Stylish and sophisticated!

Back in my radical youth, I used to think that drag was, quite unequivocally, ‘a bad thing’. To me it was simply men ‘pretending’ to be women and, in the process, portraying them as shallow and bitchy.

My dislike for drag was reinforced by a couple of shows I saw. In 1980 I attended my first ‘real’ drag show – at the Vauxhall Tavern in London. This seemed to consist largely of a Vera Lynne impersonator who told a string of racist jokes before miming to ‘We’ll Meet Again’ in front of an audience waving a sea of Union Jacks. It felt more like a National Front rally than a night in a gay pub.

In 1982 I was privy to another drag show – this time in the Town Hall Hotel in the Sydney suburb of Balmain. On this occasion the racism came in the form of a little sketch wherein a drag queen appeared on stage apparently in the late stages of pregnancy. The ‘punchline’ was when she dropped the little bundle on the stage – and it was a black baby! Hilarious!

I was still in ‘drag is bad’ mentality when I visited a friend in Los Angeles just before Halloween in 1986. Normally a very intelligent and politically astute guy, he advised me that he and two of his friends were going to the West Hollywood Halloween party as Diana Ross and the Supremes – and they were intending to ‘black-up’ for the part.

I’d like to say we discussed it calmly and rationally – but that wouldn’t be true. We had quite a heated argument about it. In the end, it was agreed that they wouldn’t black-up but the drag plan was still going ahead. And that’s where I began to change my views.

Not wishing to be the only one out of costume at this famed West Hollywood event I found myself rummaging round a ‘pre-loved clothing’ store on the morning of the party. And before I knew it I had acquired a stunning red evening dress, which fit me like a glove (and was less than $20 to boot!)

I told myself that it was OK to wear it because it was more than apparent from my beard that I wasn’t trying to be a woman. I put it down instead to ‘gender fuck’; the mixing of ‘female’ and ‘male’ garments. Which then gave me license to go out and buy some plastic ‘pearl’ jewellery – necklace, earrings and bracelet.

Out of synch with the others – but looking stunning in red!

And having gone to that much effort it would be a crime not to apply some hot red lipstick and nail varnish! Suddenly I was the fourth white ‘Supreme’ and was joining the others as they practiced their moves for ‘Stop in the Name of Love’. (And, as can be seen from this photograph, never really getting the hang of it!)

My drag enlightenment continued when I arrived in Sydney in 1987. There were still plenty of racist and otherwise crass drag ‘artistes’, but it was clear that there was a lot more to the drag scene than that.

Particularly memorable was The Dot and Fanny Tonight Show, run every Wednesday at the Newtown Hotel. ‘Dot Dingle’ (David Wilkins) and ‘Fanny Farquhar’ (Ron Handley) did more than mime to Liz Minnelli records; they hosted a full-on talk show where everything from safe sex to the gay cycling group were discussed. With regular appearances from the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence and gay community ‘leaders’ this was intelligent and entertaining sexual politics.

And as the AIDS crisis unfolded, these guys – along with many other drag performers – were at the forefront of fund-raising efforts although, sadly, ‘Fanny’ was later to succumb himself.

I never quite signed up to being a regular drag aficionado but I did have one more go – at a ‘How to Host a Murder’ party (which were very fashionable in the late 80’s). The guests were all male but, of course, the game’s characters were of both genders so it was necessary for some of us to ‘drag up’.

Having assembled at our host’s home, we went off to the bedrooms to change into our characters. Even though few us had met before, all the men playing female characters spontaneously went into one room and all the men ‘remaining’ as men went into the other. And for the rest of the evening any ‘ladies’ requiring help with their attire (such as ‘detached breasts’ – which occurred frequently) would only allow themselves to be helped by other ‘ladies’ – in the privacy of the bathroom. It was an extraordinarily gender-conscious evening – even though we were all blokes!

And, of course, no consideration of the politics of drag would be complete without recognition of the central role played by drag queens in the Stonewall riots. Their role in Stonewall is, apparently, one of the main reasons drag has traditionally featured so prominently in the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras.

So maybe I have previously underestimated the power of men in frocks.