FIRST performance: DRAGNet 1yr anniversary

okay, so this whole organized-edited-production-of-posts bit has not been happening. so we’re gonna try another way.

FIRST PERFORMANCE
DRAGNET @ METROPOLITAN, 4/18/13

I have a drag name now. It is Princess Mickey Jäger.
I performed tonight. It was my first time getting on stage in drag. It didn’t go exactly as planned, but it was close enough. It was enjoyed. There was much cheering. My singing was probably mediocre/not up to my standards, and I didn’t get to do any of the choreography I planned during the bridge because of having to fit in an extra chorus because words. I do not do them. But that’s one of the other best things about drag, is everyone is fucking hacking it together, and you get to be glamorous and rachet at the same time and everyone just cheers all the fucking louder for it when your shit’s a mess but you fucking owning it anyway, like a queen, like you do. So I had someone tell me mine was their favorite number of the evening, Merrie Cherry kissed my ass before I got off stage, someone else mooned me and had his friend take a photo in the middle of the bar. (I was wearing a jock strap–better photos to come later, in which you will get to *see* why everyone was so excited about my butt, but this will do for now:)

A jolly good time was had by all.

Except for at this one moment, where I was making out with the photographer, and one of the queens side eyes me so I spank her and she turns around and calls me a heterosexual. It was a weird moment. Because here I was, in a jock strap and mustache kissing a man named Tink, and this queen has decided that it’s a het moment. And I was surprised and a smidge hurt and super confused, and I had this internal frantic shuffling moment where I had to process how to react. I ended up faux-throwing-down to defend my queerness/the queerness of my actions. It was pretty performative–at some point in that processing moment I had determined that it was not a good space to get real about my gender identity (or lack thereof) and really confront the issue in a mature way, thus leaving me to do this sassy semi-communicative thing. I don’t feel good about the way I handled it. Learning moment.

Also, I got to test drive making out with the moustache on. This one was attached pretty fucking well, and wasn’t too bulky, so once I got past my initial trepidation I was able to pretty much do what I do and ignore it. Which was cool to discover.

I also got to test drive being attractive to queer men. Uh, it worked. What?

I don’t know what I want out of that. I know that I want queer boys to be attracted to me. I know that I want to be something that they find attractive. I can feel that my drag/genderfucking brings me into that category in a way that my everyday performance of self would not. I don’t know how to feel about that–both drag-me and everyday-me are equally real parts of myself, but one of them is a lot more work. And it’s the hard one that gets their attention. So that’s a thing.

Other thoughts: within the context of this particular queer community, I feel like it’s super subversive for me to be 1. a drag king, 2. a drag king performing a super femme faggy dude instead of marlboro man, 3. a drag king who is not a lesbian. I feel like all three of these things are unexpected in this very primarily cis-gay-male community. And I’m totally genderfucking all of them: I’ve already had several queens think that I was actually a boy in female drag. Which is great. I’m beating them at their own game. But so, so many of them don’t get it, that once they figure me out it doesn’t mean they get to call me a girl, or female. Because it’s not that simple. And one of the reasons I feel compelled to do this (the drag thing) is because it is one of the only times that I feel that I get to fully embody, express, and celebrate with humor and joy how fucking complicated gender is, for me and for everyone. But not all of them are hip to this whole genderqueer conversation. Most of them are just cis gay dudes. So far, I have felt mostly love and appreciation and support for my presence and actions within this community, but I definitely feel that I’ve been selective about my appearance and actions, and specifically biased my choices towards things that would garner positive reactions.

When do I get to be all of me?

week one: outings

Hi internet.

So much has happened. Let me see if I can give you the run down.

I have been out dragging four times in the past nine days. I’m doing it again today. Before last Tuesday, this was something I had never done before (except once, about four months ago, the day that this beast of an obsession was conceived–I’ll get to that later). In this post, I’m going to briefly describe each of these four events for you, including photos if possible, and attempt to describe some of my experience. Fully articulating all the thoughts that have been fed by these excursions is a much bigger task, but it’s coming. Eventually. Soon.

LOCALLY GROWN @ TANDEM BAR – 3/12/13

I went out to a bar completely alone, with no intentions of meeting up with anyone I knew. This, in and of itself, was unprecedented and terrifying for me. I also painted a stubble beard on my face with shoe polish. Of the two, it was the first one that had me truly shaken up. I. Do. Not. Do things alone. But this was something I wanted. Badly. Whatever courage I happen to posses, that night was my most concentrated use of it in recent memory.

It was so fucking worth it. The performers were all positively incredible. Stand out numbers included Macy Rodman‘s spot-on lampooning of Williamsburg girls (the song “Little Boxes,” pearls/tweed blazer/messy bun, cigarette/journal/carpet bag = Brooklyn hipster-yuppie REALNESS) and Alotta McGriddles’ & Charmin Ultra’s duet of “Little Mary Sunshine” from Reefer Madness. My own winning moments of genderfuckery: a) in the blessedly un-genedered, multi-person bathroom, I had a fellow ask me if my stubble was real, and b) one of the queens in the audience introduced herself to me and after I spoke she gasped and said “Oh my god you’re a chick.” I was wearing one of my favorite hats (see below), a semi-opaque shirt with red lacy bra visible inside it, black leggings, and red skate shoes with silver equestrian spurs strapped onto them. I wish I had a photo of that for you. Slash, I wish you could just experience it. The ultimate power trip is the sound of your own spurs hitting the floor.

Look here for some mediocre journalistic photo-documentation of the event.

MR(S). WILLIAMSBURG, ROUND TWO @ METROPOLITAN – 3/14/13

Went to this directly from a friend’s birthday party in Manhattan, which meant two things: a) I was creating one outfit to carry me through two very different events that night, and b) I was going to be on the subway. I dolled my face up without adding the facial hair, and brought materials to do a stubble beard once I got to Metropolitan. I also brought a cloth to wipe it off with, since I feel totally unsafe doing that kind of genderfuckery in my part of town. Just wearing the ultra-femme, highly sexualized clothes I had on (black oxford stilettos, white tights w/ red fishnets overtop, rainbow zebra skirt, big jean jacket, black beret) I got yelled at by two women on the subway on my way to the first party: “This is the J train, this is not a strip club. Put some clothes on.”

Once at the Metropolitan, I commandeered a bathroom stall (glory be, more genderless bathrooms) and stubbled my face/put some chest hair in my cleavage. Again I knew no one, but the show was about to happen when I got there, so there was less of that awful “I’m-gonna-pretend-I’m-totally-chill-and-waiting-for-somebody-because-I-can’t-admit-I’m-here-alone” game. I felt totally comfortable within the space itself, got several compliments on my look and made a number of lovely acquaintances; among these was Scarlet Envy, who told me about Size Queen at This N’ That, which she hosts every Friday. Duh, I was gonna go.

SIZE QUEEN @ THIS N’ THAT (TNT) – 3/15/13

This time, I knew I had a friend meeting me there, but they didn’t arrive until almost the end of the show. So, more uncomfortable standing around. I felt less confident about my appearance this night than either of the other two; I was dressed decidedly more butch, enough so that I could pass for a man if you didn’t look for too long. Like when I passed by the two men loitering outside of the subway station and heard them say, “Damn, that is one faggy-ass dude.” Which made me absolutely elated, as that’s precisely how I’ve been describing Mickey to myself thus far–I realize they were using the language differently than I do, and I was angry about the fact that they were using hate speech, but the predictability of the moment and the dullness of that anger was so totally overshadowed by my glee at how hard I had just genderfucked them.

I put a lot of time into a couple of pieces in that getup. Both the hat and tie (see photo) were hand made from cardboard and duct tape and tin foil. I am fucking proud of that hat. I also glammed up a pair of old Chucks I found in the back of my closet–painted the toe & sides with nail polish in pastel metallics, painted one shoe white and the other gray, sewed contrasting black/white lace around the cuff–and felt absolutely bomb about the shoes themselves. But without any distinctly super-femme articles in the outfit I felt the gnawing discomfort of self-misrepresentation very faintly all night.

On the upside, I got to dance with the glorious Gamma Ray, and made the acquaintance of Stevie Zar, who I had seen perform at Locally Grown on Tuesday. And anything at all would have been worth it for the opportunity to ogle Scarlet Envy for that long. I am absolutely enchanted by that woman, I spent most of the weekend after the show just daydreaming about her. Oops.

MR(S). WILLIAMSBURG, ROUND THREE @ SUGARLAND – 3/19/13

The day before this event, I purchased crepe hair and spirit gum so I could start to do more than just stubble. This is my first time being in/seeing myself in a moustache. I gave myself six hours to get ready and was still almost late. Glory hallelujah for drag time, I ended up being early. While I was standing around drinking a beer and waiting for the show to begin, a lovely person approached me and began a conversation (“So how long did it take you to get into those pants?”), and wound up asking about my makeup. I talked about the facial hair, and got a surprised response (“Oh! You’re a drag king!”). In the context of these communities, male-identified people either in female drag or wearing makeup & femme clothing is very much expected; even in my limited experience, I have already been read as this several times. This is a queer community, and I feel no lack of love or welome from it, but it is already clear that it is not without its assumptions.

For instance: after the competition that evening, the DJ continued her set & people got dancing. I was working the floor all on my lonesome, having a blast, like I do, and someone in short bleach blonde pigtails and a lime green mesh shirt introduced himself to me as Andrew (I’m assuming maleness here). We danced for a hot second, until he realized that my dick was a strap-on, at which point he promptly fled back to the guy he was dancing with before. I kept working the floor. Like I do.

Now, a few words how it all started.
In short: Bushwig. (See photo below.) I don’t know if I’d be in this position now if I hadn’t been there. That evening was my first real exposure to drag, and I found it utterly thrilling. Without the memories of that event feeding me, I don’t know if I would have found the motivation to overcome my fears and go to that first show last Tuesday. As for why it took five months after Bushwig for this to happen, I can’t really say. But my life definitely took a turn for the queer-er about three weeks ago now, and I feel that my obsession with/entrance into the drag community is one manifestation of that. (The desire to live in a queer-centric housing space is another.) But this feels exactly like a new crush: I spend all of my waking hours thinking about drag, bellyaching over all the beautiful queens, thinking about the development of my own drag character, etc. I am utterly lovesick over drag. And that’s all there is to it.

in hope

hi internet.

this is weird.

 

i feel the need to articulate & distribute my experience of this thing i’m doing. words are not my strong suit, so it’s not gonna be pretty. but i looked around and didn’t find a whole lot of talk on the internet about what it is like to start doing drag. a few isolated, brief reports summarizing the process in retrospect. what i did not find, and want to do here, is chronicle my entry to the drag scene, my development of a drag persona, and my thoughts about it all, as it happens.

 

things are gonna get sloppy.

bear with me.