Editor Ira is here today to talk to you about his beloved New Orleans, in honor of Mardi Gras:

If you’ve spent more than 30 minutes in my company, I’ve probably found an excuse to tell you that I used to live in New Orleans. It’s one of those things that people who need constant validation (c’est moi!) bring up all the time as a means of conveying excellence upon themselves without expending any actual effort beyond physical proximity to something objectively cool. I’m particularly insufferable at this time of year, because this is Mardi Gras season. I miss New Orleans every day of the year, but especially during this stretch.

Crescent City residents tend to have a complicated relationship with Mardi Gras. It’s undeniable that the annual influx of clueless tourists, the impossibility of parking anywhere near a parade route, and the barrage of parties and events make the city a lot more difficult to navigate for the people who will still be living there after the final beads have been thrown. Even so, you’d be hard-pressed to find many locals who don’t get at least a little caught up in the singular spirit of the season. Being in New Orleans on Mardi Gras Day is one of the most infectiously joyful sensations I’ve ever experienced.

The Zulu parade is a major part of that joy, and also one of the most fascinating pieces of Mardi Gras history. A little backstory on parade culture is probably in order for those unfamiliar with New Orleans specifics. Unlike most parade-oriented celebrations, Mardi Gras doesn’t hinge on one big parade, but rather on dozens of distinctive parades spread out over two weeks. Each parade is organized by a social club known as a “krewe.” Each krewe has its own themes and personality, and the parades are lavish productions that often involve elaborate costuming, animatronic float decorations, multiple marching bands, and every type of ambulatory entertainment under the sun. “Super krewes” such as the Krewes of Bacchus, Endymion, and Orpheus feature celebrity kings and queens who ride on flagship floats.

The Zulu parade hits many of those same beats, but it’s also unique in a lot of ways. It’s the first parade of Mardi Gras day and starts much earlier than any other, kicking off at 8 a.m. It follows a different route than the other krewes, starting at Claiborne and Jackson in the Central City neighborhood and ending at Orleans and Broad in the Treme. It’s the only krewe whose king is elected by members. Just like every krewe, float riders throw out plenty of beads and doubloons to the crowd, but Zulu sets itself apart with the single most desirable throw of carnival season: coconuts hand-painted in a variety of designs.

The most noteworthy distinction of the Zulu parade, though, is that it’s the oldest predominantly Black krewe on the official New Orleans parade schedule. The earliest version of the Zulu Social Aid and Pleasure Club was founded in 1909 as a benevolent organization that provided social services for its often underserved members. The “pleasure club” aspect took the form of costumed Mardi Gras parades that took a more light-hearted approach than the sometimes self-serious white krewes.

Whereas most Mardi Gras krewes take their names from figures in Greek and Roman mythology, Zulu drew its name from the empire that ruled over much of southern Africa in the 19th century. While white krewe members dressed in robes and crowns in the style of European royalty, early Zulu marchers wore grass skirts and black tights, turtlenecks, and face paint in an emulation of stereotypical depictions of Africans. Many of the Zulu royal titles poked fun at the pomposity of Mardi Gras proceedings, with krewe members taking on roles such as “Mr. Big Stuff,” “Big Shot of Africa,” and “Witch Doctor.”

(If a lot of this sounds fairly problematic in a modern context, know that this isn’t a new concern — civil rights groups boycotted the Zulus in the 1960s for reinforcing negative stereotypes, a claim the krewe has always refuted. For example, leaders claimed that the Zulu tradition of wearing black face paint was a way of getting around racist laws that forbid Black residents from wearing masks in public. Like most things in a city with a history of as many racial atrocities as New Orleans, it’s a complicated issue.)

The Zulus were fairly obscure outside of New Orleans’ Black community until 1949, when a “Life” magazine cover story about Louis Armstrong’s role as King of the Zulus sparked national interest. Membership and interest ebbed and flowed over the decades, as it has with almost all Mardi Gras krewes, but Zulu remained a keystone of the carnival season for many New Orleans residents. In 1972 it became the first krewe to officially integrate its membership. That looks like an especially progressive move considering that New Orleans did not officially require krewes to desegregate their memberships until 1992, a ruling that led several of the oldest krewes to end their parades rather than accept members of color.

Today the Zulu parade has taken a unique place of prominence in Mardi Gras culture. Getting up early on Mardi Gras day to stake out a good spot for Zulu is a yearly tradition for many New Orleans residents and visitors, and Zulu coconuts remain the most exciting keepsakes a parade goer can get their hands on. There has been talk in recent years of switching the parade route to conform with the rest of the krewes to make things easier for public safety officials, but as of this year Zulu remains the only parade to begin and end in predominantly Black neighborhoods.

From my perspective as a former New Orleans resident who won’t shut up about that status, I can say that Zulu is the most purely fun parade in the Mardi Gras pantheon (the all-women Muses parade standing as a reasonably close second). There’s a wry wit to many of the krewe’s float and costume designs, as well as an unmistakable reverence for the unique history of the parade and its foundational krewe. While it takes a lot to stand out as the most entertaining facet of an entertainment overload like Mardi Gras in New Orleans, Zulu pulls it off with aplomb. I know what it means to miss New Orleans, and the Zulu parade is one of the things I miss most.