A QUEEN AMONG KINGS: An Interview With Cece Glamour

We’ve all been there—you pick up a hobby just because your partner is obsessed with it, thinking you’ll just be the supportive plus-one. But then, the obsession takes root, and suddenly you’re the one staying up until 3:00 AM researching trivia while they’re fast asleep. That is exactly how Cece Glamour found herself in the orbit of Elvis Presley. Her boyfriend at the time was a massive fan, and Cece, naturally curious, wanted to know what all the fuss was about. When she discovered she and the King were "birthday buddies"—she was born on January 7th and he on the 8th—she didn't just see a coincidence; she saw a sign. Before long, she was tag-along no more, making her own friends in the Elvis Tribute Artist (ETA) circle and inadvertently prepping for a total life pivot.

Cece: The bullet heard 'round the world was a video my friend recorded of me singing "Trouble" at the tent for Elvis week. I'm walking around Graceland and keep hearing people talking about this young girl singing at the Graceland tent. I was like "wow, who is this person?" I finally saw a video and said "hey, that's me!"

While the "Trouble" video was the spark, the transition from fan to performer wasn't instantaneous. Friends started nudging her to take the stage, but Cece was hesitant. Female tribute artists existed, sure, but they were usually seen in "male drag"—the full jumpsuit, the sideburns, the whole nine yards. That wasn't Cece’s vibe. She wasn't interested in being a carbon copy; she wanted to be herself. Plus, there was the looming question of the fans. How would a crowd steeped in tradition react to a woman redefining the image of their idol? Eventually, the "what have I got to lose?" mindset won out, and she signed up for the competition in Tupelo.

Stepping into an Elvis competition is like walking into a time capsule, and usually, it’s a very masculine one. Sharing a dressing room was an immediate exercise in "one of these things is not like the other." The guys were understandably confused. Was she a lost tourist? A girlfriend? A stagehand? When she finally introduced herself as a fellow competitor, the energy in the room shifted into a fascinating mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Cece: Some of them said "well I can't wait to see how you perform!" And some of the guys went "I have no expectations of you at all." And I said "that's ok, I have none of you either."

If that isn't the ultimate mic-drop moment, I don't know what is. It takes a certain level of grounded confidence to look a room full of skeptics in the eye and give that energy right back to them.

Cece: People think I should've been mad about that. Not really, because I understand. You don't see women be Elvis tributes, and you definitely don't see them without a jumpsuit and a pompadour. I can't be mad about something you've never seen and never heard. So I went on the stage and performed "Mean Woman Blues." When I came off the stage, I was like "well, that's over, I have to pee." And these guys are just looking in shock, because they didn't expect me to do well. Why would you? You've never seen me perform. I don't know half of y'all up there. But I made a lot of friends and I think they saw me as an equal.

The logistics of judging someone like Cece are where things get a bit complicated. According to the Graceland scoring system—which Tupelo generally mirrors—performers are judged on vocals, style, stage wear, and stage presence. Vocals take up a solid 40%, which is fair game for anyone with a mic and a dream. But the "style" and "stage wear" categories are where the traditionalists get tripped up. Style is officially defined as the "ability to present a look and style that well represents Elvis during the era of the song being performed." For Cece, that definition requires a little bit of creative translation.

Cece: At least with the other women that do Elvis in jumpsuits, they can score the jumpsuits. There's no way for you to score a custom-made gold lamé dress that has rhinestone slits on the side like the pants. You can kind of score the hair, because there is a pompadour there, but it's in a ponytail. And that was the thing, I knew I wasn't going to win. I'm sitting there, I'm still a woman, I'm also a black woman up there. We're already throwing a bunch of ideas on the wall that everybody knows aren't going to stick.

Cece isn't in it for the trophies, though. She’s there to kick doors open in her high heels. Interestingly, some of the harshest critiques don't come from the guys in the jumpsuits, but from other women in the audience. There's a certain segment of the fandom that thinks a woman has no business wearing a '68-style suit or riffing on the King's wardrobe. However, Cece has a way of winning them over. When she nails a performance, those same skeptics often find themselves doing a total 180, realizing that maybe—just maybe—the world needs more women bringing this kind of energy to the stage.

Her design process is essentially a masterclass in "what if?" When Cece looks at an iconic Elvis look, she filters it through a feminine lens: "How would Elvis wear this if he was a woman?" To match the raw, seductive power of the black leather suit from the '68 Comeback Special, she opted for a rhinestone-studded bustier. It’s a brilliant way to maintain the spirit of the original while asserting her own identity. She even goes down to the details of her nails, often sporting TCB lightning bolts or tiny guitars.

Beyond the competition, Cece has become something of a backstage MVP. It turns out that when you’re a professional pinup and performer, you know a thing or two about stage makeup. The guys often find themselves gravitating toward her for a spare eyeliner or advice on how to contour so their cheekbones pop under the spotlights. And if a hair emergency is too big for Cece to handle while prepping for her own set, she’s got a secret weapon in the crowd.

Cece: They'll come to me for hair help, and I'm learning how to do hair myself. I'll assess what I think I can fix for them, and if I can't fix it, I'll send them to my mom in the audience. I'll be like "take this brush, this comb, and this hairspray. My mom is in the second aisle. She will know what this means and she will fix you."

There is something so wholesome about Mama Glamour sitting in the second row, ready to fix a stranger’s pompadour at a moment's notice. It’s that kind of community spirit that keeps the ETA world spinning, even if there are still a few keyboard warriors out there trying to rain on the parade. Cece takes the occasional "women shouldn't do this" comment in stride, recognizing that closed minds aren't her responsibility to fix.

Cece: I've seen people comment "women shouldn't be doing this!" on people's posts. It's sad, but you can't change everybody's minds. The thing is, that person has to be willing to open their minds, and often they're already against ETAs so they're not willing to even consider a woman.

I have to admit, I’m a little envious of her schedule. When she isn't rocking the gold lamé dress as an ETA, she’s often found in a stunning green gown as Princess Tiana. Between being a party princess, a substitute teacher, a podcast host, a film director, and a pinup girl, I’m convinced Cece has more hours in her day than the rest of us. But whether she’s in a classroom or under the bright lights of Tupelo, she carries that same infectious smile and a song in her heart.

When I asked her what advice she had for those looking to follow in her footsteps, her answer was simple: Don't lose the fun. For the women entering the field, she encourages exploration—play with the fashion, experiment with the vocals, and find a signature that feels authentic. For the tribute community at large, her message is about the "why" behind the performance.

Cece: Go in deep. What do you love about Elvis? Use those things to highlight your performance, whether it's the way he dressed or the dancing. Don't try to BE Elvis. And there's no right or wrong way to do it, because you're doing a tribute to the best parts that people love about Elvis. Just have fun with it.

It is pretty clear that Cece isn’t just performing Elvis; she’s celebrating the freedom he represented by doing things entirely on her own terms. Whether she’s swapping eyeliner tips with the guys in the dressing room or reimagining a leather jumpsuit into something high-fashion and feminine, she is proof that the spirit of rock and roll doesn’t belong to just one look or one gender. She might not be walking away with the standard trophies, but she’s winning over the rooms that matter and making sure the next girl who wants to sing "Trouble" doesn't have to look twice at the door. So, if you ever find yourself at a show and see a flash of gold lamé and a ponytail pompadour, pull up a chair. You’re about to see the King’s legacy through a whole new, glamorous lens.

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Cece Glamour ( Aliyonah Morgan) has been an eta for 2 year competing in her first competition, which was the ultimate qualifier, The Tupelo Elvis Festival. She decided to be an eta after a few of Elvis's friends, family, and musicians mentioned she should do it. Not to mention the big support behind it all, the Bill Belew of her outfits, the Larry Geller of her hair, and all around Gladys of her life her mommy Pamela Valmos, who is also a singer as well. When she's not an Elvis, she's a vintage-wearing pinup posing film-making Princess Tiana Rockabilly Jazz singing machine.