The profile of a person. with cornrowed hair at VERSION. The lights around them are yellow and blue
VERSION at the Crown New Years Eve 2022 going into 2023. Credit: Sydney Allen

When reminiscing on positive moments in life that made an impact, we often hear someone describe a monumental experience and end it with the phrase, “You just had to be there.” That is the feeling I hope that VERSION has had on queer partygoers in Baltimore City over the years. 

The brainchild of Jessica Hyman, VERSION was a dance party for queer and trans people created in 2017. Hyman had ended a prior DJ residency and decided to rebrand her event as VERSION 1.5 at The Crown in Station North. As many creatives love to proclaim, that one February night, “the magic” was in the room, and the energy was infectious. Hyman invited me to hop on the microphone as the emcee, and it was quickly apparent that as a duo, we had something special.  

Hyman asked me to join her as the official emcee, and we both worked hard to build our names in Baltimore’s arts scene — her as Trillnatured, myself as Kotic Couture. In 2018, VERSION 1.5 went through a few more rebrands before taking a chance and making the brave declaration of dropping the 1.5 and loudly being identified as a Black queer dance party.

Two people embrace on the dance floor. They both wear black tank tops. One top is mesh. Others can be seen in the background.
A couple dances at VERSION inside “The Red Room” at The Crown, during PRIDE June 2018. Credit: Sydney Allen.

It was never Hyman’s intention to set out and be such a notable force in the city, but after witnessing what was on their hands, and adding Sydney Allen and her unique approach to photojournalism, VERSION began to make its imprint and grow exponentially. 

But everything came to a halt in 2020 when the COVID-19 pandemic hit, pausing all in-person events. With this change, VERSION took on a new life as the landscape shifted, with special events being presented by different artistic entities. Hoping to lift spirits and keep the music going, notable collectives like Mobtown Ballroom offered us their spaces and resources for our vision to continue. We used different mediums like Instagram Live to directly interact with our audience, to have more transparent dialogue, to let our supporters know we’re still here, but that mostly, we missed connecting with the community. 

When venues started reopening, we returned to The Crown. The owners of the venue had remodeled and made the unique decision to take the two-room venue and combine it into one big room with two stages, equipped with a brand-new sound system and lighting rig. The new space also raised the capacity to 500 people, a brand-new opportunity for even bigger gatherings every month.

A person wearing a black and leopard print leotard, jeans, and red patent leather boots dances at VERSION. They have shoulder-length locs and brown skin.
A dancer on the stage in the red room at Crown, August 2019. Credit: Sydney Allen

It’s not lost on any of us that often, nightlife spaces are curated and co-opted by cis heterosexual men. Historically, this has crafted a place for heteronormativity. It was clear to see from the beginning that our audience was made up of people who not only looked like us, but shared the same values for community, protection, self-expression, and the desire for a safe space. 

Anyone who has a true connection to nightlife, specifically underground queer nightlife, knows it has always been a place to exist fully and unapologetically. Oftentimes, dance floors become sanctuaries and nurture a feeling that has been described by our partygoers over the years as a spiritual experience. 

As people grow and the world changes, naturally interests shift. Earlier this year, I decided to approach the team with the question, “How do you feel about going on with VERSION without me?” From there, the team expanded on a vulnerable and open discussion about where they see the party going and what we see happening along with all that we have accomplished.

Doing this event throughout the years, it’s easy to recognize the power and freedom that it gives to a lot of people. In that realization, I always feel like it’s best to walk away and leave people wanting more, rather than to overstay a welcome and become “the party that was.”

Naturally in Baltimore, as in any other creative scene, sounds, people, and functions ebb and flow. You come to the realization as an artist that you can’t wrap yourself up completely in your work and let it be the sole definition of who you are. Although we are thankful for the many partygoers and years of memories, it was time for me personally to take a step away from all music and entertainment-related connections on the forefront and get back to self, a sentiment that the entire team shares. 

Two people embrace at VERSION. One person wears a University of Maryland basketball jersey and the other wears a black hoodie. Both have short, natural hair.
VERSION at the Crown September 2019. Credit: Sydney Allen

In this extended hiatus we are leaving the opportunity open for VERSION to return, maybe not in a monthly setting, but popping up for special occasions. As far as returning monthly, I personally believe that my time as an artist is shifting away from the parties and in a different direction. I’ll always hold a special place in my heart for VERSION and the people who have attended, supported us, and, frankly, kept the party and our creative names afloat for so many years. But sometimes even amazing things that are meaningful to us and other people have to come to an end.

At this time, we have other ideas and interest in how we can solidify VERSION in Baltimore queer history and how to present that history to folks for them to experience the magic of VERSION and see the light that Black queer folks, specifically in Baltimore City, hold and exude.

The team deeply thanks everyone who has attended, talked about, recommended, spoken highly of, and kept VERSION alive for these past eight years (including during the pandemic). That is not an easy feat for any curator, especially three Black women operating in a space that is predominantly male.

A person wearing a dark lace bra top, velour pants, and sneakers dances at VERSION. Other people can be seen dancing in the background.
VERSION at the Crown September 2019. Credit: Sydney Allen

VERSION has been the epicenter of Black queer Baltimoreans in Station North for quite some time. While this was never the intention, it’s with deep gratitude that we hold the title and memories of VERSION as a sacred space. 

Like so many parties and clubs in Baltimore’s rich past, I hope VERSION is remembered fondly for years to come. To our supporters who show up every month, and to some of our guest DJs — S.DOT, BoredLord, Amorphous, CASH.LISS, Tromac, and Kade Young — it’s with full sincerity we extend our deepest gratitude for your support. VERSION is a reflection of a space that we didn’t have, saw the opportunity for, and created. It’s with all humility that I say I hope someone is inspired by what we have built here in Baltimore and takes the opportunity to push and expand the city and culture even further. 

You can follow our Instagram at @VERSIONBaltimore to stay in the loop with any news and happenings as we continue to grow and move forward. Our last experience together will be held at The Compound, at 2239 Kirk Ave, on November 22, just two months short of our nine-year anniversary.

A dancer's back can be seen as they duckwalk at VERSION. They have short natural hair with a pick in it, a black lace shirt, and plaid overall shorts
VERSION at the Crown September 2019. Credit: Sydney Allen
A dancer on the floor at VERSION. They wear a bright blue mesh tank top, sparkly black pants, and pearls around their waist.
VERSION at the Crown March 2024. Credit: Sydney Allen
Two people embrace at VERSION.
VERSION at the Compound September 2025. Credit: Sydney Allen