to be the person that reminds people what self-care looks like.”

That perspective will undoubtedly shape her appearance as host of the Montrose Center’s 2026 Pride Brunch on June 7, which is one of Houston’s signature annual Pride celebrations. “It’s less partnering and more of the honor of being invited,” she says of hosting the event. “I’ve lived in Houston going on three years now, and it’s sad to say, but this is just my third time being invited to perform in Houston.”

The invitation carries extra meaning because Houston has become more than just a city on a map for Silky. “When I bought my house, I wanted to be close enough to my Mississippi home but far enough away where people would let me know they were coming before they came,” she says with a laugh, referencing her Mississippi roots. But proximity to family was only part of the equation.

On the day her RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars 11 bracket premiered, while other contestants hosted splashy viewing parties, Silky’s Houston community came to her. “My community and my friends said, ‘You know what? We’re gonna come over to your house and have a pool party. We’re gonna barbecue, and we’re gonna watch the episode together. And we’re going to give you love.’”

“That has been my experience with Houston since I’ve lived here,” she reveals. And it’s that sense of chosen family that has made the city feel like home to her. “It makes me feel a part of the community. It makes me feel seen in this community.”

Silky may be living in Kingwood these days, but she is quick to defend her Houston credentials. “People be like, ‘You not even in Houston,’” she says with a laugh. “I’m like, ‘Baby, it’s Harris County, honey.’”

Though she admits she still needs to explore more of the city’s restaurant scene, one nightlife institution already has her heart. “One of my favorite places to go out is JR’s because I love karaoke,” she says. “I’ve tried to become the host of that. I would love to host the karaoke because I love to sing and I want to be on Broadway one day. So it’ll be great practice, and I can collect a little check from it at the same time.” Houston venues, consider this to be your sign. Silky is ready to be booked!

She also speaks enthusiastically about the local drag ecosystem, naming legends and contemporary stars alike: Kofi, Roxanne Collins, Eternity Collins, Porsche Paris, Christina Ross, Mistress Isabelle Brooks, Teanna Nicole McIntosh, Tamika X, Blackberri, and the iconic Dina Jacobs among them. “There are some true legends here,” she emphasizes. “I’ve worked with so many queens, and I feel like there’s a million more that I should work with.”

She also hopes to bring one of her own concepts to town: Silky Smackdown, a March Madness-style drag competition designed to showcase every kind of drag performer while also ensuring all 16 performers get paid for their time in the competition. “It had male leads, drag kings, AFAB queens. I had a variety of queens—older queens, younger queens—because I want people to feel like drag is more than a split and a death drop.”

That philosophy comes from experience. “I come from the days where you had to pay your dues within the community to get a booking,” she recalls about her early drag years in Indianapolis. Those benefit performances, open stages, and HIV/AIDS fundraisers shaped both her artistry and her worldview. “I’ve raised thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars in my early drag days. In reality, it shaped who Silky really was.”

That same investment mindset continues today. “We have to find a way to pour into the girls financially as well as uplift their spirits,” she points out. This is something she did in Indianapolis that she wants to bring to Houston’s drag scene.

If Silky sounds especially reflective these days, that may also be because audiences are seeing a different version of her on All Stars 11. “When I went on to my original Season 11, I was a baby drag queen,” she remembers. “I was a little girl just fighting to be seen and heard.” This time around is different, though. “I’m just happy that now you can see the fully realized Silky.”

That evolution extends beyond reality television. Her viral appearance at Kamala Harris’ Houston rally remains one of her most memorable public moments. “I just wanted them to see representation, and what that meant,” she says. “And I’m glad that it happened here in Houston.”

Still, when asked where activism fits into Pride this year, Silky does not mince words. “My question is to white cisgender men: ‘When are y’all going to start actually speaking up and using your privilege to benefit this community?’”

The statement lands with force because it comes not from cynicism, but lived reality. “Every year, I have been doing it,” she explains. “I have been fighting. I’m tired.”

Her focus this year is all about creating spaces where joy itself becomes resistance. “I’m going to make sure that we have joy,” she declares. “And if people ain’t bringing joy, I’m going to invite them out of a space of joy.”

That approach also informs how she thinks about drag’s broader cultural role. “Old-school drag shows were a time where you just came in and you forgot about all your problems you had in the world,” she points out. “I just want everybody to feel good, to feel loved, and feel like they’re in a safe space.”

In an era when drag performances remain political flashpoints, that mission feels especially urgent. “I feel like drag is the glue to peace in families,” she says. “We are beyond just entertainers. We are your nurses, we are your doctors, we are your scientists, we are your everyday teachers, and we are your parents.”

And since Silky’s career hasn’t peaked and is still on an uphill climb, she’s already thinking about what she wants to be remembered for. “I hope the legacy that I leave is my spirit of hard work—that spirit of fighting for yourself.”

“Nobody in this world owes you a damn thing,” she advises younger artists. And she hopes that they will carry that message with them. It is classic Silky. Funny, blunt, deeply human, and rooted in hard-earned truth.

Still, perhaps her most lasting legacy will be simpler than all of that. Asked what she hopes audiences take away after seeing her perform, her answer is immediate. “I just hope they walk away with joy.” For Pride 2026, that may be exactly the gospel Houston needs to hear.

Keep up with Silky Nutmeg Ganache on Instagram @silkyganache.