Today I discovered I’m not a drag king, but a drag queen. Or maybe a drag “it”, but bitch, she’s fierce.
First, some history….
On Haight Street there’s a costume shop infamous for the giant red heeled fishnet legs protruding from just above its awning - Piedmont Boutique. While I haven’t been there in several years, it was one of my favorite shops to peruse in my youth. Neon fishnets, pastel lace, rhinestone corsets, heart-shaped glasses, chunky acrylic earrings, velvet leopard print - accessories all deemed “tacky” by my mother, but to me it was Wonderland. The minute I was old enough to wander the Haight as a teen, sans parents, I made sure to visit Piedmont Boutique as often as possible - even though I never bought anything. I would gawk at the eye candy and daydream about all the looks I would never dare to attempt. I envied my friends who wore glitter as a second skin. The friends who incorporated baby blue satin and feather boas with combat boots and leather jackets. I could never be like them. And while this was partly due to avoiding ridicule and harsh judgement from my mother, I also was convinced I could never pull off such looks.
As I gained more independence in my late teens/early twenties, I tried to experiment with being more bold in my styling, but it never felt right. Dressing up flashy or hyper-femme made me feel awkward and out of place. I didn’t comprehend gender as a social construct yet, but I knew I didn’t want to be perceived as “girly” or draw more attention to myself. Styling myself more femme in general, putting on make-up and a dress, always made me feel like I was putting on a costume. Color and texture aside, dressing up at all in “feminine” styles felt like I was stepping into character. I knew how I was expected to look, I knew what would get me attention when I wanted it, I had a stash of fancy jewelry I loved to show off, black lace stockings, blouses that accentuated my cleavage. I was very well acquainted with this character. She was goth and fancied herself “mysterious”. She was also neurotic and hated her body, but after a few drinks, she could be a total minx. After a few more….she was unpredictable and likely running off into the night, ghosting her friends, crying hysterically, and howling suicidal ideations at the stars….but she was trying her best, poor thing. I knew this character but I had a hard time always understanding her because it was the person underneath the facade that I barely knew at all. This feeling of disconnect was so familiar to me that I never gave it much thought. I thought I was just “bad” at being a girl and had a lot of weird problems. Well, I DO have a lot of weird problems, but what a relief to finally realize I’m not a “she”!
I’ve always loved costume parties and when I was younger in particular, it was much less anxiety inducing if I was dressing up with a theme/purpose in mind. I could wear all the things I wanted to without feeling like a fraud, I could play a character without needing to pretend it was me. I could put on disco ball earrings and a holographic dress, and it was okay if I didn’t feel quite like myself, because I wasn’t supposed to be myself.
There was a chapter in my twenties when my friends and I would regularly attend drag shows, specifically seeking out Lady Gaga themed events. If I’m honest - those experiences kept me going in an otherwise hellish period in my life. We would pregame in the warehouse of the toy store we all worked at, drinking Smirnoff Ice and gluing rhinestones to our faces, while crafting the finishing touches to our fits. I received a great deal of help from my bestie Justine, who has always had impeccable taste and skill when it comes to dressing up and creating unique looks. I owe her for all the fabulous wigs and jewels she let me borrow to adorn myself with. One year for Pride she stayed up all night to finish gluing rhinestones on my bra because I was tired and lacked the confidence and patience to craft my own gear. She’s always inspired me with her fierceness and fashion sense. Justine is a witch, she’s goth and macabre, and she loves glitter and pink. She’s punk as fuck. And now that I think about it, Justine is really the one to thank for the beginning of my journey into drag. We weren’t just spectators of drag, we were drag.
Since coming out as trans, I’ve tried some drag looks (mainly masculine) to see if I could finally find a place in the drag community as a performer. My spouse, Vincent, is very talented at doing make-up and prosthetics and he is just as campy and theatrical as I am. Admittedly, while I’ll get very excited at the chance to dress-up, I often will become too overwhelmed or tired to execute. I’ll look for a cop-out: a cape and some fangs, maybe just a fancy jacket and extra make-up…..Vincent, however, will not stand for such things! Glamming-up brings him absolute joy, and it’s fucking inspiring. I really lucked out marrying someone who will motivate my ass to have actual fun with the things I love.
I find costuming masc to be extremely affirming. If anything, it has really helped eradicate my imposter syndrome and fear that “I’m not really trans”. I love the confidence it has brought me. I harness a lot of dramatic masculine energy when performing in my metal band. But as far as a possible drag persona goes, up to this point everything has just felt like me….but with make-up on. What I’ve been trying to create just hasn’t been clicking in that special “charisma, uniqueness, nerve & talent” sort of way. Then today happened…..
I had just gotten done watching Chappell Roan’s Tiny Desk performance of “Pink Pony Club” that a friend sent me to watch because I hadn’t seen it before. Immediately after, Chappell’s music video for “My Kink is Karma” began to play. I had seen it before, but thoroughly enjoy her look in it, so I watched it again. As I was watching I was thinking about how much I’ve always really loved blue eyeshadow and red lips….and glitter, and rhinestones, and jesters, and big dramatic hair, and a grand melodramatic pink aesthetic (think: Madonna Inn). A tinge of sadness washed over me - I’ll never be a person who can lean into that, it’s just not me……Or is it? Inspiration struck me like an electrical jolt and in true ADHD fashion - I abandoned my to-do list for the day and started frantically digging up all my old make-up stashed away in various neglected nooks of my bathroom. A part of me felt scared - I’m a week away from top-surgery, what if I put on all this make-up and it gives me an identity crisis? I began frantically brushing, patting, and blending to fight back the intrusive thoughts. It was messy and uneven, but I couldn’t stop. The maniacal baroque pop princess inside me needed to come out. I snapped a selfie and sent it to my bff/ex-fiancé/bandmate/platonic love of my life (yay, the gays!) She responded with encouraging enthusiasm and said her and her roommate were “obsessed.” The finishing touches were tiny blue rhinestones on my nipples. Instead of feeling dysphoric or questioning my choice to have top surgery (something I was very afraid I would experience) - I felt giddy. This look, plus a post-op chest, will be fucking perfect. And in the meantime, what a great homage to my boobs. I mean, look at them, they are fucking fantastic. I’m excited to send them on their way, but I part with them with only the utmost love.
My brain has been flooded with ideas and looks all day today. I still need a drag name and to create routines and to fine-tune my make-up AND etc. etc. etc. But today a part of me that I have suppressed my whole life has finally found it’s place in the world.
-D.Nox
Warning: tits up ahead!
Freaking incredible. 💎💄💫