Drag: Beyond the façade
By Aaron Yeager, Staff Writer
May 11, 2007 | 10:23 a.m.
Performing a drag act may seem simple: dress up, slap on some makeup and lip-sync to a few songs; nothing, say, beyond the abilities of Britney Spears or Ashlee Simpson. However, as I learned, there's a lot more to this burlesque than one would expect.
The Beginning
So, on a leap of faith, I decided to enter myself into the Athens AIDS Task Force drag show held on May 9 at the Union, along with a fellow Speakeasy staff writer, Brittany Timmons. My rationale was that it would be a character-building experience: like Boy Scouts, only for the effeminate. As I went along, however, I realized the sheer magnitude of what I had gotten myself into.
Drag is much more than song and dance; it is a discipline. Like an actor, you are responsible for creating a seamless persona, with its own appearance, behaviors, dialect and overall presence. The difference is that drag characters are excessive in all of these traits, and the music and dance only serve to accentuate this fact.
Miss Purple, the host and DJ for the event, epitomized the depth of a drag character. Speaking in a southern drawl, she opened the show by inserting herself into a joke involving buying condoms. "I was at CVS, looking for ladies' goods..." the stocky queen asserted at the beginning of the joke, lending credence to the alternate reality Purple's creator was seeking to establish.
Purple was an expert at this. Heck, I didn't even realize "she" was actually a student here at Ohio University until a day afterward. To be fair, however, I'm pretty gullible.
Preparations
So what of my own performance? Well, it came together sort of haphazardly. Being no great connoisseur of women's clothing, I set forth through every thrift store tentatively, looking to find a plausible ensemble without gathering too much attention. One thing I learned: bustiers defeat me, what with their inscrutable straps and fasteners. It was funny how seemingly masculine I was in my utter inability to comprehend mechanisms designed for women.
My partner, Brittany, hesitated when she saw the outfit I had picked out. I got very anxious. After spending three hours and $40, I wanted to look my best. When she told me I looked like a prostitute, I breathed a sigh of relief: that was exactly what I had intended.
Brittany went as a drag king, replete with overflowing chest hair. She and I were to perform "Dancing Queen" by ABBA, a drag standard of sorts. We didn't practice the song together, or pull together any routine; this was to be a test of raw wits on both of our parts. Given this fact, the real teamwork came in dressing each other, or rather, in Brittany dressing me.
After being subjected to about six or seven different kinds of makeup, I realized that being a woman is pretty damn tough. Not to mention that the fake nails I wore basically obliterated all tactile ability. When it all came together, though, it was worth it. People didn't recognize me. I had achieved the aesthetic part of my persona swimmingly, with ample help from a real female.
Now, before I forget to mention it, I did try to practice my routine in my dorm room, where I thought I'd be safe from passersby. But alas, since I had my windows uncovered, there was at least one observer, from another room, who saw me. He was smoking a cigarette out the window and lazily watching me perform my goofy ritual, with my hair all astray and shirt off. It reminded me of a scene in "Amelie" when the title character observes the eccentric behavior of her neighbors in another building. Nevertheless, I persisted, out of view.
Performing
Well, the actual performance itself was a mixed bag. I came in feeling pretty full of myself, as photographers were very eager to take pictures of my Brittany and me. Showing up was one thing; however, actually performing was another.
When Purple called my name, Wednesday Hangover, as well as my partner's, I felt as if I could take on a whole sea of drag queens. I was completely invigorated by what I can only describe as this "superhero alter-ego," another Self that was powerful and brash. All this changed when I actually started performing, however.
On stage, I lacked the finesse and self-assuredness of other, more expert queens present at the event. I smiled to myself (and perhaps others) as I forgot nearly an entire verse, all the while flailing around with occasional flourishes. The good part, however, was that I wasn't alone. My partner was just as inexperienced as I, so we were both struggling to maintain an entertaining act. Given the circumstances, though, I'd say we made out all right.
All in all, the drag show taught me a lesson: anything can be serious, even if it outwardly betrays that seriousness. The queens who won deserved their titles because of their talent and dedication, not merely because they looked the part. It is heartening that the AIDS Task Force is the better for it.
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Read about Aaron's King counterpart's experience.
View our slideshow from the show by Sean Work and Shaena Mallet.