When we first met, the thing that caught my eye was your long, painted nails.

I've always liked having well-groomed nails and I've always been interested in cosmetics, so these nails, unconventional for a bloke, are, you could say, a reflection of that. Back in Konin, where I'm from, I couldn't really get away with it, as you can imagine. Moving to Poznań gave me the freedom to experiment. I started with a subtle shine, and before long I was sporting nail extensions longer than any of my female colleagues at work. These days they're a bit shorter, but still noticeable.

How do people react to them?

At work, and I've held several jobs, reactions have been mostly positive, particularly from women, who enjoy complimenting me and asking questions, often noting that they'd love nails like that themselves. When I worked in the beauty industry, my nails were practically a selling point. I also get occasional social media comments. People are curious about my nails and why I have them. They sometimes ask about them in comments to photos posted on social media by my boyfriend, Arek. So yes, there's definitely interest, and no one has ever been rude to my face about them.

Not even at the Lech stadium, where Arek and you go to watch matches?

Not even there, though I can tell from people's faces and stares that they are, shall we say, intrigued. When my nails were longer and painted, I caused quite a stir among checkout cashiers when placing items on conveyor belts. But times change, and these days painted nails on a man barely raise eyebrows, especially in Poznań.

Did your mum like them?

She did. When she first saw them, she said she'd love a set like that herself, though a bit shorter. She's never insisted I cut mine down, always supportive, always on my side. Much like my boyfriend, who has never been fazed either, though I suspect he'd prefer them shorter.

And what are these nails actually made of?

When I had extensions, they were gel. You apply it with a mould, cure it under a lamp, and paint it any colour you like, which for me is always almost natural.

Are they hard to live with day to day?

It's a matter of getting used to. There are both downsides and upsides. For instance, they are tricky for picking up coins, but perfect for flipping bacon in a frying pan!

Are they part of your queer identity?

Honestly, I've never really framed it that way before, but now that you mention it, I suppose they are. I definitely feel more queer with them, though other aspects of my look might suggest that as well.

When did these queer elements appear in your life?

I can't pinpoint the exact moment I realised I was gay. It certainly became part of my identity during secondary school. It was gradual: at first, I thought I might be bi, and even had heterosexual relationships, including a girlfriend with whom I still get on well. Yet even in middle school I had this gut feeling that I was different. It was in fact there even in primary school, though at the time it wasn't something I really knew, I wasn't aware of anything. Others seemed to notice though - they'd call me names and shove me around, which wasn't difficult as I've always been skinny.

Did you bring it up at home that you were being bullied?

I did, and my fierce mum would immediately storm off to school, demanding that those responsible be punished.

Did your parents have any inkling of why this was happening?

I'm not sure. When I came out much later, my mum said she might have suspected something, though she was still surprised, which in turn surprised me, because to me it felt so obvious.

Do you have any siblings?

Yes and no. I'm an only child, but I have honorary siblings. My mum has a sister who is my age, technically my aunt, but for all intents and purposes, she's always been more like a sister to me, and we're still very close. Then there are the two daughters of my mum's partner. One of them is my age; we met back in middle school, and it was actually through the two of us that our parents met and ended up together - they still are today.

You appear to have an incredibly strong bond with your mum.

She's my best friend. I've always been able to tell her everything - well, almost everything. My relationship with my dad, though, has had its ups and downs, and my parents' divorce while I was in middle school certainly didn't help. There were good and bad times, including periods when we barely spoke. These days we hardly keep in touch at all.

Why?

When I finally came to terms with my sexuality and what it meant for my life, I remembered how my dad, and other family members, reacted to gay people on TV, and the kind of language they used, even towards me. I realised I couldn't accept that. My mum, even before she knew I was gay, would react immediately every time she heard any crude, homophobic remarks: "Don't say that!", she'd snap, short and sharp. As for my dad, I eventually reached a point in life where I thought: if someone doesn't accept or respect me for who I am, there's no point pretending. It's better to sever ties and in fact it's simply more honest. I should add that I've never openly discussed my sexuality with my dad; he found out about me on Facebook.

We'll come to that shortly, but I'm curious: did you ever explore the Konin gay scene?

Not really. Only now, years later, am I discovering through Facebook and Instagram that this or other person is actually gay. Back then, I had no idea and long believed I was the only one.

Hang on, you were born in 1998, so by the time you were a teenager in the 2010s, the Internet was already well established.

True, but I was more of a withdrawn, guarded, sensitive type. I'd never have dared reach out, even though everything inside me was bubbling. Eventually, it was my friend who took the risk and made the first step. I was eighteen at the time. My had broken up with my girlfriend, ending my belief that I was bi. I was starting a new chapter in my life, which also coincided with me moving to Poznań.

Was Konin not a good place to be?

It was, but only up to a certain age. I had loads of friends, amazing mates. We were close, we partied and studied together. I also spent a huge chunk of my time practising contemporary dance, which I learned for several years at the Konin Cultural Centre. I loved it, but sadly, that chapter ended rather dramatically when I suffered a displaced fracture of the femur. I ended up in a wheelchair and basically had to relearn how to walk, so a professional dance career was no longer in the cards.

How did that Facebook coming-out go in 2023?

My partner posted a photo of us on Facebook sitting together and holding hands at the Lech stadium, with the caption: " (Not) football brings us together, but I took him to the match," followed by a few little hearts. Arek asked if he could post it and I agreed. Only after the match did I realise this was essentially my public coming-out.

Who had already known before that?

My mum, my grandparents on my mum's side, and my mum's partner, along with his family.

How did those who hadn't known react?

I received loads of likes and hearts, even from relatives on my dad's side of the family, but not from him.

Didn't he call?

No, which, of course, is a reaction in itself. A negative one. And yes, it hurts.

You mentioned that your mum already knew. How did that come about?

I told her. After I moved to Poznań, I invited her over for a weekend, determined it was time to come clean. She accepted. I picked her up at the station and took her to my flat in the Winogrady district, which I shared with a female friend. We sat down, and I was terribly nervous. She could sense it and got anxious too. We both sat there on pins and needles until I finally blurted out: "I'm gay." We cried, downed some beer, talked for hours, and later went to Duże Lokum on Półwiejska Street, the now-closed queer club run by Arek Kluk.

Did you start studying and working in Poznań right away?

Yes, that was the condition for moving out. Mum said she'd support me as much as she could, but the money she sent wasn't enough to live on in Poznań, so I needed to find work quickly. I studied from morning to afternoon and then worked from late afternoon into the evening, at first, naturally, in the restaurant business.

Was Poznań an obvious choice for someone from Konin?

It was, for fairly obvious reasons: it's close, has good universities, and also, some of my friends had already moved there a year earlier, having graduated from comprehensive high schools while I was still in technical school, which takes an extra year to complete. They'd already blazed the trail and I simply followed in their footsteps.

What sort of technical school was it?

It was part of the Mikołaj Kopernik School Complex. I chose hotel management, graduated as a hotel technician and later went on to study commodity science at the Poznań University of Economics.

Why not continue with hotel management or tourism?

Hotel management was typically offered at private universities, which I couldn't afford. Besides, by that time, I was very much into cosmetics and wanted to major in something related. I discovered that the University of Economics offered a commodity science specialisation at graduate level, but to get in, I needed a bachelor's degree. That's how I ended up studying commodity science, and I actually learned a great deal. In the end though, I never enrolled in a graduate programme - life just swept me away.

When did this passion for cosmetics begin?

Back in middle school. I started doing my mum's make-up and also that of my female friends, and being gay, I had plenty of female friends. I practised, learned to do make-up, discovered more about cosmetics, and, after moving to Poznań, started doing my own subtle make-up as well, which I still wear today.

Did you eventually start doing make-up professionally?

At first, I did make-up for women for special occasions. Later I applied to Sephora. I imagined it'd be a part-time job where I could gain experience and get access to better, more expensive products. Instead, it turned into a full-time job at the Poznań Sephora, first as a make-up consultant, and eventually as sales floor manager and specialist. I didn't love the sales part of it. What really interested me was make-up training. Sephora offers fantastic learning opportunities, top trainers, travel, and access to premium cosmetics. I took advantage of that more than once, including a training trip to Paris.

So why did you leave Sephora after three years?

Because I had to choose to either stay with Sephora or build my own business with Arek. I chose the latter, and last autumn we opened Los Maricones, a gay bar in the Jeżyce district.

You founded it not just as business partners but also as a couple. How long have you been together?

We met at a party in Lokum on Półwiejska Street, the same place I took my mum after coming out. I already knew that Arek was the manager and president of Stonewall Group. I'd taken part in the pride marches he organised in Poznań. At first, he was a nodding acquaintance. But in 2023, something sparked between us. I began turning up at the new castle venue of Lokum more often, and when I invited Arek over for dinner one evening, he stayed till breakfast. A few months later we moved in together, and we're still living together now. I've had a few flings before, but this is my first serious relationship.

Does your mum like Arek?

Very much, they get on brilliantly. I also have a good relationship with Arek's parents. My mum knows them too, and whenever everyone visits Poznań, we spend lovely time together. We live in the same Jeżyce townhouse where our bar is located, so we literally go to work in our slippers. And when we switch on the neon sign and crank up the music and people start drifting in, we sip cocktails and laugh, and I find myself thinking that queer Poznań really is amazing.

Are you good parents?

Paulina Suszyńska: I'm not sure.

Borys Fromberg: I'm not sure either, but we like to think we are.

Don't you evaluate how well you parent from time to time?

Borys: Our kids are the best judges of that. When they're happy, we feel we're doing a good job, but when they're not, our rating takes a hit.

Paulina: But their happiness isn't solely dependent on us. It's hard to assess ourselves. We definitely make mistakes - our parents did too - but we try not to repeat them.

Borys: And parenting today is completely different from just a few decades, and even one decade ago.

Do you have two children?

Paulina: Yes, we have Kuba, who's twenty-five and has already graduated from university.

Borys: Kuba has been running our restaurant with us since last year; he manages Bo. and seems to enjoy it.

Paulina: It's also an investment in himself because wherever he goes next - like he's considering moving to Spain with his girlfriend - he'll take the skills he's learned here with him. There are pubs and restaurants everywhere.

Borys: And then there's our seventeen-year-old daughter, Laura, who's in high school.

Paulina: Laura was born deaf, which we discovered a few weeks after she was born, and - as you can imagine - we were devastated. After we got back home from the tests, I was drenched in tears, wondering bitterly why this had happened to us. I imagined worst-case scenarios - our child being rejected, sent to special schools, facing immense hurdles. It's hard to admit now, but that's how it felt.

Borys: A deaf child seemed like a sentence to a difficult, unhappy life. It was a bleak outlook.

A picture that slowly started to brighten?

Paulina: Very slowly. A friend told Borys about a facility in Wrocław with a great therapist, Lidia Lempart, who successfully rehabilitated deaf children. We got in touch with her immediately and quickly got Laura fitted with hearing aids to stimulate her residual hearing and prevent her brain from forgetting how to listen, which was crucial if she were to get implants later on.

Borys: Laura and I practiced every day for a half an hour to an hour.

Paulina: The idea is that the more you work with a child's plastic and receptive brain, the better their chances of developing speech and vocabulary.

Borys: We did this after consulting other specialists. We travelled all over Poland - to Warsaw, Gdańsk, and Katowice - often getting conflicting diagnoses, which drove us crazy.

Paulina: On top of that, Laura had heightened muscle tightness, best treated with the Voyta method, which involves pressing specific points on the body to help the nervous system of a several-month-old baby bypass damaged neurons. This had to be done every three hours by a properly trained person under the supervision of a physiotherapist.

Borys: This intense rehabilitation across the board went on until she was six. Additionally, we had bilateral implants put in - one when Laura was one and the other at five, as they can't be implanted simultaneously. As a result, our daughter can hear, speak, sing, and play the guitar perfectly. You'd never guess she was born deaf.

Nice work, both of you!

Paulina: We're very happy it turned out well, but those early years were excruciating. We lived in constant uncertainty and stress as to whether our efforts would pay off.

Borys: And we were always on the road. We had to go to Wrocław twice a week for Laura's therapy sessions.

It must have taken a lot of anxiety, time, and money.

Borys: It did, but we also made many friends along the way, many of whom we're still close with today. We had a lot of fun with both kids and immense satisfaction seeing their progress.

How long have you been together?

Paulina: We're actually celebrating our nineteenth anniversary today. Laura came along two years after we got together because Kuba kept asking for a sibling.

Borys: And we decided to grant his wish.

What kind of education did you choose for Laura?

Borys: She started in a public school, but then we moved her to a private one to ensure she got more individual attention. It wasn't even that Laura needed it badly, but we wanted to tap into all her potential. It was in her best interest, as the school encourages kids to be as self-sufficient as possible.

Paulina: We also wanted to protect her from the kind of bullying that children who are different often face. It was a preventive measure.

Borys: Today, Laura is in the International Baccalaureate programme and is performing outstandingly.

Children's disabilities tend to put a major strain on their parents' relationship, often leading to breakups. Typically, the mother is left to take care of the child alone. How has this affected your relationship?

Borys: Can I take this?

Paulina: Sure, go ahead.

Borys: Whenever problems came up in our relationship, our experience with Laura gave us the confidence that nothing could beat us. And we still believe this today.

Paulina: I also think that fighting for Laura's hearing made it easier to accept her coming out. Neither deafness nor her being transgender are the end of the world, and we can still be a happy family.

Have you ever thought that Laura is doing too much to make your life "interesting"?

Paulina: Absolutely, at some point, I'd had enough. My mum and brother fell ill and died a few years apart. Plus, the pandemic was wreaking havoc on our business. Then Laura told us she was transgender. "When will it ever end?", I asked Borys.

And how did he respond?

Paulina: He said that it all comes to us because we can take it.

Borys: And we did!

Are you Poznań natives?

Paulina: Yes, I'm a proud native of Poznań.

Borys: A model resident, I would say. Paula has a knack for taking advantage of bargains. When, during our holiday in Florence, a baptistery offered free admission to people with disabilities and their guardians, Paula instantly jumped at the opportunity and explored it with Laura.

Paulina: And we didn't have to queue.

Borys: That's what I call Poznań-style money and time management!

Paulina: It's in my genes. My great-grandmother was very enterprising. She ran shops in Poznań and made quite a fortune. She owned the tenement house on ul. Kościuszki in which we are living and two others. After the war, everything was taken away from her and nationalised, and we didn't get it back until communism fell.

Borys: And although my great-grandfather rests in the Poznań Cemetery of Eminent Wielkopolska Residents, I was born in Piła after my parents moved there in the 1970s. My mum traces her family history to Italy and Switzerland, hence my surname, the only one in Poland, originally spelled with a silent "h", i.e. Frohmerg. My father dropped the "h", much to the annoyance of the rest of the family. I moved to Poznań to study after a year in Szczecin, following my mum's advice, who kept telling me I should return to Poznań. And she was right, this is where I belong.

You worked in the City Hall for a decade, rising to the position of deputy director of the City Promotion Office. But then you left to start a restaurant business with Paula, didn't you?

Borys: At that time, Paula and her partner ran Ptasie Radio on ul. Kościuszki and decided to open a second restaurant in the Castle. She put in a bid in a competition and was selected, which is how Świetlica came to be. We agreed that if she succeeded, I would quit my city job because, firstly, I didn't want to be accused of a conflict of interest, the Castle being a city institution, and secondly, running two restaurants was a challenge that required two people.

Paulina: Today, Ptasie Radio is in the hands of my partner because we decided to go our separate ways. We also bid farewell to Świetlica and started Bo., also on ul. Kościuszki, as you might expect, which we're running to this today.

Was Laura's coming out a big surprise?

Paulina: Honestly, no, because I already had my suspicions.

What suspicions?

Paulina: It began when I noticed that Laura was shaving her legs, which seemed strange to me because she was still presenting as a boy. I thought, maybe he's gay. Then I came across an article in Twój Styl about parents of transgender children, and I told Borys our son ticked all the boxes. At the time, Laura suddenly became sad, moody, and withdrawn. I said to her, "Listen, I can see that something is bothering you. No pressure, but I'm here for you if you want to talk about it".

What did you say?

Borys: I told Paula not to worry ahead of time. Whatever will be, will be.

Paulina: But that's not how I roll. I need to talk things through, think them over, and prepare myself. That way, if my intuition is right and the child comes to talk to me, I won't say anything foolish.

And?

Paulina: One day, Laura said she would like to talk to me. She told me she was transgender, didn't feel comfortable in her body, and was actually a girl.

How did you respond?

Paulina: I told her we loved her and would always support her, but to give herself time, not rush into anything, think it over, and try it out, because we all have male and female qualities, and they can manifest themselves in different ways.

So, mum knew then. And dad?

Borys: Dad found out from mum and always trusted his children. Since Laura is transgender, my job is to stand by her, that's all. Nothing new there.

This is a very encouraging reaction coming from a father, because statistically fathers are less likely to accept transgender children. Where do you think you got your openness?

Borys: Actually, Paula jokingly asked me if I was gay. I said, "Why are you asking?" She replied, "Because you're always hugging your pals".

Paulina: Borys has a strong feminine side. He has always been very open, spontaneous, and quick to cuddle everyone. So, when Laura came out, he took it in his stride, and I was the one worrying about everything.

Borys: Come on, I just like people!

Paulina: I like people too, but you can't say we came out of this whole situation unscathed. When Laura won a history competition at the end of primary school, which gave her guaranteed admission to a high school of her choice, we took her to Sicily as a reward. Back then, she was only out to us, so I told her to bring women's clothes if she wanted to, because no one knew her there. So, we shopped together and headed to Sicily.

Borys: This was a trying experience for us both because Laura didn't choose a flowing dress with a floral pattern and instead went for the shortest mini skirt, leather, and chains - a very specific style.

Paulina: And because she has a nice body and is quite shapely, she would turn heads walking down the street. I remember being overwhelmed, and both Laura and I cried from all the emotions that came with this big change.

Borys: I guess you have to go through the experience, that's the only way.

Paulina: Then, I remember someone in the street asked me, "Is this a boy or a girl?" After a moment's hesitation, I replied, "A girl". It's a whole process that you go through with your child, confronting the world together.

Have you had any unpleasant experiences in Poznań?

Paulina: Once, Laura went to pick up a pizza ordered under her name, and when she returned, she said that the people working in the pizzeria made fun of her, saying she wasn't Laura but a boy. I called the manager, explained what had happened, and asked her to talk to her workers because this shouldn't happen. She apologised and said she would address the issue with her staff.

Borys: You can't let such situations slide and must respond, if only to prevent them from happening again. It's not necessarily the manager's or owner's fault, and it's not about attacking a particular establishment. It's about raising awareness and educating people.

When did Laura start using her new name?

Paulina: As soon as she came out. I asked her how she would like to be addressed, and she told me to call her Laura.

Did you adjust quickly?

Paulina: It took us a while, but not too long. Laura herself said she would understand if we occasionally slipped up and used her old name by mistake because it's an adjustment.

Borys: Yes, it wasn't just about using her new name but also adjusting to all the feminine forms in the language.

How did your family members, friends, and acquaintances respond to this change?

Borys: Our friends and acquaintances embraced it in no time.

Paulina: Except for one person who took a bit longer. Laura came out to my brother Kuba on his birthday. Kuba and his girlfriend are very supportive; they are Laura's best friends. My family has no issues, even though my sister is a devout Catholic. Borys' mum was quick to accept it and was very supportive of Laura from the get-go. The first thing she said was that she would teach her how to sew. She now brings choice vintage clothes from her youth, and Laura proudly wears them.

Borys: The longest of these stories involves my father, who was the last to find out. Knowing that she would spend a week of her holiday with her grandfather, Laura was very nervous because she had already come out to everyone else and remembering that to her grandfather, she was still his grandson.

Paulina: It was really stressful for Laura, so Borys and I suggested she talk to her grandfather in our presence when he would come to pick her up. But she didn't want that; she went there and told him herself. After some initial turbulence, grandpa and his wife now fully support Laura.

Borys: Each successive coming out transformed her completely. Before, the anticipation weighed heavily on her, making her depressed and unhappy. Afterward, once she was accepted, she would become radiant and joyful. This shows just how much of a burden it is for LGBT+ people to disguise their identities out of fear of how others would react.

How was school after coming out?

Paulina: After winning that history competition I mentioned earlier, Laura was in a comfortable position of being free to choose any school. She decided to stay in her English-speaking Gaudium et Studium school, which is both primary and secondary. She finished primary school as a boy, and no one in her class other than her best friend and teacher knew she was transgender. When she started high school, we went to see the headmaster to discuss the matter. She said Laura would be the school's first trans student but assured us they would do everything in their power to make Laura feel at home and, of course, would use her preferred form of address.

Do you think it is significant that all this is happening in Poznań?

Paulina: Hugely. Sometimes I feel like we are living in a bubble here, with diversity and acceptance that goes beyond what is seen in other cities.

Borys: Poznań has transformed tremendously over the past decade or so and it's plain to see if you walk around the city. Once, when visiting the West, we marvelled at how colourful it was, and now our city is becoming exactly that. Look at how many rainbow flags hang in windows and on balconies, especially in the Jeżyce district, which was the first to come around. Much credit for this particular change goes to Jacek Jaśkowiak, who, as mayor, in a distinct Poznań style, supported the authorities and various other organisations like the Stonewall Group in fostering tolerance. I think the treatment of LGBT+ matters in Poznań is on a whole new level, never before seen in Poland.

Paulina: There's a good reason why main events on the National Day of Transgender Visibility are held in Poznań.

You are members of the Poznań group of parents of transgender children. How did you get there?

Paulina: Laura told me about Ewelina Negowetti, who runs the largest Facebook group for parents of trans people and who asked if I'd like to join. I did, and once there, I found out that Poznań also had a group for parents of trans kids, so I decided to meet them.

How many parents showed up?

Paulina: About ten.

All of them mothers?

Borys: There were fathers too.

Paulina: But they were in the minority.

When was it?

Paulina: Two years ago.

Were there children there as well?

Paulina: Yes, but at the next meeting. Naturally, they quickly broke off and formed their own group called the Transformers.

How old are the Transformers?

Paulina: Their ages range from about fourteen to twenty. Older members, who are in college, eventually move on with their lives.

Do you meet often?

Borys: Generally, once a month.

Do you go to parades?

Paulina: Absolutely. For the last one, we brought a banner that said "You will never walk alone" made by one of the mums.

Borys: We also join the Pol'and'Rock parade. I think every Pole should go there at least once in their lifetime. It's an amazing event that brings together a huge crowd of friendly, smiling people.

Does Laura take hormones?

Paulina: Yes, since late last August. She wanted to start sooner, but as parents, we wanted to take our time and make sure everything was properly diagnosed before rushing into any decisions. After completing the whole procedure, Laura started taking hormones, which caused her breasts to grow, so we got her a bra for St. Nick's.

Borys: She was over the moon and put it on right away.

So the transition is ongoing?

Paulina: Yes, partly with the resources from Poznań, and partly from Wrocław.

Is there anything the city can do to help parents of transgender children?

Paulina: Parents of transgender children need all kinds of help, from information to psychological assistance. The city once funded such a programme, but it was limited to a small number of participants and filled up quickly. It would be great to have such a programme in Poznań available year-round and without caps.

Borys: It's also important to support transgender children, or more broadly, children at high risk of suicide. We need a city programme to systematically support educators and school psychologists, including providing them with the necessary knowledge, as many lack it.

Paulina: Another issue is the cost of diagnosing gender dysphoria and of transitioning. Some parents simply can't afford endless visits to specialists. Some help with this would be greatly appreciated.

Borys: But the most crucial factor is the support and unconditional love of parents. No specialist, no matter how essential, can replace that. I hope this interview shows parents of transgender children that although they are confronted with a big challenge, they must face it and not see it as a misfortune. We're happy and proud of both our son and our daughter.

When and why did you leave Poznań?

Seventeen years ago, in 2007. The reason I left was that I really didn't enjoy living in Poznań, and all of my friends were leaving too, so I just followed suit. At the time, I had just finished a year of unsuccessful cultural studies at SWPS [University of Social Sciences and Humanities, now Collegium da Vinci], and before that, I had gone through three miserable years of high school.

What made it so miserable?

I went to a school called Paderek back then, which was the nickname for the 6th Secondary School. I'm not sure if they still call it that, but the place was extremely homophobic, and it stressed me out so much that I ended up developing vitiligo. I think pretty much everyone there, from the teachers to the students, was homophobic. I faced it every day, even though I wasn't out at the time. Looking back, it was definitely what we now recognise as bullying.

Was every day the same?

Yes, which is why I started skipping school more than more. My parents were constantly being called in to talk to the school.

Did you tell them why you didn't want to go?

No, I didn't. When they asked, I'd just say that I didn't like the school and that I was mostly into drama, which I did with some friends. For me, school was all about just getting through the final exams. Once I passed, not knowing what to do next, I enrolled in cultural studies, a major often chosen by people who have no idea what they want to do with their lives.

So, you didn't tell your parents. Did you talk to your friends about it?

I didn't say anything to them either. I was in complete denial. I still held onto the hope that I wasn't gay because everything I associated with being gay seemed negative to me.

And the friends from your drama group, none of them were queer?

Actually, they were, but we didn't use that word at the time. It was all unspoken. Nobody came out, and we were just busy with our theatre work. The group included people like Anu Czerwiński, who's now a filmmaker and performer, Andrzej Pakuła, the curator of the Poznań Pavilion, and Jędrek Burszta, a researcher and lecturer at the American Studies Centre at the University of Warsaw. We were all queer. Do you know what we called ourselves? The Different Theatre!

Different Theatre, Different Poznań. Interesting how a group of queer people could be involved in theatre, but no one ever talked about their identity.

I can't really explain it, but that's how it was. Nobody officially came out, but we all kind of knew. So, we made theatre, went to parties, smoked cigarettes, and kissed, all without ever acknowledging it openly.

Since you stayed in the closet throughout high school, I won't even ask about your time in middle school.

Actually, my middle school, number thirty-three in Łazarz District [now Secondary School Complex], was great. Probably because no one called me a faggot. It was in a fantastic building in a lovely location, right next to the Arena sports complex, where we had PE. The same building also housed the primary school I attended for two years after we moved to Poznań.

Where did you move from?

From Lubasz, a large, picturesque village about seventy kilometres north-west of Poznań. It's near a lake where I spent my every summer. My mother is from nearby Miłków. After finishing her teaching degree in Poznań, she was offered a choice of jobs, either in Wałcz or Lubasz. She chose Lubasz, brought my father along - he's an engineer from Poznań - and that's how I came to be.

Was your mum your teacher at school?

Thankfully, no. I went to the same school where she taught, but she never taught me herself.

Were you happy about your parents' decision to move to Poznań?

Not at all. I was eleven, and I loved living in Lubasz. But as I got older, I came to appreciate Poznań. If we hadn't moved, I'd probably have ended up as "the only gay in the village". And that would've been a nightmare.

So you became one of many gay people in the Łazarz district?

When I was in high school, my parents moved to Szczepanków for a bit, so I had the flat to myself. As you can imagine, my frequent theatre rehearsals and parties all took place in Łazarz. Obviously, everyone gravitates to the house where there are no parents around - it's every teenager's dream. A few years ago, I did an interview with Karolina Domagalska, a reporter and film director, for Wyborcza. She gave me this inquiring look and said, "Don't I know you? Wait, didn't I pick up my sister from a party at your flat on ul. Negolewskich?" And it was indeed me.

Oh, the Poznań crowd in Warsaw.

Janek Czapliński, who I used to sit next to at school, is now a playwright at the Dramatyczny Theatre. Jędrek Burszta, as I mentioned earlier, works at the American Studies Centre, and then there's Anu, probably the most interesting case. He looked me up after moving back to town from a few years studying at the Sorbonne. He'd left as Ania - he agreed to this deadnaming - and came back as Anu. Together, we started a studio in the space formerly known as Nowa Jerozolima. What's interesting is that most of us only came out after leaving Poznań.

Let's get back to Poznań.

My time in Poznań can be split into two phases: before and after Extravaganza, a play we put on at the Polski Theatre with Joanna Drozda and Jędrek Burszta. The "before" phase ended when I finished secondary school, and I couldn't leave Poznań fast enough.

Didn't you go to any gay spots back then?

I did, but - get this! - I went with a straight mate. He and his friends would go to Voliera because it was known for having the best parties. I was still in the closet and had no clue how to fit in, but that's when I made my first openly LGBT+ friends.

Where do you think this reluctance came from?

I think it was fear. I associated being gay with fear, so I avoided it and found a sense of safety in the theatre world.

What was your plan when you moved to Warsaw? Did you want to get into theatre?

I signed up for Iberian studies at the University of Warsaw and the Warsaw Film School, because, alongside theatre, film was my other big passion. Even in my amateur theatre days, I used to make video presentations. I loved it and saw it as something I could pursue as a career. I chose Iberian studies to get what they call a "solid education" as a backup plan. After moving to Warsaw, I shared a flat with a group of friends-unsurprisingly, most of them were from Poznań-and started exploring the city. I studied and worked at a cinema in Sadyba, which came with the perk of free access to all the films.

Were you openly gay by then?

A few trips to London and the film Before Night Falls by Julian Schnabel helped me come out. In the film, Javier Bardem plays a gay poet in Cuba during the revolution, and I must have watched it a dozen times. While I was still living in Czerniaków, I decided I wanted to do what Bardem's character did: cruise around Havana in a convertible, picking up Cubans. I wanted that to be my life, and it felt like the right time to break free. It was like a package deal for me. Not only did I come out of the closet, but I also left the church. Since then, my life changed dramatically. I wanted to come out everywhere: at school, on the bus, in shops, at the hairdresser's, on the street, you name it. Fear turned into pride almost overnight. I finally started living as an openly gay man, surprising quite a few people who had known me before.

Did your parents know at that point?

I told them about two years after I moved to Warsaw. I don't know why it took me so long. I guess I was still scared, haunted by my experience in Poznań. I must say, my parents were quite shocked when I told them I had a boyfriend and that I wanted them to meet him. I even had a joke ready: "Never mind if it's nature or nurture, either way, it's your fault!" They laughed, but of course, they needed time to process it. I think their biggest worry was that being gay would get me into all sorts of trouble, but I'd already been through the worst. I remember we stayed up late talking over a bottle of wine, and when we woke up the next morning, we found our dog had died. It felt symbolic, like I was burying my old life with him.

Who was the guy you wanted to introduce to your parents?

We met at the Dwa na trzy queer bar, tucked away in the back of a tenement building on ul. Bracka. I've seen you there, so I'm sure you'll remember it. He was a bartender, and I kept going back until I managed to pick him up. At the time, I was deeply involved in theatre, often working on queer-themed productions. That's when we staged Bańka mydlana  (Soap Bubble) at the Dramatyczny Theatre.

I've seen that play. At the time, the Dramatyczny Theatre was run by Paweł Miśkiewicz and Dorota Sajewska. Your show, directed by Andrzej Pakuła, was based on a script from an Israeli film by Eytan Fox about a group of queer friends in Tel Aviv, one of whom falls in love with a Palestinian.

The blend of queer themes and theatre was perfect for me, and I even got to operate the camera. Plus, it was my first paid theatre job. One of the people working at the theatre back then was Kaśka Szustow, and it was through her that I started collaborating with Pomada, a queer collective she co-founded with Karol Radziszewski and others. In a way, I became part of building a world in Warsaw that I had been too scared to even approach in Poznań, because I had been taught it was something bad.

Did everything change in 2015?

I came back to Poznań at the end of 2015 after Joanna Drozda invited me to work on the first Extravaganza at the Polski Theatre, a cabaret show about Poznań. Of course, we had no idea at the time that it would become such a hit, leading to more editions of Extravaganza as people in Poznań finally felt ready to laugh at themselves. We made jokes about anything and everything, feeling a fresh energy in the city, which was undergoing a noticeable social transformation. Curtains that had once been drawn tightly across the city, hiding people's lives, began to open. It became clear that you didn't need to conceal who you were or who you were with anymore - you could just be yourself without fear of repercussions. Poznań simply became a much nicer place to live.

How amazing that, after being traumatised by Poznań's homophobia, you returned years later to take part in its transformation into the queer capital of Poland.

As you know, Extravaganza was very queer from the outset, and that was intentional. It's just who we are, and that's how it turned out. When we put on the first edition, we really didn't know what sort of reaction to expect. But it turned out that there was a big audience in Poznań ready to laugh at themselves and their city. Even better, they were open to turning that laughter into self-reflection. And the humour wasn't about mocking others or being aggressive-none of that. We didn't want mockery, and we wouldn't have allowed it.

In the second Extravaganza, I was invited to perform as a guest, in drag. Joanna Drozda introduced me as Florence Foster Jenkins Jeżyc, and I sang my own ballad about Poznań, accompanied by Michał Łaszewicz. The final stanza was about an affair between Jacek Jaśkowiak and Robert Biedroń. They were both in the audience, both laughing their heads off.

Neither of them took it too seriously, and the bit about them became a staple of the show. I also remember that President Jaśkowiak saw Extravaganza About Power - which is the full title - several times, always bringing important guests along. It showed that the city was heading in a completely different direction. At several points in the show, we said Poznań was Poland's most open city, which, of course, was a cutting joke at the time. Today, eight years later, it really has become that kind of city, which is a massive change for someone who grew up there.

You visit Poznań often, and we've done plenty of queer and cultural projects together. Do you remember when you first realised the city had changed?

I remember it clearly. It was late June 2022, when the Stonewall Bookstore opened next to Lokum and Duże Lokum on ul. Półwiejska. The whole ul. Półwiejska and ul. Kwiatowa intersection looked unreal - everything was rainbow, and everyone was queer. And what's more, this was all happening just down the road from Paderek, on ul. Krakowska. I thought it was such an irony that the same Poznań, which had once driven me away with its homophobia, was now awash with rainbows.