In the entire time that I’ve lived in Los Angeles, I’ve never been interested in the goofy pomp and circumstance of granting entertainment celebrities a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, but this past Monday everything changed. The Pope of Trash, the Prince of Puke, the Bad Boy of Baltimore, John Waters, was finally, after a 50-year career, given a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame right in front of the Larry Edmonds bookshop—his favorite. A crowd of about 300 outcasts, weirdos and misfits was overflowing the sidewalks at Hollywood and Cherokee just to catch a glimpse of their hero. As I quipped to my comrade, “How could we NOT be here for this?” There were spectacular and insane outfits, women decked out in bugs, leather boys, stoned punks, Day-Glo hairdos—and a few hair don’ts.

This event was notable because Waters always positioned himself as an outsider with dreams of Hollywood. He once claimed that he would love to sell out, but that nobody was buying. The event coincided with the opening of the exhibition “Pope of Trash” at the Academy Museum, featuring film, clips, ephemera, costumes and other tidbits from his five-decades-long career as America’s dirtiest uncle. Mink Stole and Ricki Lake offered a few opening remarks and an outpouring of love before the man himself gave a very short speech, where he remarked, “Here I am, closer to the gutter than ever!” With the crowd cheering he closed by saying, “I hope the most desperate showbiz rejects walk over me here and feel some sort of respect. This time I’ve finally gone Beyond the Valley of The Dolls!”