Confessions of a Pride Queen

During the summer, I told my friend I might perform a lip sync at my school’s annual drag show – how the QSCC typically ends Pride Week. She looked at me, impressed, saying, “Wow, U of T doesn’t even do that!”  Being a school located in a city like Toronto, I was surprised by this too.

This year, there were two student performers, myself included, followed by a set carried out by Sapphyre Poisone, a professional queen. Death drops, wig reveals, clothing strips, incessant suggestive gestures towards one’s groin. I was deceased and resurrected, having witnessed a goddess (i.e. man-in-wig) of camp.

Following this final performance, my gay, cis-femme friend ran up to me – jaw dropped, pupils almost out of focus, saying, “What the fuck, I was so turned on by that entire thing!” This, to me, exemplifies one of the many reasons drag is such a fascinating medium.

Though cross-dressing is a centuries-old, cross-cultural tradition, drag, as we know it today, took shape throughout Harlem’s Ballroom Scene in the 1980s. A disenfranchised community of black, queer, and specifically trans individuals spearheaded its development. These individuals were seeking a safe avenue to explore and express their gender identities with candor. This is important to keep in mind when assessing the performance of blackness and casual trans-misogyny of contemporary mainstream drag culture.

Drag is destabilizing. It confronts us with our personal intuitions about gender. As audience members, we are forced to reflect on the ways we respond to these hyperbolized, aesthetic means through which gender is actualized on stage by the drag performer — much like my friend’s aforementioned “surprise arousal”.  We, as audience members, bring as much to the performance as the performers bring to the stage.

On the flip side, performing proved to be a surprisingly personal experience. Being onstage itself was a blur. The adrenaline and overpriced drink I downed right before going on stage made most of the performance flash by, though there are some mental snippets that will stay with me for a long time.

I didn’t choose the most “fishy” songs, but going through the motions of my performance felt peculiar while simultaneously rejuvenating. It was foreign to me to maneuver through these conventionally “feminine” shapes and movements while thinking, “Yes, this feels natural and this is also how I should be presenting myself in this very moment. This is allowed.” It was liberating. I was able to explore myself and how I present my body in front of a bunch of accepting strangers. This is a huge difference to when I was growing up, where these were the exact mannerisms I was previously beaten up and ostracized for at home and at church.

I don't think a younger version of myself would have envisioned current me doing anything like this. To be given a safe space and platform to explore the aspects of your gender expression. From body motions/shapes to wardrobe and make-up, you naturally suppress when in public is overwhelming enough; to do so and be received with acceptance and appraisal is nothing short of a blessing.

I definitely exist in a privileged space to be able to engage with this practice, and return to my shell as a cis-male-passing individual. Still, I am thankful that the QSCC hosts such a niche tradition and encourage anyone who may be interested to perform next year.