Joshua Simmons and Fetish Gras Weekend: Creating Space for Visibility, Joy, Leather and Kink in San Diego

By Cesar A Reyes

Joshua Simmons doesn’t talk about Fetish Gras as a finished product or a polished concept. He talks about Fetish Gras like something that grew up alongside him, shaped by trial, missteps, and a stubborn refusal to stay small. He talks about it as something that wobbled at first, scraped its knees, and somehow grew into a living, breathing part of a community. Known in the nightlife world as Joshua City, Simmons has spent 13 years behind bars, managing them, and producing events that shape how people gather after dark. His path to San Diego wasn’t part of a master plan— he moved here six years ago to help a friend open a bar. The bar failed. What didn’t fail was his connection to the city. “I fell in love with San Diego,” he says. “And honestly, I wanted to redeem myself. I wanted to show San Diego what I could actually do.” That desire to stay, to try again, to build something meaningful instead of walking away, is the same impulse that eventually gave birth to Fetish Gras Weekend.

Fetish Gras began in 2022 in a far quieter, more tentative form. “I started Fetish Gras honestly as a way to meet the leather and kink community,” Simmons admits. “It was also my very first event that I ever produced fully on my own.” At the time, the world was still shaking off the long shadow of COVID, and many queer and kink spaces felt cautious, fragmented, or hidden. To Simmons, the leather community in San Diego seemed present but just out of reach. “A lot of the community still felt like it was in hiding to me,” he says. Fetish Gras, in its earliest incarnation, wasn’t about spectacle. It was about learning. It was about curiosity. “I didn’t know much of anything,” he says, laughing. “And to be quite frank, the very first one was pretty light on kink.” There’s no embarrassment in that confession, just honesty. The event grew as he did. Each year, Simmons took what he learned, what he witnessed, what people trusted him with, and folded it back into the next version.

What started as a single Fat Tuesday event slowly became something people began to look for on the calendar. The turning point came in 2024, after Simmons attended Dore Alley in San Francisco and felt the contrast. “I realized we had nothing even close to that here,” he says. That realization came with a risk. Expanding Fetish Gras into a three-day weekend meant betting on the community, on the idea that people were ready to show up loudly, publicly, and together. “It’s wild to see my little baby event that started on Fat Tuesday proper become an annual expectation in the community,” he says. Fetish Gras Weekend is now a three-day fetish Mardi Gras festival that takes over The Rail on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, with Sunday night produced in partnership with Gear XL. But the heart of the weekend isn’t just nightlife—it’s the feeling that something once hidden has stepped fully into the street.

At its core, Fetish Gras is about exploration without fear. “Kink and leather can sometimes feel dark, serious, or intimidating,” Simmons says. “This weekend flips that on its head. It lets kink be loud, playful, ridiculous, and proud.” That tone is intentional. Fetish Gras isn’t designed to test people or measure their credentials. “Fetish Gras was built with curiosity in mind,” he explains. “For people who are interested, not intimidated.” You can arrive fully geared, or barely dipping a toe in. You can be yourself, someone new, or someone behind a mask. “There are no rules for who you’re supposed to be here,” Simmons says. “Either way, you’re welcome.” That openness and permission to explore at your own pace is what keeps pulling people back.

For Simmons, that permission is critical. “It gives people permission to explore without fear,” he says. In a world where kink is often misunderstood, stigmatized, or pushed into the shadows, Fetish Gras insists on joy. “It’s about parading your kink instead of hiding it,” he says. The weekend softens intimidation and replaces it with laughter, color, and movement. “It’s not about being the most hardcore in the room,” Simmons adds. “It’s about being open to a new world.” For those who have always been curious but unsure, the invitation is simple and sincere. “Come on down to the ‘Feddy’ Gras,” he says. “If you’ve ever been curious about leather or fetish, this is your invitation.” There’s no pressure to perform. “You can learn, watch, ask questions, or just take it all in with a cocktail in your hand. No experience required. Just curiosity, good vibes, and a little sparkle of bravery.”

The fifth year of Fetish Gras marks a deeper shift in intention. Alongside the nighttime parties, Simmons is introducing Krewez Alley Market, a daytime takeover of Rich’s that reflects a long-held dream. “This is our step toward the street fair we’ve always dreamed of building,” he says. The market brings together vendors, artists, educational demos, and talking panels, creating space for conversation and connection that doesn’t revolve around a dance floor. “It’s my way of bringing more education, art, and community into Fetish Gras,” Simmons explains, “and moving it beyond just nightlife.” On Sunday daytime, Fetish Gras partners with Paws Out to give the pup community their own home at The Rail. “They’ve been huge supporters of this weekend,” he says. “Watching that community grow has been one of the most rewarding parts of Fetish Gras for me.” These additions reflect a clear evolution: the event is still fun, still wild, but now it’s also deliberately rooted in visibility and care.

When asked to choose a single word that captures Fetish Gras Weekend, Simmons doesn’t hesitate. “The word is Parade,” he says. It’s a fitting choice. This isn’t just a party—it’s a procession of difference, desire, and delight. “We parade our ridiculousness. We parade our love for one another. We parade everything that makes each of us unique,” he says. “And most of all, we parade our kink.” Five years in, Fetish Gras stands as proof that community doesn’t have to be perfect to be powerful. It just has to be brave enough to step into the street and let itself be seen.

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