Letter to a Drag Queen
Dear Drag Performers in Tennessee and Beyond,
For years, my now 78 year-old mother, a retired pastor, had a photo of herself being hugged tightly by a drag queen on the bookshelf in her office. I remember staring at it for a long time every time I walked in her space. Who was this person with so much makeup on? And why was my mother smiling one of the biggest smiles I have ever seen across her face in the photo of this embrace?
While I saw men dressing as women for various activities many times in my Catholic high school and at my college with no one raising an eyebrow, I attended my first professional drag show in my 20s. I remember the music, the colors, the incredible dance moves, and the screams and excitement from the crowd of folks gathered in the room. I didn’t fully understand all that I was seeing at the time, but I was mesmerized by the performance, and by all of the elements of what I now have come to understand as a distinct art form. Later in my 20s, I learned more about the history of modern drag (because drag has been around for centuries), and how it is rooted in protest against the strict prescriptions for gender, sexuality and expression that exist in our world. I’ve been to dozens of drag performances in the last two decades. It’s one of my favorite forms of entertainment.
Some older clergy have questioned my affinity for drag, saying that drag is making fun of me as a cisgender woman, but I don’t see that. When I watch a drag performer, I see the best parts of my cisgender female identity being celebrated and reflected back to me. My curvier body. My more graceful way of moving. My ability to wear makeup to highlight the features of my face that I wish to highlight. My ability to select clothing that makes me feel confident. The ability to use all of these to capture the attention of a room. Drag exaggerates all the best things I love about femininity, and the fact that it’s all turned up to 11 moves me from a warm feeling to a wide smile. And when a drag queen bemoans all the cost and time it takes to appear so fabulous, I feel seen in my struggle to keep up with all the “supposed tos” of being a woman in this society. I understand now why my mom’s face was so bright in that 30 year-old photo.
I’m sorry that the elected leadership of my home state of Tennessee and so many others are taking away your freedom to express, to perform and to exist. I’m sorry that so many individuals look at things they don’t understand and have never personally experienced as a threat. I’m sorry that legislators think that you are more a danger to children than things that have been proven to harm children, like firearms. I’m sorry that my religion is being used in this argument when more children have been harmed by religious leaders than drag queens. I am angry with you. I am devastated with you. You are being terrorized.
I’ve taken all three of my young children to see drag performers. My oldest was only 3 months old at her first drag brunch. Some are saying this makes me a child abuser. Like me, they are often mesmerized by all of the “extra” - the hair, makeup, costumes and dancing to popular songs they have heard before. Sometimes they have danced right along, wanting to take part in the joy they see on stage and around them. I have friends with little boys who wear princess dresses. My girls dress up as Spiderman. Kids deserve joy, not a world that beats expression into submission and hiding. I hope you know how many parents appreciate your existence and gladly take our children to see you perform at a festival or read children’s books at a library.
I am listening intently for how I can fight for your rights to exist and perform freely. To my trans friends, I can only imagine how this legislation feels like a government-sanctioned mandate to not exist at all. I will not be silent. I believe my freedom to express my own gender identity and sexuality is tied to your ability to do the same. I believe my ability to exist openly in this world is tied to yours, because once we start narrowing definitions of public acceptability based on appearance alone, we are all in danger.
Above all, I want you to know that I see you, and wish to remind you that you are God’s beloved. You are a reflection of God because we are all a reflection of the expansive, inclusive and immeasurable image of God.
With love and gratitude for all that you are,
Lillian
(Photo by Kamaji Ogino)
