We owe much of our astounding advances toward LGBT equality to drag queens. It was the drag queens of New York who fought back against the police during the Stonewall Riots of 1969 and it’s that community that continues to entertain and fundraise for charity today.
While I have respected those performers for a long time, I now have a whole new appreciation for what they do for our community. For I have walked a mile—okay, more like 200 painful feet or so—in their high heels.
On June 5, I participated in St. Pete Pride’s turnabout fundraiser at Georgie’s Alibi. It’s an event Pride organizers had approached me to do for several years, but it always conflicted with the production of Watermark. This year, the calendar didn’t protect me, my beard or my toes and calves.
Before I knew it, dresses owned by generous performers in our drag community were in my truck, I had an array of wigs in my office and I had to tackle walking in my size 16 heels. I never really figured out that last thing. My feet were sore even before I arrived, despite wearing them for several hours over three days just to do mundane tasks around the house.
On the morning of the big day, I took a razor to my face and saw a version of myself I scarcely recognized and that many say looked 10 years younger.
As you can see from my photo on this issue’s Editor’s Desk, I wasn’t a contender to win any beauty pageants. Comparisons to my sister, I’m sure she’d say, are an insult. But, I admit I looked better than I ever expected. A trained cosmetologist is a wizard with a large arsenal of makeup. And touch-ups by several female impersonators throughout the night ensured my stage-readiness.
It wasn’t easy squeezing a 6-foot-3-inch, 225-pound frame into a dress, panty hose (three pairs, thank you very much) and hip pads. It truly was a team effort. And the wigs (three there, too) seemed to get heavier as the night went on.
The evening was a fun one and the shock value was the icing on the cake. Many didn’t recognize me in my get-up, probably because no one had seen me without a beard in more than 10 years. The huge eyelashes and enormous Jessica Rabbit-red hair only helped further conceal my true identity. I looked like the spawn of Raggedy Andy and Peg Bundy.
I, of course, wasn’t the only local in drag. Members of the Pride board and grand marshal Jay Aller also traded in street clothes for more showy and uncomfortable garb. And yes, I admit Jay was prettier than me.
While the point of all of this was to raise money for St. Pete Pride—and we raised a ton—I saw a glimpse of LGBT history from an unexpected perspective. As I collected money from smiling friends, readers of this paper and strangers, I forgot about my aching toes and saw a community in a way that is only reserved for drag performers on stages across the state and around the world. I saw a community eager to laugh, to have fun and to give of themselves to a worthy cause.
It’s an empowering point of view.
Each Pride season, we all hear that minority within our community expressing disappointment that a drag queen gets highlighted on the local news. While I respect that point of view, I have to disagree with it.
What better way to get attention and to gain visibility than to find the spotlight, display your fabulousness and put a face on—figuratively and literally—a community and a movement? While drag is entertainment, it’s serious work.
See my transformation from start to finish:
Two weeks have passed since my big drag debut, and my beard is growing back and I’m reveling in the comfort of my sneakers. But I still hear comments about my performance and my appearance from around the country, thanks to Facebook.
And that opened the door to talk about why I did wear that dress, those heels and that wig—Pride. And it’s an experience of which I couldn’t be prouder.
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