Ariana Perez scans quickly over the head of a client seated in the barber chair in front of her. At 4 p.m. on a windy Friday in February, she is wrapping up her last customer of the day.
She spots something not completely to her liking, reaches for a different set of clippers, and smooths over an imperfect line. She moves with confidence, almost stalking around the chair, grabbing just the right tools in her brightly lit Lakewood barbershop.
Only this isn’t Perez’s barbershop. It’s a wellness storefront owned by a friend who let Perez set up a chair to cut clients.
Perez’s actual space sits a mile and a half northeast, in a storefront owned by the Studio West 117 (SW117) project. The website of the $100 million development describes it as a “first-of-its-kind neighborhood created for and by the LGBTQ+ community of Greater Cleveland.”
But with a space full of water damage and asbestos, the threat of legal action and a 10-year lease she can’t escape, Perez is not feeling the sense of LGBTQ+ community promised to her.
“I felt like I wasn’t being seen or heard,” Perez said.
As the Latine first-time business owner struggles to figure out the future of her business, she’s sharing her concerns about SW117 — concerns echoed by other Clevelanders who have also begun to cast doubts on the way in which the development and its owners are making their mark on the community.
Over a two-month span, Cleveland Scene and The Buckeye Flame have interviewed more than 25 people who have been associated with Studio West 117: current employees, former employees and individuals who are either currently serving on or have left the board of the West 117th Foundation, a nonprofit created by the owners of SW117.
We heard allegations of homophobic remarks by managers, stolen drag show ideas and questions about wages. A handful of the complaints were verifiable; many were generalized. All of them were dramatic.
The narrative thread that connected these interviews was a portrait of a project awe-inspiring in its scope, yet imperiled by two “rich white developers” disconnected from the actual needs of a diverse LGBTQ+ community and unwilling to listen to the people whose needs they were purportedly fulfilling.
Our focus remained on a core question: In that disconnect, was actual harm being done?
As word spread that this story was in the works, more Clevelanders began reaching out wanting to share their thoughts. Some lamented that we were writing a hit piece. We weren’t. Others celebrated that we were taking down Studio West 117. We’re not.
Regardless, Studio West 117 went into damage-control mode.
On April 8, before a draft of this story was even finished, Studio West 117 partners Daniel Budish and Betsy Figgie wrote a note to members and donors advising them of "what we expect to be an unflattering and misinformed article." The letter addressed many of the issues discussed here — which at that point had largely not been shared publicly with the community — and noted, "As you know, a start-up of our scale and ambition is bound to encounter some growing pains, and we’ve certainly had our fair share."
The flurry of communication also included an email to Scene’s publisher from someone who identified themselves as part of the project. It read, in part: “Is there anything through sponsorships we can work with you on to have this article not get released?” (Figgie said the sender was a former contractor. Some employees, however, said the sender is Figgie’s boyfriend and still has a relationship with the project. Figgie did not respond to a question about whether they have a relationship.)
But is this more than growing pains? From a major split with its own affiliated nonprofit to more non-disparagement agreements than seemingly exist in all of Hollywood, the guiding question of this inquiry has remained: In trying to create community, is SW117 actually pushing some LGBTQ+ Ohioans farther apart?
A Big Idea
Daniel Budish and Betsy Figgie beam with pride as they lead a tour on a rainy Friday in March through the active construction zone of the SW117 complex at Hird and Detroit avenues in Lakewood. Their enormous smiles are on par with their goals for the space, which are nothing short of ambitious: to build a thriving destination that will not only be a central gathering space for Cleveland’s LGBTQ+ community (think San Francisco’s Castro District or Chicago’s North Halsted gayborhoods) but also attract visitors to Northeast Ohio. And keep them here.
They stop every few feet to point out features of the 300,000-square-foot project on the Cleveland/Lakewood border. Outside, people will gather on the rooftop patio when the weather warms; this is the kitchen where Figgie led a senior meal-prep class; and, of course, here’s the Fieldhouse gymnasium, which hosts everything from pickleball to dance parties.
“A lot of folks my age were leaving town for these other locations, either D.C. or New York, to find, really, these centers of LGBT socialization,” said Budish, the son of Armond Budish, the former executive of Cuyahoga County and Ohio House Speaker.
Budish and Figgie had previous experience building something together: The two had successfully raised the capital to open the Pivot Center for Art, Dance and Expression in Tremont. With their respective expertise in securing historic tax credits and generating major donor and foundation support, they decided to channel that energy into creating SW117.
“We wanted to be able to do something good for the LGBTQ+ community here,” said Budish.
When they saw that the Phantasy Theater was for sale in 2018, they leapt at the opportunity to purchase the space as the baseline for their vision of an entertainment complex. More major land purchases quickly followed, including the building housing the late-night staple My Friends diner, the funeral parlor a few doors down on Detroit, and the former site of a National Tire and Battery (NTB) just south of the Phantasy.
As they secured financing, including tax increment financing from Lakewood worth up to $5 million, the project was separated into three phases.
- Phase 1: Opened in October 2022, this first phase is centered around the Fieldhouse, a multifunction entertainment space that includes a full gymnasium, private rentable spaces and three restaurant concepts feeding into one dining space.
- Phase 2: Slated for 2025, this next step will feature a renovation of the Phantasy Theater along with themed entertainment spaces, including a fetish bar and a vampire bar with a Louisiana vibe.
- Phase 3: Also slated for 2025, this last phase will see the construction of 100 apartment units situated on the former NTB site. Plans also include LGBTQ+ senior living and a hotel.
A Foundation — and a Schism
Lauren Tatum agrees to meet us at the Union Club, in a private space downtown; they don’t want to speak at a public cafe where the interview might be seen. Their narrative of the messy history between the West 117 Foundation and SW117 is vastly different from Budish and Figgie’s.
According to Budish, the West 117 Foundation was meant to be a “philanthropic kind of collaborator on [the] LGBT community-based programs” hosted at and by SW117.
But as president of the original board of directors for the West 117 Foundation, Tatum says the foundation was meant to have its own board, application process and autonomy. The foundation's mission as stated tax returns is "to generate philanthropic resources to support entrepreneurship, arts, culture, health and human services to create a hub for Cleveland's LGBTQ+ ecosystem." SW117 is not specified.
Tatum, the founder and CEO of luxury jewelry brand Bunny Paige, says they were a part of the West 117th Foundation from the start and traces the project’s inception to New York in 2019.
“We all went on a trip together and that was the original little nucleus of the project,” Tatum said, speaking about themselves and their partner, Daniel Houseman, along with Budish, Figgie and former entertainment director for SW117, Dr. Lady J. “That’s where we conceptualized a lot of those first rough draft ideas of what Studio West could be, what we dreamed it to be.”
Notably, of these five, only Budish and Figgie remain involved with SW117, and Tatum says the West 117 Foundation, which is still in operation, intends to change its name to further separate from SW117.
In the beginning, Tatum says, there was no foundation and separate for-profit organization, just an intention to bring together and uplift Cleveland’s LGBTQ+ community.
“How do we keep each other safe? How do we provide support? How do we create and curate safe spaces, systems and programs?” said Tatum.
These questions and a focus on “systemic issues, especially for marginalized communities,” drove the creation of the West 117th Foundation, of which Tatum became board president in May of 2020. The foundation originally had three main projects: an LGBTQ Youth Sports League, a Mural Art Program and a general grant program.
In the beginning, the board had 11 members, including Tatum, and two ex officio members who were local elected officials: Cleveland City Councilperson Jenny Spencer and Dan O’Malley, then president of Lakewood City Council. Today there are just three members left.
In addition to Tatum, a key leader was Steve Sokany, a former Kent State University fundraising executive who served as the West 117th Foundation’s executive director.When Sokany was brought on, Budish and Figgie say they paid his full six-figure salary for the first three months and, after that, covered 25% of Sokany’s salary as a gift and paid 75% as a loan which the foundation would repay.
However, according to Budish and Figgie, the foundation has never been able to repay the loans.“They really did not raise money,” said Figgie, who says she and Budish did not take action on the unrepaid loans because they did not want to “harm” the community.
But Tatum disputed this version of events.
“The only financial help that they gave us was supporting Steve's initial goal, and they were welcome to do that,” Tatum said. “There was talk of, ‘Well, if you ever get to a place where you are able to pay it back in some way, that would be cool.’ But there was no formal agreement or anything like that. It was just a conversation and we never got to that point, being a small startup.”
Financial support in general is not something that leadership from SW117 and the West 117 Foundation can agree on. Budish and Figgie identify themselves as major donors to the foundation, while Tatum and foundation Interim Executive Director Brendan Trewella say that, although Budish and Figgie introduced the foundation to donors and helped with networking, they were not major financial backers.
What is clear is that the relationship between SW117 and the foundation soured quickly. According to Budish and Figgie, SW117 was moving at breakneck speed to develop the community, and the foundation simply couldn’t keep up.
“When the rubber met the road, and when [small businesses] actually needed the support from the foundation, it would take many, many months for any sort of answer to come out of the foundation,” Budish said. “And businesses and small nonprofits need [those funds] in a timely manner.”
However, Tatum and Trewella say SW117 didn’t respect the board’s independence, authority or grant review process, instead expecting the foundation to rubber-stamp grant applications from businesses, like Ariana Perez’s barbershop, that were tied to SW117.
“It became increasingly obvious that our autonomy, that boundary was being crossed because we were telling them from the lens of all the work we had done, ‘This is what the community needs, this is what the parents are asking for, the principals want this’…That was when it turned from friction to fracture,” said Tatum.
The former executive director of the foundation, Sokany, shared the same sentiment: that the SW117 developers didn’t have an appropriate understanding of their role in relation to the foundation.
“They’re original aspiration was that the foundation would support programs that they envisioned being housed in their Studio West development project…[the foundation] would consider requests to support programs that perhaps [Budish] and [Figgie] brought to the foundation, but it wasn’t a given. The foundation had a grants committee and they would evaluate all requests,” said Sokany.
“And I think there was an expectation that, if they asked for something, that the foundation would just automatically make a grant to support what they were asking for.”
With time, Tatum said communication went from strained to downright childish and that Budish and Figgie iced out Sokany.
“It became very strange because instead of reaching out to Steve, [Budish and Figgie] would try to pass through and talk with board members. And that I know [for Sokany] it was very frustrating.”
Sokany says he stepped down as executive director in April of 2022 but continued to work for the foundation as a consultant through November of 2022.
The developers of SW117 deny these and other accusations and say they always welcomed communication from Sokany and the entire foundation board. They also suggested that people who came forward for this story may have selfish reasons for speaking out, including Trewella, whose design studio either parted ways with SW117 or was fired, depending on who you ask. (Trewella insists his firm was not fired.)
“Some of the commentary in the receiving may in fact be coming from advisors that are being paid by the West 117 Foundation that have a lot to lose, or advisors that we have to part ways with because they just weren't pulling their weight,” Figgie said.
She said she sees coattail riding at play. “Our team is on top of their game and throughout this project, people have tried to associate themselves with what we're doing because it's getting national attention and it's the right thing to do. But sometimes they're not delivering on what they said they could do and we have to part ways.”
When asked about discord between the foundation and SW117, Budish said, “There were some egos at the top that prevented collaboration from taking place in the way that most of the board members wanted it to take place and then that is why a majority of them resigned.”
Blame Goes Around
Some members of the foundation board blame Tatum for their departure.
Four former board members told us that they left due to a lack of output from the foundation, inexperienced board leadership, and the constant presence of Tatum’s personal animus against Budish and Figgie, which they saw as prohibitive to actual progress.
“Studio West 117 has made a large investment and has demonstrated a great vision. Like many new business owners and developers, they made some missteps, even with good intentions. But that should not discount their investment in the mission they are working to accomplish on behalf of a community that is in great need,” said former board members Tracy Turoff, Kevin Schmotzer, Ilah Adkins and Suzanne Hamilton in a statement.
“It was disappointing to many of us foundation board members that a few at the foundation could not set aside their own personal conflict and find a way to work with the Studio West management even after a majority of board members expressed the desire to do so. As such, there was a stream of resignations, leaving only three remaining board members.”
Budish and Figgie said they paid for the services of a mediator to address issues with the Foundation — Phyllis Harris. When reached for comment, Harris clarified that the contract was between SW117 and Sage and Maven, her consulting firm owned and operated by her and Ryan Clopton-Zymler. Although Clopton-Zymler is a certified mediator, Sage & Maven did not provide “mediation” services but instead were contracted to do organizational and leadership development work that included a facilitated meeting between Studio West 117 and the West 117 Foundation.
Budish and Figgie have now created two new foundations — the Phantasy Foundation and the LGBTQ Health and Wellness Foundation — in the wake of the schism. Both now fund programs and stipends at SW117.
“Recently, we ended our relationship with the West 117 Foundation after a series of issues, including a series of board resignations over concerns about its leadership and its practices,” Budish and Figgie wrote in their letter to the community last month. “We believe this action is the root motivation for this article. But, more importantly, we believe our action was correct, and we look forward to teaming up with new community foundations that fully embrace our mission.”
Standing Alone Instead of Standing Together
Dr. Lady J Martinez began working with Studio West 117 with a great deal of hope. The renowned performer and official drag historian for the Austin International Drag Festival — she has an actual Ph.D. in drag history — met with Budish and Figgie in 2019 and was sold on their vision.
“It seemed a little expansive, but still within reason,” Martinez said.
She agreed to the role of Studio West 117’s director of programming, outreach and education, with one main condition: diversifying the leadership.
“We were three white people planning programming for a 53% majority Black city that has real issues of racism. We had been named one of the worst places for Black women and an U.S. epicenter of trans murders,” she said. “We had to do better.”
Martinez said it was a rocky start — “Me having to work for six months for free in order to prove my value was not a great sign” — and that she refused to sign the contract that Budish and Figgie provided her. That document — provided to Scene for review — contained a “non-compete” clause that would have barred her from performing, doing speaking engagements, or providing community outreach to any businesses “within 150 miles of the intersection of Detroit Avenue and Hird Avenue” both during her work at Studio West and for one year following any termination of the contract.
Martinez balked.
“That clause was insane. They kept trying to own my drag history curriculum. They were trying to establish some sense of ownership of people and their content, and that’s not how you build community,.” she said.
Her breaking point came when she helped create a hiring committee that was majority Black, majority trans and almost all queer. When an LGBTQ+ candidate was not selected for a leadership position in favor of a white, heterosexual cisgender candidate, Martinez was incensed.
“I took [Budish] aside and said, ‘For you, this is always going to look like one out of 100 jobs. But I know what it’s like to lose my friends because they don’t have stability and kill themselves in the parking lot. This is just another queer person who didn’t get a job. And you don’t see that as important,’” she said.
The stress became so much that Martinez had to take a mental health leave from working with Studio West. She said that Budish contacted her during her leave and offered her an hourly rate in exchange for compiling lists of the most valuable and the most problematic drag performers.
“My response to that request was to resign,” she said.
At the heart of Martinez’s narrative is SW117’s relationship with the LGBTQ+ community. Six other performers have reached out to allege that SW117’s approach to booking nightlife is creating a toxic environment, pitting performers against each other. They claim that SW117 copied show ideas from other venues and attempted to poach performers.
Budish and Figgie denied these allegations, saying that SW117’s show concepts are “producer-driven” and that they “encourage the producers we work with to create new and exciting concepts.”
“We’re Building the Plane as We’re Flying It”
Sean O’Brien is not entirely sure if he still works at Studio West 117.
“Technically, I’m on ‘indefinite suspension,’ but who even knows what that means at this point?” he said.
O’Brien moved to Cleveland from Philadelphia during the pandemic to take advantage of the inexpensive housing market. Although he had years of experience in bar management, he was not particularly looking to continue in that type of employment. But when he heard about SW117 and its scope, he changed his mind.
“They barely interviewed me and I got hired right away,” he said.
Yet O’Brien described working for SW117 as “constant chaos.”
“They would hire people for leadership positions who just didn’t have experience in doing this work, like bar managers. So the rest of us would just spend our time cleaning up their messes,” he said.
When O’Brien and another bartender devised a “gym class”-themed event for the space, he said management — including Budish and Figgie — were initially on board with hosting a circuit party, events known historically as offering spaces for gay men to “bond spiritually, socially, sexually and musically.” But on the day of the event, Budish sent O’Brien an email (which O’Brien provided to Scene) with a series of concerns including nudity and sexual activity.
“There will be a lot of eyes on this event for multiple reasons and this needs to be a top concern for everyone,” Budish wrote.
O’Brien said it was a 180-degree change in attitude from when the event was originally discussed.
“It was a gay circuit party, and they knew that from the start. How clothed did they think people would be?” O’Brien said.
The day of the event, O’Brien said he was stressed and lost his temper with inexperienced managers who he said were doing nothing but obstructing the event (“I could have handled that better.”). Despite hundreds of attendees, a top sales night of over $11,000 and O’Brien’s email apology for his tone after the event, he was placed on “indefinite suspension.”
“It makes as much sense as anything else did in that mismanaged space, which was not much at all because people just don’t know what they’re doing,” O’Brien said.
The theme of mismanagement and inexperienced staff was raised in every conversation we had with six former employees of Studio West.
Chelsea Huizing held a variety of positions at SW117, including assistant general manager of the Fieldhouse. Like the others, he was excited for the scope of the project and frustrated with the delivery.
“No matter how much experience someone had, they weren’t listened to when they tried to give direction about operations, Cleveland and its community,” Huizing said.
With many years of experience in the service industry, Huizing thought he could put his expertise to work in this unique environment. Instead, he said he encountered one brick wall after another.
“[Budish and Figgie’s] arrogance and ignorance completely overwhelmed any chance of ownership learning from mistakes,” Huizing said.
Even with a manager title, Huizing said he didn’t have the agency to help adjust the restaurant’s operations to respond to a litany of complaints coming from customers — a litany that would not be uncommon for a new restaurant — so he ultimately tendered his resignation. He did so with great sadness.
“Working there was frustrating and infuriating, but it was also overwhelmingly heartbreaking,” he said. “Some people have to learn the hard way — and I’m afraid a lot of damage has been done in that process. It really breaks my heart.”
Shain Josef signed a contract with SW117 in September 2022 to be the project’s lead audio visual technician and lead disc jockey. Duties entailed managing a cast of DJs, coordinating entertainer numbers, managing a music database, and assisting with maintenance of all of the a/v equipment.
Although the contract did not specify the financial terms, Josef said that Alan Saunders, a former general manager of SW117, told him it would be a $150,000 annual salary.
“I quit my day job and created Cleveland Premiere Entertainment, my own LLC,” Josef said.
When Saunders was suddenly no longer employed by SW117, Josef said the company fell behind on more than $4,000 he was owed, by more than six weeks. When he scheduled a meeting with Budish and Figgie, he said they informed him that they didn’t have any copies of the signed contract and that they needed to reduce his pay to $75/night on weekdays and $150/night on weekends.
“My LLC is now going under as I can’t even cover the taxes,” Josef said.
When reached for comment, Saunders replied, “I signed an NDA and cannot speak on the matter.”
In May, Josef informed Budish and Figgie that he would be removing all of his equipment by June 26, and requested a six-month period of no contact. He said the emotional trauma of working at SW117 was too great.
“These are two owners who have never run a restaurant/nightclub with no HR department and no organizational structure,” Josef said. “They are running things without any connection to what Cleveland really wants.”
Eric Dahl said he was hired by Budish and Figgie to create a calendar of events to increase bar traffic.
“My payment was essentially higher tips due to more turnout,” he said. But things took a turn quickly.
“[Budish and Figgie] forced me to work with someone who made me uncomfortable by being predatory and forceful with me,” he said. “When I brought it up they told the rest of the team that I was lying.”
Other allegations from past employees included wages not being paid, “grossly inadequate” training, numerous complaints from multiple employees about a manager’s “homophobic comments,” and terminations that seemed to happen weekly.
In response to employees’ claims about a predatory and homophobic manager, Budish and Figgie responded that they “have not witnessed any such behavior.” They declined to address Josef’s salary issue or employee retention numbers (“we don't comment on personnel issues”), but have conceded that they hit bumps in the road.
“This is a startup and we are building the plane as we are flying it,” Budish wrote in an email to O’Brien. “We don’t have an instruction manual and need to continue giving each other grace and compassion first and foremost as we build the infrastructure here.”
Behind the Scenes of a Contentious Youth Sports League
The Youth Sports League was meant to be a marquee program for the West 117th Foundation. In an age characterized by legislative attacks on LGBTQ+ youth, including in the form of youth sports bans, the league was proposed as a place for kids of all sexual orientations and gender identities to be themselves.
Instead, it too devolved into angry accusations and a falling out with the developers.
The league was to feature a weekly basketball program on Saturdays, “drop-in” days with games like freeze tag, a sports-centered summer camp and tournaments. The league and all of its programs were, from the start, meant to be free and accessible to everyone.
But as the relationship between SW117 and the foundation started to deteriorate, the league got caught in the crossfire.
“The for-profit side…whatever communication breakdown they had, I still to this day don't know and, frankly, I don't care, because I don't have the patience for drama,” said Gio Santiago, the Black trans veteran the foundation hired to be director of the Youth Sports League.
The administration of the league fell under the foundation, but SW117 was to donate space at the Fieldhouse, to be used free of charge.
But the league never ended up partnering with or meeting at the Fieldhouse at all. According to Santiago, the league could not get a guarantee that it wouldn’t be forced out if SW117 was approached by a paying customer looking to use the Fieldhouse space.
“That was the framework that they thought was okay, because, for them, it's for profit. It was a business venture with a side of community, that's how I like to say it,” said Santiago.
According to Santiago, the league even offered to pay to use the space before ultimately abandoning the plan, because weekly use of the Fieldhouse couldn’t be guaranteed.
“Everything is not always about money,” Santiago said. “You can't say you're doing something for the community and always talk about how much money you put into it because that doesn't sit well with people and especially those that are underserved who may not have money.”
Budish and Figgie dispute this claim, saying that they only schedule events six weeks in advance and do not push out existing booked parties.
By the time the foundation officially launched the LGBTQ Youth Sports League in 2022, the foundation was fully separate from the for-profit side.
Then a second league materialized — SW117’s Youth Basketball Academy, which would be hosted in the Fieldhouse.
Given the similarities, Santiago believes SW117 wanted stakeholders to believe that the new for-profit sports league was the one the developer had touted all along.
“It was almost like the Youth Sports League was intentionally iced out and then they decided to create their own basketball league and charge for it…It's not lost on that there is some intent there with that,” Santiago said.
Budish and Figgie insist that SW117’s youth athletic programming was in no way intended to draw away from the foundation. Given the foundation’s lack of scheduled programs and events, they say, they’re trying to meet a need that isn’t being met by the foundation.
“We didn’t create a competitive program [with] the West 117 Foundation. We were always holding out hope that they would bring the program as it was intended to the space,” Budish said.
Although Santiago believes the Youth Basketball Academy hurt the Youth Sports League’s attendance, the program has nevertheless moved forward as planned, partnering with Lakewood Schools and meeting at Hayes Elementary School.
The foundation’s website doesn’t have any upcoming youth sports sessions listed on its website, and future dates are only listed “TBD.” But Santiago said he wants to get the program, and kids, back on the court.
“I want to be able to see that. I want to be able to see the youth enjoying the people who are coaching them and enjoying sports,” said Santiago. “I mean, legislation is horrendous in this country right now and even more so in the state of Ohio, for LGBTQ youth and LGBTQ specifically trans youth in sports.”
A Business at Odds With Its Own Business
Ariana Perez had high hopes for both the vision of the SW117 project and the possibilities it could offer her small business. A friend connected her with Budish and Figgie, and Perez remembers there being general excitement around Barbercult, a boutique barbershop with an occult vibe.
“They loved my business idea and were interested and pretty invested in it,” Perez said.
After Perez rejected a few of the initial locations offered to her on site — “I don’t think my state board would allow me to be squeezed into a thrift store” — Budish suggested the space that once held the Chamber, a legendary Cleveland goth bar. For a business called “Barbercult,” the proposed space was ideal. The only problem: it was far from ready for any type of habitation.
“They were way behind on construction,” Perez said.
Eager to begin earning income, Perez agreed to move into a temporary space in the Phantasy storefront. Budish and Figgie presented her with a lease.
It is here that Perez shares that her eagerness may have gotten the best of her. Although she says that she is now aware that she should have had an attorney review the lease, as a first-time business owner — Budish and Figgie’s stated target demographic — she put her signature into the hands of owners who insisted that they had the LGBTQ+ community’s backs.
“So I blindly signed the lease,” Perez sighed.
She provided Scene with a copy of the lease, which included the following provisions:
- A term of 10 years.
- Perez, as the tenant, would be responsible for all damages incurred in this active construction zone, including damage caused by water, falling plaster, the bursting of pipes, electrical writing or any neglect. In addition, the landlord would not be responsible for any latent defects in the 100+ year-old building.
- Perez, the business owner, would have to have any potential employees go through a “Landlord’s Hiring Committee’s” hiring and vetting process and consider their hiring recommendations.
Perez said that accompanying the lease was pre-filled paperwork for a grant application from the West 117 Foundation. But she said Budish and Figgie told her the money that the foundation would greenlight would go right back to the landlords to recoup money they had spent on construction.
When asked directly about Perez’s pre-filled out grant application, Budish and Figgie responded that they “are always willing to support employees or tenants with the completion of grant requests or assistance for housing support, legal aid, food insecurity, etc.”
Sokany, who served as executive director of the foundation at the time, cited Perez’s story as an example of SW117 having expectations for the foundation that didn’t align with its obligations as a 501c3 nonprofit.
“She was just led to believe that if she signed this lease that [SW117] would guarantee that the foundation would make a grant to cover that and that was just not the case,” Sokany said.
“I was pressured to sign this lease,” Perez said. “It was predatorial.”
Budish and Figgie dispute Perez’s characterization of the lease.
“Studio West 117 provided Ariana with $19,669 of free rent and utilities. This is the exact opposite of predatory leasing,” they said in a statement.
They also told us, “I don't think we have ten-year leases, actually,” but added that, “the financing folks who financed those projects want to see that the lease goes for at least five years. And so it might have been five years with a five-year extension.”
Regardless, Perez signed the lease and moved into the temporary space in September of 2021. She had expectations that there would be resources once she opened her business and was disappointed not to find the support she was seeking.
“Whenever I had issues with my building, with the neighborhood, or if ever I had any questions, there was really no one to turn to or ask,” Perez said. “I felt like I wasn’t being seen or heard.”
Studio West did arrange a media visit from Telemundo, which they say was part of their efforts to highlight Barbercult.
Perez recalled the visit differently.
“[Figgie] didn’t even acknowledge or talk to me during that filming,” Perez said. “[Studio West staff] didn’t talk to me, as they were taking pictures with Telemundo in my shop.”
In late September of 2022, after more than a year in business — and more than six months after Perez had been told she would be able to move into her permanent space in the Chamber space — one of her barbers called to say that the ceiling in the temporary space was leaking. She rushed over to the shop to find staff from SW117 and an environmental crew. They told her asbestos was leaking into her space and she needed to clear out.
“I thought, ‘Well this is fucking great,’” Perez remembered.
After shutting down for a week for asbestos abatement, Perez returned to the shop. The plaster from the ceiling continued to fall and land on her equipment. She was informed they had to drop the ceiling and that she had to shut down for another week.
All the while, Perez says she was losing money.
“As a business owner, telling clients that I couldn’t cut them is terrible,” she said.
She made arrangements to use a friend’s space in Lakewood. While she was there, she was informed that the construction crew hit a gas line and that she couldn’t re-enter the space. Perez said that the building manager informed her that she should just move out.
Perez never returned to SW117.
At that point, Perez did what she said she should have done from the start: retained an attorney.
She sent a letter to Budish and Figgie on November 2 requesting to be let out of her 10-year-lease and to be reimbursed for more than $7,000 in equipment damages as a result of the ceiling collapse.
Budish and Figgie responded less than a week later. Their letter began by expressing their disappointment “after all [they] had done for her in order to start her business,” and then highlighted that they had invested “over $20K of [their] own personal funds.”
Their letter referred Perez back to the sections of the lease that relieved them of responsibility from damages. The letter ended with a demand of their own:
“Finally, we have calculated that you owe approximately $19,669 of unpaid license fees and utilities in addition to the 10 years of future rent that you are requesting to be relieved from. All we have wanted from the beginning was to help support you in your goals to start and grow your business and have little desire to sue you for these funds. Therefore, we will agree to sever the lease and sign a mutual release and non-disparagement agreement. If you concur, we will send a document for signature.”
To date, Perez has not responded.
“I’m not going to lie and I’m not going to sign [a non-disparagement agreement],” Perez said.
She continues to work out of the Lakewood space and her client base remains steady. Although she is hopeful about her future, she does not look at her Studio West 117 experience fondly.
“I see it as these rich white developers coming in and starting a community,” Perez said. “But at what cost?”
When asked about presenting partners with non-disclosure agreements, Figgie denied the practice in relation to the foundation, though Budish added, “With certain contractors that we have, we have a standard language that any company has for confidentiality and non-disparagement clauses.”
Fear and a Fractured Community
How many of these complaints represent damage to the LGBTQ+ community and how many could be chalked up to growing pains associated with any new business start-up, with issues amped up 100 times as befitting a $100 million project?
The competing narratives are striking.
Budish and Figgie trumpet that they have created more than 70 jobs in the community, with the vast majority of hiring coming from within the LGBTQ+ community. Former employees say a large percentage of those employees have since left. (Budish and Figgie declined to provide retention numbers.)
Some foundation members say the nonprofit side was inappropriately treated like a fiscal source of revenue for the for-profit side. Other former board members say the foundation became so consumed with personal issues that they never had a single initiative they could tally as having been accomplished.
Multiple individuals with whom we spoke expressed feeling near-traumatized by their experiences working with the developers. Some former foundation board members and community leaders said that people just don’t understand the blunt and transactional nature needed to sustain a project like this, that leaders don’t always have time to validate people’s feelings.
Budish and Figgie say they have “poured life and soul” into this project, working “night and day to make this vision a reality.” Others — and specifically many underrepresented others — say this is the very definition of “white savior complex” and has blinded the developers to seeing the totality of the LGBTQ+ community.
“People need to take five seconds to look at their privilege. Whether it's because [they’re] white, or cis or have money…those who are in it for the profit are blinded by the money and aren't seeing the community in it all the time,” Santiago said.
Somewhere in the middle of these warring perspectives sits Cleveland’s LGBTQ+ community, the overwhelming majority of whom will never encounter this behind-the-scenes drama. With the 2017 closing of Bounce Night Club, then Cleveland’s largest LGBTQ+ venue, there have been ever-present rumblings from people wanting more of an LGBTQ+ footprint in the city.
Every single person interviewed for this article wants Studio West 117 to succeed, fervently expressing the LGBTQ+ community needs it to succeed.
Their point of dissension: success at what cost?
“There are people who are enjoying it for what it is right now,” said Tatum. “To be a part of taking that away in any small part is weight and responsibility… that keeps me up at night.”
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