There are some people whose names you may not find etched in the footnotes of history books, yet their lives ripple out across communities in ways more profound than presidents or politicians. They do not need the validation of institutional record-keeping because their stories are already embedded in the fabric of people’s lives, spoken backstage, whispered in recovery circles, carried in the laughter of audiences, and remembered in the tears of friends. Diva de Paris—known also as David Paris—was one of those people. She was a force. She was fire and contradiction, vulnerability and strength, a woman who wore her scars on stage and dared anyone to look away.

For over three decades, she entertained. That word alone, “entertained,” feels too slight, too easy, for what she actually did. Diva did not just perform; she transformed. She turned drag into revelation, advocacy into spectacle, and survival into art. And she gave her life, piece by piece, to causes that mattered: HIV education, recovery communities, the rights of sex workers, the dignity of LGBTQ+ lives.

I was lucky enough to call her my friend. From the time she was a high school senior and I was in graduate school, our paths crossed in a way that would tether us for decades. We came from different places in life, but we recognized something in each other—an intensity, a refusal to look away from hard truths, and perhaps a longing for connection in a world that too often shuns people like us. That friendship endured through her transformations, her battles, her triumphs, and her darkest valleys.

Today, as I sit with the grief of her passing, I do not want to sanitize her story. She was too real for that. To honor Diva de Paris is to honor the fullness of her life—the glamour and the grit, the triumphs and the struggles, the beauty and the brokenness. To pretend otherwise would be to diminish her.

The Early Fire

When I first met David—before the world knew her as Diva—there was already something extraordinary about her presence. Even as a teenager, she had that “it” factor: a way of entering a room that made people notice. Not because she was trying to be loud or flamboyant, but because her spirit simply radiated. She had this mix of quick wit and raw honesty that made you feel both entertained and exposed. She could crack a joke that left you doubled over laughing, then in the same breath say something so piercing about life, love, or survival that you would sit in stunned silence.

That duality—humor and rawness, performance and truth—would later define her drag persona. But even then, I could see it taking shape. David was already carrying dreams too big for her small-town world. She wanted a stage, she wanted a platform, but most of all she wanted people to see her—not just glance past, not just tolerate, but really see her.

Her early years were not easy. Addiction followed her from high school forward, drugs and alcohol becoming a constant shadow. Many would have been broken by that. But David did what she always did: she transformed even her struggles into fuel. She never pretended to be a saint. She admitted when she stumbled. And later, when she entered recovery communities, that honesty made her magnetic. People could trust her because she was not giving them clichés; she was giving them her truth.

The Birth of Diva de Paris

It was not long before David stepped into the persona that would define much of her life: Diva de Paris. In drag, she was larger-than-life. She was glamour, sass, comedy, and courage all rolled into one. She performed in clubs, theaters, and fundraisers across the country, traveling coast to coast to bring her art where it was needed most.

But Diva did not just perform for herself. She built community. She founded her own pageantry brand, creating spaces where other queens could shine. She mentored, encouraged, sometimes scolded, but always demanded that others step into their full selves. She knew what it felt like to be underestimated, to be dismissed, to be silenced—and she refused to let that happen to the generations of drag artists who followed her.

The Advocate

Diva was fearless when it came to speaking the truth about HIV. She was positive, and she refused to let that define her with shame. Instead, she used her platform to educate, to advocate, to insist that silence kills. I can still hear her voice saying, “If you are too afraid to talk about it, then you are too afraid to live.”

Her shows were not just about entertainment. They were about visibility, about claiming space in a world that often tried to erase LGBTQ+ lives. Every time she stepped onto a stage, she was telling the world: “We exist. We matter. We are here.” And when she stepped offstage, she carried that same fire into her advocacy.

In the early 2000s, when stigma was still suffocating, she got up on microphones and told her story. She was blunt, unapologetic, and relentless in insisting that HIV education mattered, that people deserved both dignity and knowledge. She fought ignorance with words, and she fought stigma with presence.

Her advocacy extended beyond HIV. She was a staunch supporter of sex workers, often reminding people that rights and responsibilities go hand in hand. She did not glorify the work, but she demanded respect for those who did it. She knew too well that society loves to consume what sex workers provide while simultaneously shaming and criminalizing them. Diva refused to let that hypocrisy go unchecked. She defended their dignity because she knew dignity is not optional—it is fundamental.

The Struggles

But to tell her story honestly, I must speak of the struggles, too. Addiction was a constant battle for Diva. She relapsed more times than I can count, and yet she never gave up the fight. She was deeply involved in recovery, sometimes as a participant, sometimes as a leader, always as someone whose story gave others hope.

There were nights when she called me, voice trembling, trying to hold on. There were mornings when she celebrated a day sober like it was a championship victory. Recovery for her was never linear, but it was always brave. She gave her story to others not to polish it, but to prove that even in the mess, there was still worth.

The Ra Image

Recently, Diva updated her Facebook cover photo briefly to one that featured the image of Ra, the Egyptian sun god. That was no coincidence. To her, that image symbolized both power and renewal. She saw in Ra not just mythology, but resilience—the capacity to rise again, no matter how many times darkness falls.

That cover photo, now frozen in time, feels like a final statement from her: a declaration of survival, of recovery, of success hard-won. It was her way of saying, “I am still here, I am still shining.” And for those of us who loved her, it is a reminder that even though she has passed, her light does not extinguish. It rises still, carried in memory, in story, in legacy.

Overdose Awareness Month

It is especially poignant to write this now, in August, during National Overdose Awareness Month. Just last week, Diva and I co-authored a blog post about overdosing and its devastating frequency in our community. We wrote about friends lost, about the stigma that silences people, about the urgent need for compassion and action. Neither of us knew that within days, those words would become a part of her final legacy. Our post will be published on Saturday, September 6, 2025.

Overdose is not an abstract crisis. It is personal. It touches our families, our friendships, our communities. It touched Diva. It touched me. And now, in her passing, it is a call to all of us not to look away. If you are reading this, let her story remind you: every life matters, every struggle deserves compassion, and every voice raised against stigma makes a difference.

The Friend

Beyond the public figure, beyond the advocate, beyond the performer, Diva was my friend. We met when she was still just David, a teenager with too much fire for her world. We stayed connected across decades of change. I sat backstage with her as she transformed, lashes trembling in her fingers as she told me, “This is not a mask. This is me turned inside out.” I listened to her rage against injustice, to her confessions of fear, to her celebrations of small victories.

Friendship with Diva was never simple. She could be stubborn, exhausting, even infuriating. But she was also fiercely loyal, deeply loving, and brutally honest. With her, you always knew where you stood. And through it all, she remained real—never polished to the point of falseness, never pretending to be something she was not.

The Legacy

As I reflect on her life, I realize Diva’s legacy cannot be captured in a single word. She was a performer, yes!! She was an advocate, yes. But more than that, she was proof of resilience. She showed that even when life wounds you, you can still shine. Even when stigma tries to silence you, you can still speak. Even when addiction drags you down, you can still rise again, like Ra, into the light.

She touched countless lives: the queens she mentored, the people she educated, the recovery circles she lifted, the audiences she entertained. And she touched my life in ways words will never fully capture.

Wrapping It Up!

To honor Diva de Paris is not to tell a polished story. It is to tell a true one. It is to remember her not as flawless, but as fearless. Not as perfect, but as powerful. Not as a saint, but as a survivor who kept rising, again and again, until the end.

As National Overdose Awareness Month continues, I hold her memory close. I remember our last article together (I will post it in my blog on Saturday, September 6, 2025), our final conversations, and our friendship that spanned decades. And I remind myself that her story is not over. It continues in the communities she lifted, in the friends she left behind, in the causes she championed, in the legacy she carved with her own two hands.

Rest in power, my friend. The lights have dimmed, but your glow remains!

***UPDATE***

The service for David Paris/Diva de Paris will be held on Saturday, September 6, 2025, at the Community of Christ Church located at 925 North Durphy Street, Nauvoo, Illinois 62354.