There's something about the way Essence Thomas enters the room. Like a gravitational force, suddenly, everything in the room arcs toward her. A cascade of face-framed layers that wouldn't quit, a beaming smile, and somewhere between her smirk and my somewhat aching feet in stilettos, I realized the crowd at T-Lounge had given up pretending they weren't rubber-necking.Essence didn't walk in; she arrived.But to understand why New York clubs can't stop inviting the 25-year-old nightlife siren, you have to start with an elderly woman. "my great-grandmother is my best friend she's been my biggest supporter," Essence told me, voice softening as she described the woman who once smuggled her into ballet class and mapped bus routes to community theater. That clandestine bus fare became jet fuel, and by the time Essence graduated from high school, the Windy City felt all too small for her ambitions.From Windy City to Brooklyn's Back-BeatEssence landed in New York with little more than a dream. What she found was a scene humming from the continued vibrations of Amanda Lepore and the aftershocks of Club Kids past, except now the dolls were at the door, on the decks, and behind the bar. Essence navigates the scene with GPS-level precision. She knows which after-hours actually end (none), which door girl to slip a cigarette, and when to trade out heels for sneakers (something I, sadly, am still learning after a night out with her.)The result is a schedule that begins on Thursday and sometimes extends into Monday morning class. Fortunately, she no longer has to worry about 9 am courses, as Essence recently graduated from Columbia University this May. She still has some online who are convinced she's in the research lab. Let the rumors swirl. "The girls think I'm STEM. I'm keeping it that way," she teased.A Classroom Called NightlifeEssence's real education, though, happened under strobe lights. In Chicago, she'd been "one of the first dolls to infiltrate" a scene dominated by cis gay men; in New York, she discovered an ecosystem where trans women didn't just headline but head-counted, curated, and cashed the checks. "It's quite beautiful," she said. "Now I'm affirmed in these spaces. I bring my girlsand we take up more [space]."That taking-up-space ethos is literal. Essence's list of must-hit parties could double as a nighttime tour guide: Basement ("Berlin-esque you'll never leave"), The Box, Outer Heaven, Signal, Good Roomand then there's the underground raves she only identifies with a wink because NDAs, she says jokingly, are the new VIP ropes. If you can't find her there, check several other venues in Brooklyn. If you still can't find her, well, she's probably producing her own party back in Chicago or on the road somewhere outside the Tri-State area, one party at a time.Joy in a Time of GentrificationHistorically, queer New York nightlife has forever dodged existential threats: police raids, Giuliani, and post-COVID nightlife. The latest menace wears Patagonia and enjoys an Aperol spritz in the afternoon. Essence is blunt: "There's an article about those white women in the West Villageit's happening in Brooklyn, too," she says with an eye roll.Her solution? Selective gate-keeping. "Bring back bullying" at the front door, she deadpans, half-joking, wholly serious about protecting Black and trans-cultural zones from vapid voyeurism. If a baby banker wanders into Basement raving about Frankie Knuckles without knowing Frankiea Black queer manwas instrumental in house music, Essence and others reserve the right to escort him to the nearest L-train.Not all heroes wear capes.Gentrification aside, what keeps Essence lacing up her boots is community. "Your chosen family in nightlife they're going to protect you." And while visibility can be exhilarating, it also has perilous moments. Essence has weathered harassment, stalking, and even the threat of academic expulsion simply for existing at the intersection of Blackness and transness. Yet she refuses to shrink. "I was meant to have a voice right now, she says.The Legacy She's Writing Under Dark-Room LightsThe morning after our interview, Essence strode across Columbia's commencement stage. She would celebrate a day later at one of Susanna Bartsch's opening night of "On Top" weekly soirees at Le Bain. (Sadly, I did not take her advice and rolled up with a pair of high heels.) If queer nightlife is New York's last great frontier, Essence Thomas is its newest, fiercest homesteader. She defends the culture with the zeal of a bouncer and the tenderness of a girl who still calls her great-grandmother several times a day. She's proof you can smile in the face of adversity, still be outspoken, yet also disappear for a three-day techno pilgrimageno toothbrush, no regrets.Asked what she'd tell her younger self, she barely pauses: "Everything is coming up roses," evoking the famous line from her favorite musical, Gypsy. In 2025, that might sound nave, particularly for a Black trans woman navigating legislated hate and weaponized indifference. But Essence insists rose-colored glasses are sometimes safety goggles; they let you stare down a world that keeps trying to dim the lights.Besides, optimism pairs beautifully with a body-con dress.Earlier this summer, she decided on a whim to leave the city that had helped shape her. Still, she shows up. Whenever a queer kid needs to see a Black trans woman claim space not granted. She's shown up for Chicago, for Brooklyn, and anywhere else a party is to be had. And on any given night, somewhere between the first beat and the last whispered "after?" she'll show up for you, too.Just follow the rhythm, the laughter that refuses to end, and the faint scent of a rosy future blossoming under neon. You'll know you're close when gravity tilts and every head turns at once. And Essence's figuremid-twirl, mid-movementpulling the night a little wider so we can all fit inside.