Long Live the Leaf
by Avery Anderson
Every great festival eventually crowns someone.
Mardi Gras has its king cake. Gasparilla has pirates. And in South St. Pete, the Tampa Bay Collard Green Festival has a six-foot-tall, vegetable-based monarch with a fur-trimmed cape.
But before the Collard Green King found it's king—before the crown, the scepter, the dance battles—there was a designer staring at Pinterest, coming up empty.
“I could not find a collard green costume or anything online,” said Audrey Pat McGhee. “I saw peppers. I saw broccoli, but I could not find a collard green.”
So she built one.
The Designer Behind the Crown
McGhee has been designing since 2008—fashion shows, style presentations, editorials. Costumes weren’t her primary lane. But when festival co-founder Boyzell Hosey floated the idea, she didn’t flinch.
“As a sower, you know, if you can sew simple things, you can sew larger things,” she said. “If you can do a gown, most definitely you can probably do a costume.”
Without a template, she started with the anatomy of the leaf: broad, layered, full. She built a skirt from tulle, cinched it at the neck so it contoured and opened into armholes. She found what she described as “a foster green like a neon green” and began cutting “hundreds of leafs,” sewing and gluing until it felt alive.
Then came the details that make it unmistakably Southern: ham hocks, onions, bell peppers. Seasoning packets glued to a towering leprechaun-style hat. A green bodysuit with hood and gloves, spray-painted darker and appliquéd with leaves.
The first year, there was even a mask.
“But we found out that the mask was kind of scary for the little kids,” McGhee said. “So we said, okay, let’s take the mask off.”
Because this wasn’t supposed to intimidate. It was supposed to invite.
From Mascot to Monarch
The coronation wasn’t in the original sketch.
“My mascot came to me and said, you know, while I was out there walking, people were like, you’re not just a collard green man, you’re a king,” McGhee said.
So she upgraded him.
Out went the green cape. In came red velvet with fur trim. The leprechaun hat retired; a crown took its place. The Collard Green King was born.
Each year, she refreshes the leaves and replaces vegetables lost to enthusiastic dancing. (If you’ve seen Beachem move, you understand why the onions don’t always survive.)
And this year—because the festival falls on Valentine’s Day—she’s redesigning again.
“Take a look at the costume, you know, for this year,” she said. “And be excited because next year is going to be even bigger, even better than what you see, you know, this year. So I always tell people, get ready, get ready. Because you never know when my creativity is going to go.”
That’s less a tease than a warning.
A Pepper in His Court
The sweetest evolution might be the smallest.
Brandon Beachem’s nine-year-old son, Xavier, wanted in. Not as a prince—but as a pepper.
“I created a pepper for his son because his son wanted to kind of be, you know, with his dad,” McGhee said.
This is how cultural tradition builds itself. Not through branding exercises, but through family.
Why It Hits Different in St. Pete
The festival isn’t just about greens. It’s about infrastructure: health education, entrepreneurship, intergenerational connection. It’s about what happens when a community builds something for itself.
For McGhee, the meaning is simple.
“I think that it means bringing folks together,” she said. “It means to me being united.”
She added: “It brings excitement, you know, it brings entertainment. And most of all, it brings education.”
If you’ve ever been, you know the vibe: kids in the family zone, elders swapping recipes, someone explaining how to cook greens differently this year. Beachem dancing through the crowd, high-fiving strangers. Nobody checking their watch.
“It’s so very family oriented,” McGhee said. “You can bring your kids, your elderly parents… even bring your pets. Because it’s just such an open and such a warm atmosphere… everybody’s happy.”
In 2026, that alone feels radical.