Essence wasn’t born — she erupted.
Legend has it that on a scorching Texas afternoon, in the back room of a corner store that sold nothing but limes, cigarettes, and questionable horchata, Sr. and Sra. CheetHoe welcomed their baby girl into the world.
Other babies come out soft, pink, and crying.
Essence came out spicy, glittered, and perfectly contoured.
The doctor fainted.
The nurse screamed.
The delivery room immediately fogged with the faint scent of Tajín.
By the time she was one hour old, Essence had already:
side-eyed the pediatrician,
corrected the lighting,
and performed a full eight-count to “Bidi Bidi Bom Bom.”
From the jump, she was destined to serve.
Raised between the heat of Texas and the heat of Hot Cheetos, Essence learned early on that she contained multitudes:
the elegance of a telenovela villain,
the stamina of a mujer who can carry 17 grocery bags at once,
the comedic timing of a messy tia at a quinceañera,
and the legs of a dancer who has never missed a beat.
When she moved to New York, the pavement trembled.
The nightclubs adjusted their sound systems.
The locals whispered, “Is that… her?”
It was.
And she’s been booked and blessed ever since.
Essence is a performer who works harder than your father did to get you here, smarter than you think you are, and hotter than your favorite drag queen on their best day. Unless it's her, then you are correct.
She is:
the dancer who flips, splits, and kicks,
the comedian who will roast you lovingly (or not lovingly),
the host with the mic presence of someone who’s lived eight lives,
the beauty who can stun an entire block simply by blinking,
and the professional who always shows up, kills the gig, and thanks you for having her.
She is chaos with manners.
Class with claws.
Elegance dipped in Chamoy.
Because she’s spicy,
she’s addictive,
she stains everything she touches,
and once people get a taste,
they cannot put her down.
Instagram: @essence.nyc
DMs open for fans, bookings, admirers, suitors, and haters who need to learn manners.