By almost any measure, the pigeon is a humble bird. But on Saturday, New York’s unofficial avian emblem and second most hated critter was celebrated on the High Line in Chelsea at a first- (and last-) of-its-kind event, Pigeon Fest. Many showed up befeathered and beflocked, adorned with tiny gray-winged novelties and bursting with facts to counter the pigeon’s bad reputation.
As urban wildlife, they’re versatile — they can lay eggs and survive almost anywhere. They’re tough, like New Yorkers, said a woman wearing a cone-shaped pigeon headdress, as if one had nested atop a birthday party hat.
“They’re beautiful, and they’re really cool to learn about,” said a 13-year-old named Athena, who was visiting the High Line from New Jersey. People who are dismissive of them may only be thinking of the common rock pigeon, she added. “But there’s also the Victoria crowned pigeon,” which has a resplendent blue corona. “What’s not to love?”
Inspired by “Dinosaur,” the artist Iván Argote’s 17-foot-tall sculpture that has roosted on the High Line Plinth, at 30th Street and 10th Avenue, since the fall, the festival had panel discussions, crafts and carnival games (pin the tail on the you-know-what). It was held in conjunction with National Pigeon Appreciation Day, a commemoration, associated with President Woodrow Wilson, of carrier pigeons’ contributions to World War I. On Saturday afternoon, at least one actual preener came dressed for its moment in the spotlight, in a tiny red bow tie.
But the highlight for many attendees was the pigeon pageant, during which contestants were invited to do their best impressions — imbirdsonations? — of the fowl of the day. Argote and Shannon Lindsay Eustice, from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology — a “house pigeon” owner herself — were among the judges. They awarded trophies based on categories like plumage, strut and coo. “Any performance that involves a bundle of sticks is for me,” said Dusty Childers, another judge. Even an elusive baby pigeon made an appearance (but only as a beaded accessory).
Move over Timothée Chalamet: This was the more authentic New York City look-alike contest — or, at least, “the bragging rights are better,” said Taylor Zakarin, the associate curator of High Line Art. Seven competitors, including one duo, flitted to soundtracks of Frank Sinatra and Bert of Sesame Street, tail-twerked to hip-hop and performed winsome “Sex and the City”-esque monologues — by Carrie Beakshaw, in this case. There were scattered breadcrumbs and twig nests, pizza-eating acrobatics, and jokes at the expense of former Gov. Andrew Cuomo and Mayor Eric Adams.
The artist Machine Dazzle, dressed as pigeon poop, was the M.C. His towering assemblage of melted plastic, Bubble Wrap, gauze and glitter was inspired by the scale of “Dinosaur,” he said, and by the free-form ubiquity of pigeons. “They’re just there, like the air,” he said.
Alan van Capelle, the executive director of Friends of the High Line, which operates the park, said that the “Dinosaur” sculpture had been attracting enthusiasts ever since its installation in October. “People have come with pigeon purses, hats, vests that have feathers on them,” he said. Some even brought their own feathered friends, atop their shoulders — “almost like introducing the bird to ‘Dinosaur.’” (The sculpture will be on view until next spring.)
Argote, who lives in Paris, said that when he was creating the piece he had only an inkling of all the “pigeon influencers” out there. But, he added, the “pigeon is an icon, somehow, of the margins, so it attracts a lot of people who are either involved with pigeons literally or feel represented by its complexity.” (Onstage, he called it a punk bird.) Seeing the event come together was “surreal,” he said, adding: “It goes way beyond the work. As a sculptor and as an artist, you try to create something, but as soon as it gets into the community it becomes more meaningful.”
That the festival was held on the same day as President Trump’s military parade and the nationwide “No Kings” protests might have also contributed to its popularity. People need a moment of escape, van Capelle said, “to do something that’s fun and let their pigeon freak flag fly for an afternoon.”
Of course, not everyone there was an out-and-out pigeon aficionado.
“I think they’re kind of gross,” said Abby Lloyd, an artist who participated in the pageant. “So I wanted to lean into that.” Her character, Pidge, took inspiration from “the grit of ’70s New York,” she said. The look was minimalist — a gray leotard and a feather boa — but Pidge had swagger. Showered with Wonder Bread, she ended her stage time with a throaty rendition of Hole’s grunge classic “Doll Parts,” except it was “Bird Parts.” (“Bird beak, bird eyes, bird legs … I wanna be the bird with the most bread.”) By rounds of applause, she won the People’s Pigeon sash.
First place went to Miriam Abrahams, an artist who said she had spent about a month constructing a large, lifelike costume out of papier-mâché and chicken wire, and, on the night before the contest, jazzed it up with a top hat and jaunty bow tie. Her considered performance involved the day’s biggest surprise: She laid an egg, which drew a genuine gasp from the crowd. And she was cheered by Eustice, of Cornell Ornithology, for handling it properly.
Turns out that Abrahams was an undercover insider: She’s a longtime volunteer at the Wild Bird Fund, the Upper West Side nonprofit that cares for urban wildlife, including as many as 1,000 pigeons. (They typically have “stacks” of them, she said, adding, “In the basement, they’re just everywhere.”)
“I’ve grown up rescuing pigeons and rehabbing them,” Abrahams said, after she removed her winning head. “So, yeah, this was like my moment.” She is — obviously — considering building a nest for her trophy.
Alexandra Owensby, an engineer, artist, dance company co-founder and drag king known as Pete Zaparty, took home second place, for a highly detailed ensemble that included a giant bedazzled eggshell, a delicate white-feathered mustache and an authentic display of pigeons’ lackadaisical approach to home-building. “They just throw a few sticks on the ground and they’re like, Yeah, that’s good enough,” Owensby said. “It’s so funny.”
For all the festival’s efforts to demystify and rehabilitate “rats with wings,” as Pidge’s costume proudly proclaimed, they remain mysterious iconoclasts. This, too, endears them to some New Yorkers.
Rachel Blithe, a Manhattan consultant, likened their improvisatory, resilient essence to jazz. Watching them, “it’s serenity,” she said. “They’re just chilling.”
Late in the day, a lone pigeon circled around and perched on a ledge, with its back to the event. Photographers swooped in, urging it to turn and scoot closer to Pigeon Fest. Rest assured, it did no such thing.
Melena Ryzik is a roving culture reporter at The Times, covering the personalities, projects and ideas that drive the creative world.
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