When it began operations, the cruise line Virgin Voyages 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. Its first ship, Scarlet Lady, was scheduled to have its maiden voyage on April 1, 2020. Then came Covid-19, leaving their newly minted 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. There was, for example, a drag queen aboard.
For this piece, my assignment was 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. 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). 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.”
