Why Do Gays Love Virgin Voyages?

When Virgin Voyages began operations, it sought to shake up the industry with a bold vision: attract a clientele below retirement age. Its vessels would be sexy and sleek, cabins outfitted with red hammocks and decks child-free. The first ship, Scarlet Lady, was scheduled to have its maiden voyage on April 1, 2020. However, the COVID-19 pandemic delayed its launch, leaving the ship people-free for a time. But the cruise industry rebounded, and the Virgin fleet hit the seas in 2021 with an ebullient ‘This Ain’t the Queen Mary 2, Bitch!’ ethos.

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For this piece, I was assigned to board a Virgin vessel, talk to passengers, and determine whether there was truth to the anecdotal observation that gay people in particular love cruising with Virgin because of its adults-only, fun-loving, drag queen-laden ethos. After all, nautical exploits on more dedicated vessels are the stuff of legend. Consider: The Atlantis Cruise; a semi-mythic floating orgy. The cruise ship that capsized in Puerto Vallarta in 2021 and launched several gay notables into the sea.

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I set out unsure what this sailing would bring me, and mostly found myself facing up to the passage of time in an unfamiliar environment. The Virgin formula is this: Disrupt an industry by making it, it seems to me, 10% less formal. This 10% is not insignificant. Remember it was Virgin Atlantic that pioneered the playful airline safety video now considered industry standard; its marketing campaigns these days make a point to emphasize their inclusive nature (see the ads featuring LGBTQIA+ Virgin crew members and RuPaul’s Drag Race’s Michelle Visage).

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Like Sir Richard Branson himself, Virgin lets the hair grow long and undoes a few buttons while still making savvy business decisions, like a boss. The enterprise is predicated on youthful mischief. On being a rockstar. I, an Okie, was unfamiliar with the Virgin brand until this past April, when I arrived at Long Beach, California, to embark on a five-day cruise aboard the Brilliant Lady. While boarding, a woman working security asked if I was a rockstar. ‘Yes?’ I said. ‘Are you a Rockstar?’ she asked again. ‘YES!’ I said, hyping myself up.

She shook her head and parlayed with our guide, who established that I was, by rights, a Rockstar—an exclusive category on the ship, denoted by a special black wristband and conferring certain perks. ‘Thank you,’ the woman said, waving me forward. ‘You can go on ahead.’ There’s symmetry between Virgin’s forever-young ethos and the famous gay male Peter Pan Syndrome. Both deny the unpleasant reality of decay.

I myself, however, have always felt some obligation to submit to aging. I don’t dye my hair, don’t use any fancy serums, and have never entertained the idea of botox. This isn’t to say I don’t have anxiety over getting older. I have plenty of that. It speaks more to a certain lack of a rebelliousness in me. Things happen as they must, and who am I to disagree?

Given the nature of my assignment, though, I thought this was the perfect opportunity to explore resistance. Not long after boarding, I signed up for a three-fold massage that promised total rebirth. For research. A few days later, it was time to relax. The spa runs independently from Virgin, is shameless about upselling, and is staffed by women with nameplates bearing names like TWINKLE, PRINCESS, and MELODY.

There are women in this world, plump and short and smiley, against whom I have no natural defenses and who could coax my organs into a cooler without drugging me. It was thus that all the ‘Sailor’s Loot’ I’d been given to spend on board was plundered by Twinkle. After giving me a pair of disposable boxers, she slathered a foil blanket in some substance the color of horseradish and wrapped me in it like a burrito. ‘Now you are a fish,’ she said softly.

‘Yes,’ I said. Needing to eat, I’ll say that the food on board the Brilliant Lady was quite good. I especially liked the food hall with options galore, and the specialty restaurants, though not always easy to book, boast creative menus and distinct personalities. I even enjoyed Gunbae, the Korean BBQ restaurant where you’re forced to play drinking games with strangers. There, I was seated beside the only Gen-Z people on board. There were three of them, a gay man and his two girlfriends, celebrating their recent graduation from nursing school. We were joined by a straight married couple from New Zealand.

I enjoyed my table at Gunbae. I advise any solo travelers on Virgin Voyages to do Gunbae on the first night. Roll the dice. If you’re lucky, you’ll make friends, or at least meet people you can give salutary nods at on board. After leaving ‘Red Hot’—an entertainment performance that was essentially Richard Branson’s CV set to music—I was sitting at a bar on the ship, pondering my failure to procure any interesting information from the smattering of homosexuals I’d met on, forgive me for noticing, the poop deck where they regularly gathered.

As I was carving more lines into my face with thought, two men approached me. ‘Excuse me,’ one said, eyeing my bracelet. ‘Are you a Rockstar?’ They were a married gay couple from Oklahoma City. I couldn’t believe I wasn’t the only gay Okie on board. They were both handsome and around a decade older than my 35 years and were interested in whether or not Rockstar status was worth it.

We discussed the pros and cons of both being a Rockstar and of this cruise. It wasn’t an especially gay one, they lamented, but they’re big fans of Virgin. No, they could not understand why anyone would get a giant tattoo of the Brilliant Lady on their thigh, which is something I had seen. Yes, the food is great.

They ordered more drinks and sat. We talked about travel, about growing up in Oklahoma. They had kids at home that they adored, but it was nice to take a break. They made it all seem so unscary, age. We extended the evening by ordering another round, and then another with a tap of our bracelets.