Bloody Statements: Julia Fox’s Jackie O Halloween Sparks Queer Conversations on Trauma, Protest, and Performance

October 30th in New York City: the air is thick with anticipation, camp, and a little bit of chaos as partygoers converge at Julio Torres’s annual Halloween bash. Among them, actress and model Julia Fox steps into the spotlight, draped in a meticulously recreated version of Jackie Kennedy’s pink boucle suit—complete with white gloves, pillbox hat, and a handbag. But Fox’s twist? The suit is soaked in fake blood, an unmistakable callback to the aftermath of President John F. Kennedy’s assassination in 1963, when Jackie, refusing to change, said, “Let them see what they’ve done” .

Within hours, Fox’s costume goes viral. Social media erupts—some label it “distasteful,” others see a bold artistic statement. And then, Jack Schlossberg, JFK and Jackie’s grandson, weighs in with a searing tweet: “Julia Fox glorifying political violence is disgusting, desperate and dangerous. I’m sure her late grandmother would agree” .

For queer audiences—long attuned to the language of performance, protest, and the subversive power of costume—Fox’s look lands differently. The choice to embody Jackie O at her most vulnerable, to publicly wear trauma and refuse sanitization, echoes the ways LGBTQ+ people have historically weaponized visibility. From ACT UP’s die-ins to drag queens channeling pop culture icons, the act of “showing what’s been done” becomes an act of resistance.

Fox herself responds to the backlash with a lengthy Instagram post, reframing the gesture: “I’m dressed as Jackie Kennedy in the pink suit. Not as a costume, but as a statement… The image of the delicate pink suit splattered with blood is one of the most haunting juxtapositions in modern history. Beauty and horror. Poise and devastation. Her decision not to change clothes, even after being encouraged to, was an act of extraordinary bravery. It was performance, protest, and mourning all at once. A woman weaponizing image and grace to expose brutality. It’s about trauma, power, and how femininity itself is a form of resistance. Long live Jackie O” .

For queer viewers, Fox’s invocation of “performance, protest, and mourning” resonates deeply. The LGBTQ+ community has often been forced to make trauma visible—to refuse erasure, to demand recognition, and sometimes, to turn pain into pageantry.

Jackie Kennedy’s blood-stained suit is more than a symbol of national tragedy—it’s a study in public grief, stoicism, and the refusal to let violence be swept under the rug. For many queer people, the legacy of public mourning and resistance is familiar: think of the AIDS crisis, when activists donned “Silence=Death” shirts and staged funerals in public squares . The act of refusing to change—refusing to make tragedy palatable—is a radical gesture.

Fox’s costume, then, lives in this complicated space. Is it a garish misstep, or a necessary reminder of how image can be weaponized? Is it disrespectful, or does it echo the queer tradition of using performance to expose brutality and demand change?

The reaction online is swift and polarized. Some followers champion Fox’s artistic intent and her nod to Jackie O’s “extraordinary bravery” . Others denounce it as “attention seeking and horribly disrespectful.” The conversation becomes a referendum on who gets to claim trauma, who gets to use history, and what it means to turn pain into spectacle.

For LGBTQ+ people, these questions are not theoretical. The politics of visibility, protest, and public performance have always been at the heart of queer liberation. From Stonewall to contemporary Pride marches, the refusal to sanitize queer pain—and queer joy—has been a tool for social change.

What Fox’s Halloween statement underscores is the power—and peril—of reclaiming narrative. The suit is simultaneously a memorial, a protest, and a performance. For many LGBTQ+ artists and activists, this triad is familiar: the act of transforming personal and collective trauma into art, protest, and public reckoning.

Fox’s defense—“It’s about trauma, power, and how femininity itself is a form of resistance”—is a rallying cry for anyone who’s ever had to make their pain visible in order to be seen. It’s a reminder that visibility is double-edged: it can provoke outrage, but it can also inspire solidarity, dialogue, and, sometimes, healing.

As the dust settles on this year’s Halloween, Fox’s bloody Jackie O remains a flashpoint—not just for debates about taste and decency, but for deeper questions about protest, performance, and the politics of public grief. For the queer community, her costume is more than a provocation—it’s a mirror, reflecting the ways we’ve used visibility, defiance, and art to expose brutality and demand change.

Whether you find Fox’s gesture “disgusting, desperate, and dangerous”—or daring, resonant, and necessary—one thing is clear: the queer art of protest is alive, kicking, and always ready to turn history’s wounds into something worth seeing.