just be a queen

Lately, I've been obsessed with drag queens. I blame my roommate, Matt, for getting me high on drag. He's a penis-tucker pusher. He's a drag dealer who doesn't take 'no' for an answer. And so, I've become addicted. He's also gotten me addicted to Tina, gambling and strangely enough, catching syphilis, but drag seems to be the high that I keep searching for. If my Mom read my blog (Hi Mom, I really hope you don't read my blog), I know exactly what she would be thinking right now: "Wesley... do you want to become a woman?" This is because I think that deep down, my mom still kinda thinks that the next step in being gay is wanting to transition and live as the opposite gender. Just kidding, my mom knows the difference because I schooled her. But before I schooled her, it was her favorite question.

And the answer (if you're still reading this, Mom) is no, I do not want to become a woman. And let me be very clear that there ain't even a tiny bit wrong with knowing and feeling that inside yourself. I only want to become a woman temporarily - and even then, I am not interested in being seen as someone who identifies as a woman. I more want to become an idea of one... a caricature of sorts. Hopefully as offensive a caricature as possible. And then, very soon afterwards, I want to go back to being a man and then pretend like I'll never do drag again.

My drag alter ego is a young lady by the name of Holly Jalapeño. Holly hails from Barranquilla, Colombia and she has made her way to the United States Maria Full of Grace-style by stuffing cocaine in every available hole of her body. When she arrived, she was 20 kilos heavier, if ya know what I mean. Holly came to America and soon befriended a soon-to-be nun named Sistah Bitch, who helped her acclimate to American. She taught her how to be a lady and Holly taught Sistah Bitch how to be a Catholic.  Together, they were two guilty, molested, but unstoppable bitches and the hardest sluts this side of Tara Reid's coagulated breast implants. That is, until Sistah Bitch went into the Convent, leaving Holly behind for what would turn out to be a grueling fifteen years in human trafficking. On the bright side, she was able to see the world as she was passed from Chinese businessman to Chinese businessman to Arab royalty to Arab royalty to American politician to American politician. Sistah Bitch learned of Holly's condition, and though they were both huge fans of bondage, this type of bondage had no safety word, so they were like "cyalaterbye." So, Sistah Bitch escaped the nunnery, leaving behind
Father Donahue, her father in spirituality, sexuality and in actual blood relation to come looking for Holly with only her habit and an arsenal of automatic weapons stolen from a carnie named Jebediah.

Drag queens are all the rage these days, it seems. You've got RuPaul's Drag Race, the show for which I devotedly trek to Chelsea every Monday to watch at Boxer's, a gay sports bar. (Yep, they exist... Drag is a sport, okay?) You've got Gaga commanding you to not be a drag, just be a queen because you were born this way. And in my life, drag seems to be rearing it's wig-capped head over and over again.

Holly and Sistah Bitch first appeared for Drag Night at the community center for little LGBTs where I work. From there, we became unstoppable. We bring them back occasionally with the youth to host special nights and have been approached to do our own show. Almost daily, Matt and I brainstorm crazy shit we could do with and what we can create with these alter egos. The sales associates at the local Buffalo Exchange know and love us because of our semi-regular trips to try on potential new frocks to put our cocks in.

There's no other word to describe doing drag other than freeing. It's different than creating a character, because drag has an entire state of mind and history that you instantly become privy to once you've initiated yourself into the community. You can literally be whoever you want to be, and on whatever outrageous level you want. It creates a new level of friendship with your drag squirrelfriends where you can basically be as mean as you wanna be under the guise of "reading." The possibilities, and outfits, are truly endless. Unless you have big feet like Matt does, and finding heels is futile unless you are in Spanish Harlem or the Amazon - two places we don't venture to.

What's really awesome to me, is being able to be that in the idea of a woman. As a gay man, I so often feel inhibited, sometimes by my own doing and other times with how society and the law limits me. As a feminist, it is powerful that by transforming myself into the most strong, insane, hilarious woman I can imagine for myself, I am somehow freed of my constraints. I've never had an idea relating to drag that didn't seem possible to execute. And because it's drag, you're expected and accepted to be controversial and offensive. It's okay - because you're not living by society's rules. In so many ways, you're holding a mirror up to it all and laughing at this mess we've gotten ourselves into.

The only time I feel limited by drag is when talking with other gay men about it who instantly reject it and find it "unattractive." First of all, fucking DUH it's unattractive. My goal is not to make you think how hot I am with my thick-ass painted on eyebrows and leg hair poking through my tights. Don't even get it twisted though - I make a hot woman. That being said, hot women are not what gay men are attracted to. So get off your high unicorn and chill out if you can't find the attractive man underneath the cheap makeup.

The other part that bothers me is the apparent urge to desperately cling to one's masculinity when faced with a drag queen. The whole concept of assessing and discussing one's (or another's) masculinity to me has always been what I like to call "exercises in compensating." This is especially true for guys who make it a routine to actively seek out only masc guys to associate with and to fuck (I'm looking at you, Grindr). The more you talk about your masculinity, the more your dick retreats into its holding cell until you're left with nothing but a micropenis so shut up already. It should come as no surprise, then, that some toolbags just can't handle a dude who looks like a lady. We all know what's going on there.

For a boy to look like a girl, its degrading. Because secretly, you think that being a girl is degrading. But you'd love to know what it's like, wouldn't you?

What it feels like for a girl?

So, if you ever get the chance to do drag - do it. That goes for women, too. Whether you're a drag king, or just going way the hell over the top and become a female drag queen, go for it. It might feel weird at first, and it will undoubtedly make you want to die when you're done, but when you're that queen, you're a free bitch, baby.