The Pure Insanity of Banning Drag
Drag is art. A beautiful art. I learned this at 42 when Covid rendered me immovable in bed for six weeks. In January 2021, I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, so I had a lot of time on my hands. So I started watching RuPaul’s Drag Race from the beginning. Thirteen minutes in, I was fascinated. Thirteen hours in, I couldn’t get enough. Thirteen seasons in, I was in love.
I had seen the show before, at a bar in Los Angeles, at a friend’s house, an episode here or there. But I hadn’t embraced it. I had been to drag shows before, when they happened in front of me, at a fun gay brunch, at a benefit, at a club. But I had never sought one out as the main event of an evening. I had come out at 19 but still had a very uneasy relationship with drag.
As a gay man, I was taught one thing by the culture at large: it’s okay to be gay, as long as you look, talk, act, and behave exactly as you did before you came out. Drag is all just a step too far. So that was my line, always. I am a man who is attracted to other men. Fine. I am a man who will one day marry another man. Fine. As long as I am never a man who puts on a dress.
But drag waits for no one. Especially not for me to rid myself of the deep internalized homophobia that I still carried. In recent years, drag has exploded into the mainstream, thanks to RuPaul, the show, YouTube and its…
