Today, we’d like to introduce you to Dani Panic.
Hi Dani, it’s an honor to have you on the platform. Thanks for taking the time to share your story with us – to start, maybe you can share some of your backstory with our readers.
I suppose the best place to start is the beginning. I was born in Tampa in September 1987 to Craig and Linda Campbell. I have an older brother named Chad who, by my parents’ design, had a major role in my upbringing and relating to their life lessons. They knew that the world was changing very quickly. I’m told I was a very happy and rambunctious child.
Thankfully, I was too young to remember the details of my parent’s divorce, so being the baby of a newly blended family in the early 90s, I was blissfully unaware of the emotional strife until later. Eventually, my father settled his new life in Lakeland with my stepmother Carrie, where Chad, my step-siblings Brandi and Josh, and myself were joined by Cara. We were a pretty solid group, just trying to figure it out, collectively checking off all the mistakes and trouble-making you’re supposed to, so long as you learn from it.
My own experience as a Queer youth, I’ve come to understand, was a lot better than that of many others I’ve met. Granted, you don’t know any of this at the time. You’re alone. You don’t feel like anybody is there for you, but you’re constantly running out of room. The longer you’re in the closet, the smaller it gets. Coming out to family went as well as anyone can hope for. Not just the affirmation some of the lucky ones get to make. Not the family-breaking fight that others have to deal with.
Still, I needed another outlet. I couldn’t write another story or sketch another portrait. I found wonderful mentors in different art forms, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t me. Try as I might, I hadn’t found my voice. I was trying to shrink myself around the bullies and use up the air around my friends. Being roughed up and thrown in the trash makes you push the facade of being okay to the extreme.
I didn’t understand it until my Senior year when I finally did come out, but I was trying 1) to embrace being the center of attention and 2) make myself popular. As the performer I would become, it started like almost everyone else: with a talent show. I was 15 years old. I’d always been the center of attention, sought-out or otherwise. “Watch me do this” or “Hey, come in here and show everyone…” I didn’t always seek it, but the spotlight was never far. And I didn’t mind it. I knew how to handle it from a very young age. I had a great imagination.
I could entertain myself for hours. I’m not at all surprised that I find such joy on stage. Some of my story is lost to time as far as the world is concerned now. Social Media wasn’t a juggernaut. There were no drives or clouds to back up everything you’d ever known if you didn’t develop, print, or paint a picture for a photo album when that was something you flipped through during the holidays or family visits or frame on a wall when that was a physical place and not digital. I wish I had some of them.
Thankfully, though I’m young and still remember them, they’re not all key to the plot. It wasn’t until a couple of years into this whole thing that I took off. Picture it. Ybor City, 2006. I’ve made a steady home at G. Bar on 7th Avenue. Like in other places, somebody saw me dancing. Chris Weaver, one of the promoters for Florida Entertainment Group at the time, took a particular shine to me and saw to it that I had no trouble fitting in. I had a new name: Andrew (my middle name). I was given hotspot performances (unpaid but featured spots for up-and-comers) and tipped very well.
I was introduced to all the talent, given free drinks (they thought I was 21), and, truly, all access to where and what I wanted to be or know, provided I continued to act accordingly, have manners, show respect, and be grateful for the opportunity. This is what some now call professionalism. I met SoBe Wanda, Legend, Nairobi D’Viante, Macaviti, Power Infiniti, and so many more.
They were counter-culture, black and brown, filthy cute, androgynous, defiant, well crafted, but unhemmed, duct taped, missing stones, and more importantly than that, they were Fierce. I’d found another name. I’d found a style I wanted a piece of. I’ve always been able to pass as a white boy until somebody’s abuela looks at me. Now, if they thought I was white or Mexican, a boy queen or Drag King, it wouldn’t matter. I rode the middle, and it was always Fierce.
My 19th birthday came around that year, and I was looking forward to a night out with family and a dear friend. I didn’t know it then, but I would meet my husband on this outing. A chance meeting after I was supposed to be introduced to someone else entirely. Thankfully, fate intervened, and I met Jake that night. I was taken immediately. I waited another 36 hours before I called him, and we went out that night to watch The Grudge 2.
We didn’t see much of the movie. What we did do was talk every day and make time to see each other as often as we could. Thankfully, I could see him playing in the Marching Band at all of the football games since he was still a Junior in high school. Dating a long-haired, leather-wearing nightclub performer with leftover eyeliner who smoked cigarillos was its little scandal and excitement for his friends. Is this a movie yet? It’s certainly not.
The truth is, things were tough in a big city like Lakeland, which is thought to be a small town. We were cat-called, yelled at, and discriminated against like any other Queer couple. Still, we’ve always stood up for ourselves, being forthright when beneficial and exercising a little temperance when needed. It’s only now, in the last few years, when things are backsliding, that we are seeing inequality and social injustice similar to what we saw and read about growing up.
Still, we can’t shake the hope we feel for the future. At times, it’s tough to stay positive, but we know that being the change you want in the world is about actions rather than bumper stickers. It wasn’t until after Marriage Equality was passed at the Federal Level that I put form to my plans to propose. We kept the date and got married on our 12th Anniversary.
Honestly, I would have married him after three years. But he understood that I didn’t want to do it until America stepped up and everyone could do it. He’s always supported my career, even when it frustrated him. I guess, for now, I can get back to that. One night, a show at G. Bar geared toward the lesbian crowd featured Eddie Innuendo, Teddy D., my soon-to-be Drag Father 6Pak, hosted by Vita DeVoid, a Burlesque goddess and powerhouse entertainer and creative.
I stepped out of my go-go box with the other dancers so as not to distract from the stage (them’s was the rule) and thoroughly enjoyed everything about the show. I was incredibly taken by each of them and sought to introduce myself afterward. All of them were sweet, and Teddy D. gushed over me as I went back to dancing. After he pushed the conversation with Vita, she made an offer. Not for a show, or pay a hot spot or feature, but an audition for Thee VaudeVillains Burlesque Company. I enjoyed the challenge.
The task ahead of me, however, was to secure the only full-time spot on the cast, under the age of requirement against seven other people and, harder still, the Creative Director (and soon-to-be Drag Mother) Franki Markstone, who performed VV Shows as Veronica Kelly. So I prepared two auditions with different characters. One focused on male lead and power to “Jam” by Michael Jackson, who would play a very big part in my career soon enough, and the other, naturally, a more feminine and sensual approach to “All Nite (Don’t Stop)” by Janet Jackson.
Against initial objections, I won them over. Immediately, everyone had an idea for a performance they wanted to do with me. And so it went. I was thrust into dressing rooms with ten or more people, three solos per show, 6 group numbers apiece, themed, costumed, and rehearsed every time, weekly or else. But Andrew was nobody, and fierce was too niche. So, I found a new name after jotting down pages and pages of possibilities in a composition notebook. I settled on a few, and after scratching out one and then another and altering the spelling, Dani Panic was born.
I was everywhere after that. From traveling shows to conventions to bigger stages with more established people, I eventually met the pantheon. I got in, here and there, and found new, slightly quieter respite at The Parrot (then the Lakeland Pulse), but sadly, it wasn’t until June 25, 2009, that the world changed. Michael Jackson died that day. I had always had a solid command of his dance moves and style, but this opened up the floodgates. I was one of very few in Florida doing a proper impersonation of him and, of the few, frankly, I was a far first place to the others.
Suddenly, everybody needed the Michael Jackson show, and for no less than 18 months, almost every show I did was specifically as Michael Jackson. I made a lot of money, spent a lot on professional needs, and even more on the frivolous. Eventually, I felt the need to switch gears again. I wasn’t Dani Panic anymore, and I’m certainly no Michael Jackson, though I walked, talked, gestured, and even made faces and reacted like him without meaning to.
During this time, I met a few young creatives who turned to me for guidance. Like providence, I had the opportunity to share what I knew and put it on display. Danika Panic was just enough of a departure to confuse people. I turned to my sisters and focused on finding myself in my characters again. Kathryn Nevets, Crystle Chambers, Conundrum, and Fredi Xtravaganza formed almost a vision board to encapsulate much of what I’d learned then, but with more to explore personally.
I was the Show Director at The Parrot, a job I fell into because it was desperately needed, and I had three brand new drag daughters of my own and more on the way. Danika was a way to put everything together. It was a small change to my name, but it also provided big changes to my bankability and marketing. Feminine Drag, which was more mainstream than ever, allowed me to paint anything I wanted to on top of this canvas. As long as you were padded, racked, and tucked, you could get away with a lot, which I did.
Suddenly, the local Drag scene was mine again. I painted Danika a little older more mature and as a way to remove any question that I knew what I was doing. Before I knew it, I had dragged children everywhere, winning competitions, traveling for gigs, doing everything I’d already done, but faster. I was moving into the role of community workhorse, organizing fledgling Pride events in Polk County before a proper Board was finally formed, training performers and dancers for local events, and booking annual engagements, weddings, schools, etc.
Over the years, I’ve “done it all.” After about ten years of being a Show Director while juggling local travel gigs and a heavy work schedule, I stepped down to the position of Cast Entertainer at the end of 2019. I’ve spent more than four years enjoying a more relaxed performing schedule. An entertainer’s book-ability ebbs and flows, a career has peaks and valleys, and the rewards and returns for hard work are cyclical, sometimes with a long orbit. Yet I’ve been an omnipresent, dare I say, force in Central Florida’s Queer Nightlife Scene for two decades.
My idols and mentors trusted me to take care of business, be professional, get it done, fix it, and make it happen was on-the-job training and baptism under fire. As with any “lifer” in a dedicated field they’re passionate about, the actual blood, sweat, and tears are incalculable. You understand that this business doesn’t run without us.
Sometimes, we let material things get in our way. For others, it’s substance abuse. A few don’t seem to have any vices, and I’d have to admit that it sounds boring to someone like me. I’m still learning to truly love peace. As I write this, I’ve just celebrated 10 months of sobriety after illness and a week in the hospital that I was told might have taken my life in April of 2023. Between withdrawals and sedation, I don’t have clear memories of that time.
I do know I skipped meals and functioned on alcohol. I used it for nerves so much that I couldn’t tell if my hands were shaking from anxiety or needing a shot. I can tell you almost every alcoholic cliche is truer than you’d imagine. I could certainly write a lot more about my alcoholism, but this is supposed to be my story. And my story is about a lot more than cocktails. Contrary to what everyone said it might take, and even what you may believe, I’ve done it without meetings, counseling, or therapy.
At times we’re forced to put our mind to something and choose then and there. You’re alone again. Nobody who hasn’t been through it can relate, and nobody who can relate has had the same experience. It’s been heinously difficult at times, but I’m doing better than fine, and that’s a lot better than most.
Still, it takes a village. My husband, 17 years later, is still my strength. My fans are friends, and my friends are like family. My family, simply by proximity, has been a blueprint for understanding and growing with someone like me. They’ve done a truly fantastic job of loving me. And then there’s my Mom, who is everybody’s Mom.
She’s been a constant pillar of support, care, and nurturing, pushing me when I needed it and offering pushback when I didn’t want to hear it, but always allowing me to make and learn from my mistakes. She was there when I became a Title Holder. She was standing right there when I proposed to Jake. She’s been the first to purchase tickets for my events and the driven me to and from those events.
If anything is grossly omitted from my story, it’s her. I could write double or more about her, and then she’d remind me that this was supposed to be my story. For me, this stage of my life kind of feels like another coming out. It’s hard to describe the combination of fear and excitement you feel. I know that this time, I can take more of what life has to throw at me, and I’ve been given the time to make the rest of it great.
Alright, so let’s dig a little deeper into the story – has it been an easy path overall, and if not, what were the challenges you’ve had to overcome?
I’ll say that there were difficulties growing up. My father was bipolar and manic-depressive. Anybody who knows what that’s like could tell you just as well as I that you lived with many different people in one. He was always a very loving and caring father, but his struggles sometimes got the best of him. He was also kind of brilliant in his way. Very intelligent.
What that allowed him to do, though, was to justify his lack of self-care and medications at times when he needed it most. He could be very hurtful, sometimes violent in his behavior, and occasionally endanger himself. He suffered a heart attack in 2009 and I was very present in his aftercare, juggling my coaching duties for Kathleen “Red Devils” High School’s Dance Team (The Devil’s Angels) and a very busy schedule of Michael Jackson Tribute Shows.
This was the same year Michael Jackson died. He made a good recovery, but it did affect his well-being until his passing on December 30, 2017. I went out the following night to perform in his honor for New Year’s Eve. I wasn’t there when he passed, but the year leading up to it unknowingly provided an opportunity to grow even closer. He was never fully supportive of my Drag Career but loved my passion as any father would.
We made peace about several things and I was okay not being there at the very end. For my money, he was “square with the house.” He atoned for his sins in life, helped to raise a loving family with successful children who could stand on their own and nobody doubted his love for us. As for the bullying, I offer a lot of grace to the kids who bullied me because we were young and should have known better, but any adult would agree that you hopefully know better the longer life goes on.
The hate speech and aggression are a little easier to take because of those tough times as a child, but they do make you realize that some people never mature in the facet of life or educate themselves on how to live in the world. I can’t change the world, but if I help to change minds little by little, then I know I’m doing something better for the world. Part of that is living my truth freely and facing admonishment and adversity with understanding and education.
My drinking habits started in the bars and clubs. It was so routine. I don’t vilify it though. It’s a good time, as long as you’re having a good time. I never wanted to fight anybody because I had too much. I was never the type to cry in my beers over trauma. I had a pretty good time with a cocktail in hand. Since I handled myself really well and drank what I enjoyed, it became an everyday thing.
I often think that I wouldn’t go to the bar to drink as a remedy for a hard day because I didn’t shoulder that stress the same. I already knew I was going out anyway. And, again, it feeds the routine. But out of nowhere, a run-of-the-mill bug made me feel horrible. Like many, when I’m sick, I don’t want anything. Not food or drink, company or noise.
So, the day I didn’t have any alcohol, it took mere hours for the withdrawal to ravage my already depleted body, and that continued for three days until I spent that week in the hospital. The rest of it is basically spelled out in my longer submission. I’m very fortunate to be alive. Greater still is that it no longer feels like a daily choice not to drink.
Career-wise, I fought hard early on to represent this mix of styles that didn’t always fit in your more marketable shows. I was the necessary outcast who got the booking because I had my shit together. I was offered no more chances to fail than the others. What I did manage to do was succeed.
Thanks – so, what else should our readers know about your work and what you’re currently focused on?
What I can say is that I’ve always found a way to adapt. I can read the room to know what will serve me best regarding my performance. I haven’t always made the perfect choice, but I was never far off the mark, and know how to pivot and take the right direction creatively.
Can you talk to us a bit about the role of luck?
Anybody who tells you luck isn’t involved is fooling themselves. Of course, I’ve been lucky. Mostly, it’s been to be aligned with the right people. This show business thing has a way of weeding itself out of those who don’t belong. To its detriment, some great artists and creatives are overlooked. That can’t be denied.
However, there are opportunities in different areas of interest that simply need to be met with preparation and the wherewithal to recognize how best to make them successful. Knowing who you are dealing with goes a long way to knowing what you’re dealing with. Intuition can be grown and molded but never taught. Those without it will find much bad luck falling on their plate.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: @theedanipanic
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/danipanicentertainment/
Image Credits
Charles Wolf Photography and Christin Wheeler Photography
