The question is: Have you ever wrestled this hard on your own?

Dragging the wet dreams of European gays and the centre for Turkish homoeroticism: With an illusionist puppet and two lesbians — traditional Turkish oil wrestling reimagined with a queer femme twist.

Reimagining Merz following his take on the "Problem mit Stadtbild"
As usual I turned my body into an instrument which talks, literally, and says what needs to be said, literally. Because if anything, y'all should be saying mashallah stadtbild.

It was in the year 1975 that my mom migrated to Germany with her family — the same year the song "Ah Nerede" hit the charts in Turkey. The two events were unrelated, yet the song stitched itself to her migration story. As a 6-year-old placed in an integration class, she was asked to do a folklore performance for the year-end show. She refused. She didn't want to do a folk dance — she wanted to perform to a "more modern" song. So she choreographed her own thing to "Ah Nerede" and gathered some kids for an alternative performance.

Years later she returned to Turkey, had a child — me — who would also migrate to Germany and, in time, become a drag queen. Growing up, I would watch her do her makeup, mesmerized, not even blinking. Not only her preparation rituals but also her overtly social and performative character always captivated me. I wanted to be like that. She was my gateway to femininity.

Now the tables have turned. I turned my mom into my drag daughter: showing her how I prepare for a performance, figuring out her drag persona, teaching her improv, rehearsing and stretching together in my studio, explaining to each other our makeup routines, talking about our love lives, and putting a wig on. It's such a joy to teach her what drag, or performing in general, means — all the things I have been able to learn since those days of watching her put on makeup. I knew she was going to love being on stage, even though she kept telling me she could never go on stage. I knew it because she always wanted to touch and reach people, which is something I learned from her.

Exactly 50 years after her first arrival in Germany, we brought her rebellion back to life as a drag duet in one of Berlin's most historic centers. This was the second makeover challenge in what I like to call Kreuzberg's Drag Grace — not a race, but a grace offered to a cultural hub shaped by immigration. The more she understands what drag is and my perspectives as a drag artist, the more she falls in love with drag.

Our duo name is Zor Kadınlar, and you'll see more of us.
xxx

kekik x kimyon is a series of dj x drag collaborations — a spicy mix of contemporary dance, contortion with shisha, and Anatolian folk music mixed with sensual electronics and new media.

They often play with the limits of deepfake technologies, experimenting with their glitch potential under scenarios they were not trained for — such as targeting a mustached drag queen's visage. For their gender-glitched pop fantasies, they source materials from the music stars of the '80s and '90s in Türkiye.

When you see a body like this, there's only one thing to say…

I designed a garment that says maşallah for you — so you don't need to. Using electronic textiles, I created sensors for an interactive bra that reacts to the gesture of squeezing. You can now touch my body without worrying about your evil eye babes. The protection is automatized.

An homage to, and a reimagination of the femme fatales of 1970s Turkish cinema — women who were stars, until they weren't anymore.