A long black banner stretches across a building at the Sayville Ferry Service, its bright red letters cheekily requesting not just the order of the day, but the order of the weekend, and thank goodness: “Promote Transsexuality.” Don’t mind if I do!

The fourth annual Doll Invasion is upon us, where transgender folks and friends of all stripes–the event is a self-proclaimed “mixy” party, and cis folks are welcome, too–“invade” the Fire Island Pines, a section of Fire Island that is otherwise often quite homogenous, across a whole weekend. Though Fire Island has been known as a gay haven for nearly a century, and many from across the queer community have historically arrived on its boardwalks, the Pines in particular developed over the years a reputation for fit, moneyed gay men. With it came an air of exclusivity. But what if, for a day–no, for a whole weekend–this didn’t have to be the case? Its wooden boardwalks are famously difficult to reach, including sometimes at least four separate modes of transportation, and will cost a pretty penny, even for a day trip. So what if people who wanted to go to Fire Island could do so not only affordably, but while feeling welcome? Now in its fourth year, this is the question Doll Invasion asks, as it creates space for transgender people in the Pines, a place where many have not always felt embraced. 

Named after the Invasion of the Pines, an annual event wherein people in drag ride the ferry from Cherry Grove to the Pines in the name of drag artist and transgender woman Teri Warren, who was denied service in the Pines for being in drag, the Doll Invasion adopts a similar ethos: we belong here, too. 

Throughout the weekend, trans DJs will play nearly 60 hours of music across Low Tea, Mid Tea and High Tea, as the daytime and evening dances across the Pines are known. By the time the weekend is over, over 1000 people will have officially checked in for Doll Invasion, dancing across The Tryst Pool Club (Low Tea), the legendary Blue Whale bar (Mid Tea), and the Pavilion nightclub (High Tea). 

Doll Invasion is also a fundraiser, this year benefitting Queer|Art, a nonprofit dedicated to the continuation of LGBTQ+ artmaking across genres. An auction is part of this year’s fundraising, and includes items as diverse as Cole Escola’s wig from the 2026 Tony Awards; a vinyl copy of Chappell Roan’s The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess signed by the artist; a Ryan McGinley photograph; and more (bidding closes September 3). 

Several long yellow school buses will arrive at the Sayville Ferry Service, all of which Doll Invasion has provided to bring transgender folks from Brooklyn to the island for free, should they so desire or require. A free ferry ride is also included. My editor reminds me to remember a fashion angle for each story, and it’s not hard here. Doll Invasion is in its core a bastion of self-expression, of taking up space as yourself, and its “invaders”–the organization uses the term only with love–do the same on their own. There are fishnets and combat boots and stacked platform heels and elfin ears and tank tops brushed with the words “Gay Socialist Utopia!!!!” (four exclamation points exactly). There are neon sheer caftans and wigs and teeny tiny bikinis and tattoos and body glitter. A “Wet Hot Transsexual Summer” muscle tee from last year’s Invasion, flowers and braids, sequined mesh dresses and flirty bloomers. 

As we board the ferry, wind twists in hair that floats over the ocean. Sunglasses are lowered over eyes, bags secured next to bodies, hugs and kisses passed between partners, all accented by the occasional buzz and whirr of a Polaroid camera. We all disembark upon arrival, guided to “Doll Check-In” by Doll Invasion volunteers in matching red “It’s a Shemergency!” t-shirts and megaphones. It feels not unlike the first day of summer camp, and according to Doll Invasion founder Fran Tirado, this is by design. “All of our invaders, no matter whether they’re trans or cis, we want them to arrive and feel like they’ve entered a new world. They’re away from home. They might not be familiar with it. They might be scared. They might miss their friends,” Tirado says. “We wanted people to feel like they were preparing for something, and also that they were taken care of.” Indeed, some who visit the Pines with Doll Invasion have never been to the island before at all–in part, some tell me later, because they too didn’t think they were welcome. It was important to the Doll Invasion team that they felt safe, that they could meet new people, that they knew where to go. Everyone got a tiny map of the island and a schedule of performances.

It’s important to Tirado and her team–of 14 core members within a large team totalling 61 people (talent, crew, and more)–that the event centers fun, that it doesn’t take itself too seriously. As people arrive from the ferry, DJs spin from a booth overlooking the pool. More and more bodies fill the space in an array of colors and ink. Before introducing performances, Tirado gets on the mic. “Happy Tranny Day, bitch!” she says. “Are y’all transsexual??” And she’s greeted with a roar of cheers. 

Some of this irreverence also lives in the team’s new “Cisgender Excellence” gag sashes, bright red with glittering silver letters, that are given to anyone who donates more than $200 to Queer|Art at Doll Check-in–whether they were cisgender or not. People were fully in on the joke, and one of the first people to check in donated $10,000. Eventually the team started to run out of letters–they had to creatively sub in ampersands at one point–and then ran out of sashes entirely. Tirado estimates they raised approximately $85,000 for Queer|Art. 

Tirado works with many activism-centered organizations and nonprofits, but sometimes she wishes their communication was a little different. “We just go to a lot of protests and a lot of panels and circles that are just really unfun because we’re dripping in the narrative of our own victimhood,” she says. “Trans people are so much more than a cause, and understanding that trans people are not just arbiters and inventors of culture, and understanding that trans people can actually be people that will shock you and gag and excite you…having fun, it’s not superfluous.” 

The sentiment is similar to the one that led Lady Bunny to found Wigstock in the mid-1980s–while some found themselves in ACT UP protests during the AIDS crisis, she also wanted to create an experience that centered joy, a place for release from the rage against governmental neglect. In a political climate such as ours, where trans rights are in danger, fun is similarly essential. Doll Invasion runs with the “full-throated belief that fun is a critical need for trans people. That fun is survival for trans people. It’s not extracurricular,” Tirado says. 

“Sometimes in the not-for-profit world, the fundraising world, we think if it’s too fun, then it’s not serious enough…if there’s too much humor, if there’s too much irreverence, then it’s disrespectful to what we’re doing as a whole,” she continues. “I have all love for anybody that believes that, but this is just not the event for you.” 

By now, there are so many people around the pool that it becomes a small arena for the drag artists who take to the pool deck, replacing the go-go dancers in heels and sneakers before them. Cherry Jaymes disrobes to a remix of Deborah Cox’s “Nobody’s Supposed to Be Here,” plunking herself into the Tryst pool in a splashy cascade of fringe–makeup still intact. Julie J does the same, in a glamorous beige summer suit to Kelis’s “Acapella,” swirling her wet wig and dousing the crowd much to our delight. Dollar bills litter the floor, fingers snap, and roars of joy surge from all corners of the deck. “Doll Invasion means having community with people, and making sure that you make the conscious choice for sisterhood,” says Jaymes, who is also Doll Invasion’s social media coordinator. “I’m seeing more trans people stay on the island than I ever have in my whole life, and we just keep growing.” 

This energy carries throughout the rest of my time at Doll Invasion, from seeing MTHR TRSA DJ at the Blue Whale to witnessing the arrival of the Doll Invasion team on the water taxi, where they docked explicitly at the venue. Indeed, this is the place where the very first Invasion of the Pines began in 1976, when everyone disembarked the water taxi in drag to protest against Teri Warren’s dismissal. Now, people dance and smoke cigarettes in front of Willie Norris’s “Wet Hot Transsexual Summer” banner, sip cocktails, take up space. 

Eden Butvinik, a food scientist and drag artist who goes by Dollar Slice, is visiting Fire Island for the first time with Doll Invasion today. We speak shortly after arriving on the island. “It’s always nerve-wracking coming to a new place, especially a place that maybe is not the specific place that would accept your kind, if I’m allowed to say that, because it’s not necessarily the type of place that I’ve always felt welcome in,” Butvinik said. “I want it to be just a major kiki of the century, the biggest kiki you’ve ever seen in your life, a place to see my friends that’s not after dark in a nightclub, but outside in the sunlight…I feel like sometimes I live a double life of having my daytime self and my nighttime self. So getting to actually blend those two together is a magical feeling beyond words.” 

Nothing’s a community until people have a common goal. Nothing’s a tradition until someone starts it.