Drag Race

NOTE: this article contains spoilers pertaining to results of the reality TV contest, RuPaul’s Drag Race. Additionally, some readers may find some of the content offensive.

As an eye-wateringly privileged cis-het, white, British male, I am woefully unequipped and wholly unqualified to discuss the guilty pleasure of mine that is RuPaul’s Drag Race. For any readers who haven’t seen any of the thirteen seasons, or live under a rock, the show is a reality competition in which the eponymous RuPaul – drag queen / television personality / cultural icon – searches for ‘America’s next drag superstar’ (or the ‘United Kingdom’s next drag superstar’ in the obviously far superior British series that is currently only in its second season). The contestants sing, dance, perform and more, to win that coveted title, a cash prize that has rocketed from $20,000 in the early seasons to $100,000 in the later ones, and, of course, the fame and profile that their careers will garner from the experience.

My motivations for first watching Drag Race were, regrettably, extraordinarily self-centred. My partner and I have been in a relationship for nearly two years now, but in the first couple of months, she asked if we could watch the show. Wanting to impress, I enthusiastically consented to this request, figuring watching some camp men romp around a stage dressed as women for an hour a week was a worthy investment to look progressive, accepting, and in-touch with my femininity. Possibly sensing some insincerity behind my eagerness, my partner recommended we start with the first UK season; perhaps she, a veteran fan of the show, felt it might provide an ever-so-slightly more relatable introduction to the concept of drag.

I have to confess, at first I thought that these exaggeratedly bold and brash ‘characters’ on the reality show – these people pretending to be something they’re not – could not possibly be genuine, and I was cynical (internally, obviously) of their overt loudness and seeming desperation to have a camera on them at all times. This is a contest with financial incentives and chance to boost profile after all. Making it through a short season of eight episodes, we watched drag queens The Vivienne, Divina de Campo, and Baga Chipz (genuine appreciation for that name) make it to the grand finale, with The Vivienne taking the crown and sceptre. After this climax, I thought no more about it.

As the COVID storm loomed over us in the early months of 2020, a ray of sunlight in my partner’s life was the arrival of RuPaul’s twelfth season of American Drag Race on Netflix; prime content for her to absorb before and during the UK’s first lockdown. Again, I agreed to watch.

In hindsight, it is gladdening to be able to say that watching a second season, particularly an extra raucous and fun American season, began to lift the scales from my eyes. And by scales, I mean prejudice and scepticism. As was the case for many individuals during that first lockdown, it seemed a good idea to try new hobbies and crafts. After attempting, failing, and quickly putting down several new enterprises (ranging from house plant growing to pottery to crocheting), it became obvious with each weekly episode that drag is a craft and art of the highest degree.

The queens in this contest are constructing complete, themed outfits or ‘looks’ with limited resources to a deadline in the scale of hours. To succeed, individuals must be able to write lyrics, sing the words they have put to paper, and choreograph an accompanying dance routine, again to a time limit, before presenting it live. Make-up and silhouettes must be flawless; these judges will not accept anything under 24 carats. Performances must be as entertaining and expressive as possible; tricky when up to eleven other queens are trying to do the same. Not tucking is somewhat frowned upon. After discussion with my partner and some extensive Googling, I am now aware of what tucking involves. For the uninitiated, Wikipedia states ‘it is the process of hiding the crotch bulge of the penis and testicles so that they are not conspicuous through clothing’ … which sometimes ‘involves pushing the testicles back up into the inguinal canal’. This artform is no gimmick.

In tandem with this realisation comes another – far more important. The queens on this show are not ‘characters’ as I first suspected. One of the highlights of each and every episode are what I unofficially call the mirror scenes. As the girls begin their beautiful transition from their real selves to their REAL selves, they apply make-up while sitting next to each other in front of mirrors, and talk. Openly, intimately, and vulnerably. I would not be surprised if you told me the girls were unaware they were being filmed during these segments. It has been an utter privilege to have been able to get to know these exceedingly warm and supportive people, and listen to their proffered opinions on a multitude of topics: the prejudices faced by the LGBTQ+ community, race, personal trials and tribulations, politics, family. Those contestants that have doubts about themselves or their abilities are rallied by their friends and sisters in these mirror scenes, words of encouragement, sometimes harsh advice, a cutting comment to dispel the tears all delivered with the intent of lifting. That these people are authentic cannot be questioned.

Again, I must reiterate that I am unqualified to discuss this facet (or any aspect really) of the show, but I cannot help but stress my thoughts that the show exists for these moments. Both on-stage and off, within and between the glitz and glamour, there is so much opportunity to discover and learn.

By the time season twelve reaches its finale, the remaining three queens, Crystal Methyd, Jaida Essence Hall, and firm favourite of mine and my partner’s, Gigi Goode, sadly have to perform from their homes, judged via online video call in the midst of the pandemic. Gigi’s lip sync of a-ha’s Take On Me with painstakingly detailed hand-crafted backdrops and outfit is a phenomenal performance and would, I was sure, secure the victory. I was genuinely disappointed when RuPaul announced Jaida as the winner, not to detract from her deserved win as a top contender throughout the competition. The embedded video below was uploaded to YouTube by user 'Valentine'.

The purpose of this Vocal challenge was to discuss a favourite TV show binge-watched as a guilty pleasure – typically viewed as meaning enjoying something that is not generally held in high regard. After watching several seasons of the Drag Race over the various lockdowns and surplus of free time they have brought, I have come to recognise this show as one of my choice cuts for entertainment. This brings us to the tragic summation of this article. Despite everything the queens have tried to tell me regarding accepting and loving yourself, having the courage to live the life of your choosing, and wholly demonstrating the legitimacy of drag as art, I have found it challenging to heed the advice and outlooks. Without trying to sound too like my usual, self-absorbed self, I am, to my shame, still embarrassed to reveal that I watch, and enjoy, the Drag Race to even my closest family and friends. Any feelings of guilt tied to this pleasure is wrapped fundamentally in an inability to express myself, a lack of comfort with who I am in the eyes of others, and finally, some inherent intolerance towards difference I still, apparently, cannot shake off. That these queens have made their voices heard, far more often than not at great personal cost, is, plainly, an act of bravery that someone who cannot bring themselves to talk about a show they like with their mother will presumably never understand. I submit this article still undecided whether or not to share it on a platform where I do not hide myself behind a picture-less account with a name that may or may not be my own.

For now, all I can say is, I will continue to watch the brilliant 13th season, and know that the routines, sketches and mirror scenes with these new queens will benefit any and all who are willing to listen. Please, if you can, find the time to watch RuPaul’s Drag Race (guilt-free!) if you have not already, and try and open your eyes and mind wider than mine.