Life is a drag

Life is a drag

By Ollie

I’ve been interested in drag for a long time. Specifically, I remember a turning point when I was about 14 years old. I was visiting family for the weekend. And my uncle showed us a clip of ‘Sweet Transvestite’ from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It was the first time I remember being aware of a man dressed in women’s clothing. And that moment stuck with me forever.

Up until that point I had known that I was different from a young age, when the attraction to girls never came and I started to become aware of my interest in other guys at my school. But as a naturally shy kid who just wanted to fit in. I pushed those feelings deep down and told myself to ignore them. I wasn’t like those people, I couldn’t even bring myself to say the word out loud, for fear of speaking it into existence.

And I can specifically remember a time when someone had called me gay in primary school, and I went to ask my mum what it meant. She being an honest, but protective mother explained that gay people were men who liked other men, but we weren’t like them. A phrase which stuck with me up until my adulthood.

Now we have not always had a great relationship, but looking back, I don’t blame her for this. She is a woman of a certain time who is fiercely protective of her kids and sometimes too aware of the cruelness of the world.

So up until this point I hadn’t given my identity any more thought. Even at a young age, I knew that I would push it down, hide it, marry a woman, have kids and live a normal life. Just like the world expected of me. But seeing this 3-minute clip at my uncle’s house, changed everything.

Watching Tim Curry, adorned in fishnet tights, makeup, pearls, high heels and a bustier awoke something that lay dormant inside me. Up until that point I had believed that femininity equals inferiority, and no one liked an effeminate man. And yet, watching Dr Frank n Furter in what I didn’t realise at the time was drag, singing about his same sex attraction and strutting about with such confidence and suave, gave me courage.

Cut to being 15 years old in a friend group of just football loving guys, and me the double agent, running home to watch RuPaul’s Drag Race season 6 under the covers at the dead of night on my family’s Netflix account and deleting viewing history before dawn. I was hooked. Here were people like me, who resented the archaic version of masculinity forced down society’s throats from the toy aisle to sports in school, and found their fierce and fabulous selves through ball gowns, leotards, wigs and false nails.

Seeing someone like Bianca Del Rio interact with both gay and straight people with such humour and unwavering confidence gave me hope, gave me a refuge to be myself. My interest grew into obsession and finally a burning desire to live out my fantasies.

I remember stealing my sister’s hair extensions, an old dress way too small for me, some budget heels and doing my entire face with a crappy eyebrow palette. And you could tell me nothing. I remember standing in front of that mirror, a dainty 6,2, and for the first time in my life I felt sexy, strong and powerful. What other guys must get from buying a new suit or dowsing themselves in cologne. I felt like a goddess.

Shortly after I came out and grew in confidence, I was buying wig after wig and everything that my heart desired to fulfil my childhood dream of becoming a superstar. I made a friend at Uni who shared my love for drag and we went out into town for the first time. My heart was beating out of my chest, and no amount of alcohol or false lashes to obscure my vision could cease my catholic guilt.

Nevertheless, with the right support and a chance to be a new person, I stepped out onto those cobbled streets in an amazon wig, borrowed skirt and piece of tulle round my neck as if I was Naomi Campbell herself on a 90s fashion runway. In hindsight I probably looked like a mess, but I didn’t care. My skin felt electric, and I didn’t want the high to end.

The same meek and mild kid from the small northern town, ostracised for his femininity by friends, family and his community, was being cheered, applauded and revered for what made him different.

I truly believe that drag is a powerful tool, of revolt, rebellion and most importantly pride for the queer community. And I know that if the younger version of me could have seen me living as my authentic self whether its prancing in a frock, carrying a tote bag to work, or just watching drag race during daylight hours.

He would feel like he had a place in the world after all.

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