A brief introduction to the art form and community of drag in NYC.
Table of Contents
| Introduction……………………………………………………. 3
Interviews…………………………………………………….. 14 Iodine Quartz……………………………………. 15 She’Knead Thisgig……………………………… 27 Junior Mint……………………………………… 40 About the Author / Outro……………………………………… 55 Works Cited……………………………………………………. 56 |
Introduction
Going into this project, I had a sliver of an idea of what the art form of drag really was. I knew I was only at the surface, looking into a depth that I had yet to dive into. Drag had been in my vicinity. As the story classically goes for most new drag performers, I was interested in drag since I had been following RuPaul’s Drag Race for quite some time. But it wasn’t until just this past fall that I was fully captivated by the art form. I saw my first real drag show thanks to She’Knead Thisgig—a performer I met very early on (and by chance) at an LGBTQ Zine Fair. I purchased one of her zines, and started talking to her about drag. A few weeks later, she took me to a show after I styled her for a photoshoot with some of my chainmail headpieces. I was ecstatic and inspired by the performances (which were much more exciting and interesting than the routines I was used to from Drag Race). And thanks to my connection as the friend and backstage assistant of a performer, I got to personally meet and connect with the other performers of the night. This was my first inside contact with the art form, and that night, drag began to be demystified in my eyes. After that, each time I came into contact with drag, my intrigue grew exponentially. I was amazed at the electric excitement it sparked in me. I couldn’t think of anything else that evoked such fire, and I was almost afraid that it would burn out. As I spiralled further into the drag universe, I began to develop an interest in performing myself. I had always been a visual artist, but I never thought of myself as a performer. Gradually, after witnessing more performances, hearing about the (surprisingly similar) creative backgrounds of other performers I met, and testing the waters by dabbling through unofficial performances myself, I started to believe that maybe I could pursue drag after all. As I began to perform, I fell in love with drag in a new way. No other art form has drawn me so magnetically for so long, and I discovered that it in some way brings together most, if not all, of the creative practices I am passionate about. Along the way, I began to learn about the strong and rich history drag has. I heard mentions of the art form’s political roots, and the more I learned, the more I realized how much I had to discover. I was frustrated at the lack of access to information about drag’s history and its place in the transgender community. I was hurt by other trans people’s dismissal of the art form because RuPaul’s Drag Race was the only form of drag they knew. This was ultimately what sparked this project. I was determined to delve into drag’s history, into the community, and into the practice to experience and learn for myself what was missing from the limited representation that is available to most people. The majority of what I learned comes from in-depth interviews I conducted with drag performers, and by engaging with the community firsthand through attending shows as an audience member, helping friends out backstage, connecting and developing friendships with drag artists and drag appreciators, and starting to pursue performing myself. The following is a summary of what I discovered through the beginning of my drag journey.
Drag as Self-Love
As many different kinds of drag that there are—from beauty to burlesque to club—at the core of drag is self-love. Self-expression as a means to self-love, self-discovery and understanding through self-expression. As Junior Mint, a performer who I interviewed for this project, put it, “drag is the art form of yourself.” It’s about expressing what you as an individual have to say—whether it’s a story you have to tell, a message you want to spread, or a fantasy you want to share, it all comes from inside you. This self-expression takes form in many ways—it’s extremely individualistic to the performer, and for this reason, it is very difficult to define or generalize. Some channel idols who have influenced them and shaped their understanding of themselves and who they are; some channel a character or alter ego that is a part of them that the world doesn’t normally get to see; others channel an exaggerated or heightened version of themselves. Many do a combination of these, or float between them from performance to performance. The content of performances also varies greatly, and is, again, highly dependent on the individual. Some delve into sharing deeply personal experiences, some address political issues that they feel connected to, and some tell fictional narratives or bring to life a fantasy that is somehow telling of their own experience and who they are. For me personally, I have found that no matter what type of content I might bring to a given performance, what makes a performance connect the most (both with me and the audience) is urgency. My best performances have been those that have a burning need to get out—something that makes my heart ache and almost feels like an exorcism as I go through the process of preparing for it. When a performance has this urgency, I’m fully immersed in it and can really feel it on the stage. And as a result, the audience can feel it as well. The first time I got a taste of this was during my first performance in Brooklyn at Daily Press Coffee’s Drag Race Viewing Party. I knew that the performance would be important to me because I knew I was going to perform to a song that my best friend wrote—but I was deciding between two of her songs. One of them felt extremely important and personal to me; it was a song that I listened to on loop for months and still wasn’t sick of, a song that I felt I could listen to for the rest of my life and still love it more each time I heard it. The other song I liked a lot, but I didn’t have the same emotional response to it. I was about to choose the second song, because I thought that it might be more fitting to the environment and that the audience might like it better—but then I thought back to the piece of advice that numerous performers have given me: “Don’t look at what anyone else is doing. Be yourself. Don’t do what you think the audience wants, do what’s true to you.” I remembered this, and understood that I had to do the first song.
In real life, we are best when we are true to ourselves; in drag, performers perform their best when what they present is true to them. But drag takes these truths a step further. Because drag requires so much time and thought to be put into it—aesthetically, conceptually, narratively—it facilitates a more intentional, more aware, and deeper connection to oneself. It allows a performer to connect to parts of themself that they might otherwise brush over or push away. While some might visualize themselves in drag as a separate entity, observing that entity is like looking in a mirror. If you invest time, energy, and care into your drag persona, you are ultimately investing in yourself.
This idea was reflected in some way by every performer I interviewed, and I have found this in my own experience as well, even by just conceptualizing performances. While I personally feel that me in-drag vs out-of-drag is essentially the same, I have found that different aspects of who I am, how I feel, and how I tell my story become highlighted when I’m in drag.
“Alopexian,” the drag persona I have been investing in and performing as, is a soft, glittery, and ethereal reptile-like being. They are a magic-possessing alien fairy from a far away planet, dropped onto a somewhat harsh and scary, but also beautiful, Earth. They are intuitive, sensitive, and delicate so they need to be protected. But they are also powerful and full of love, and in other ways, they can protect me too. They do their best to navigate the confusing and disorienting human reality, balancing their fear and pain caused by the strange world with the beauty they see in it and the love they have for it. In many ways, I just described myself. The short description I just wrote about Alopexian is far more true to me than most things I’ve ever written about myself—but writing about myself as Alopexian allowed me to be far more kind and generous than I would be if I was just describing myself. That is the true power of drag—far more than making political statements, subverting norms, or even expressing oneself, drag is a facilitator of self-love. It makes one of the most difficult things we have to learn to do in our lives slightly less difficult.
Drag as Connection
I have both found and been told that when a drag performance is purely and honestly you, the audience can feel it. Like all art, drag is a form of communication. It is a conduit for storytelling, and a facilitator of understanding. Initially, it bridges one’s connection to oneself. But then it goes a step further, and invites others to share an experience. Doing drag forces you to open yourself up, allow others to feel you, and bring the room to where you are. What makes drag so magical is the fulfillment you feel when you bring to life a fantasy that is intensely personal, and the audience understands. You go deep inside yourself and bring the room there with you, and when you come out, people are in awe of the experience you shared and you are in awe of the support and presence with which you were met. I experienced this with an extremely emotional performance I did. I called the performance “Rebuilding”, and it was about breaking free from the medical gaze, and learning to love my body and myself again. The performance begins with a loud heartbeat and the sounds of a heart monitor. I fearfully stumble around the stage bald-headed and in a hospital gown, and as indistinguishable whispers start to come in I begin to panic. Suddenly, there is a loud shattering of glass and clap of thunder, and I rip off the hospital gown to reveal a pink and black reptile-inspired look coated in scalemail and glitter. As ethereal-sounding vocal drones comes into the audio, I pick up a container of glitter and start sprinkling it over myself. The glitter refreshes me, heals me, and gives me strength. As the vocal drones reach a climax, I crown myself with a scalemail headdress. Then, “Arms Unfolding” by Dodie Clark starts playing. I pick up a mirror and am startled by my reflection, but I lipsync the lyrics to myself and to the audience: “Hope I’m not tired of rebuilding / cause this might take a little more / I think I’d like to try look at you / and feel the way I did before.” The last line, I sing to myself, locking eyes with myself in the handheld mirror: “Old partner in crime, I’m going to try / to fall in love with you again.” I walked off the stage as the music faded out, and to my astonishment, the audience roared with support and appreciation. I felt the tension of the day, the buildup of the hours of preparation for the emotionally taxing performance, release through their applause. Iodine Quartz, the performer hosting the show, came up to me and said, “That was so beautiful—you brought a breath of spring into the room.” My heart was full. Several people came up to me throughout the night to tell me how much they felt the performance, and each time, I felt like I could cry with joy. And that was what made me think, “I need to keep doing this. I need more of that.” Not because of the glamor or the spotlight or even the adrenaline rush of being on stage—but because of the connection. Knowing that others connected to and resonated with something so raw and vulnerable that I shared, and being able to then look them in the eyes and have an exchange was extremely fulfilling and almost healing. The performers I interviewed echoed this feeling, but there was nothing like living it myself. It wasn’t until after that performance that I truly understood how much emotional (in addition to creative) labor goes into drag. Drag performers constantly repeat how expensive drag is, and how much energy and how many resources you have to invest in it. There is rarely any financial or material gain so one might wonder, “why do it?” That question was answered for me after that performance. And that was only my second real performance—I’m prepared for many ups and downs to come, for much growth, and for many more performance experiences like this one.
Drag as Community
The final significant component of drag that I have discovered is the network and the community that artists involved in the drag scene build. This is no new revelation—even Drag Race emphasizes this sense of community. However, the frequency and casualty with which the words “community” and “family” are thrown around when talking about drag from an outside perspective can border on romanticizing. Of course it is a wonderful community full of artists who build personal connections and friendships and who love and support each other both logistically and emotionally. But in many ways, it’s not much different than any other creative community that one might find. It’s a community of people who inspire each other, help each other thrive, take care of each other, and help each other get by. On the other hand, what makes it stand out is its strong affiliation with the LGBTQ community and LGBTQ history. For a long time, the drag community relied on each other for literal day-to-day survival. Gender expression outside of the binary gender assigned to one at birth was criminalized, and so was being queer. Many people could not keep jobs because they would be fired for their identities, and people would frequently face police brutality and arrest for simply existing peacefully in public spaces. People were also often rejected and disowned by their biological families, so they formed communities and support networks with other queer people who would become like adoptive families. The drag and queer performer community was much the same, as shown in Jennie Livingston’s 1990 documentary about the New York City Ballroom scene, Paris is Burning. The performers interviewed in this film spoke about the concept of “houses” and “families”—concepts that are very present in the drag community today. Although the LGBTQ community may not face discrimination to the same extent it did 30+ years ago, there are many forms of oppression that the LGBT community, and consequently the drag community, are still fighting against. For example, although the police may no longer arrest someone for crossdressing, people with non-normative gender expression (especially trans-feminine people of color) are regularly assaulted and killed with little to no consequences for the attacker; and although cisgendered white gays no longer face police brutality, transgender people of color still face profiling and brutality from the police. In addition to these issues, queer artists and drag performers also face socioeconomic systems which undervalue and underpay creative and emotional labor. Some performers tackle these issues head-on by directly addressing them in performances, speaking out about them on their social media platforms, and taking action through protest and appealing to legislation, while others tackle them in smaller ways—by persevering and continuing to share their art, their stories, and themselves with the world every day despite systemic obstacles. But no matter how an artist may push against these obstacles, having a sense of community and a system of support is essential to this fight. Many performers may not even think about these issues in relation to their art or their careers—many times they might just want to tell a story, live a fantasy, or share something with the audience. But even in doing that, they are resisting these systems by simply existing and thriving.
Drag as Empowerment
Ultimately, the most simple yet most beautiful way in which the drag community supports itself is through artists empowering and uplifting each other. As with any generalization about a given community, there are exceptions—as mentioned in some of my interviews, the drag scene can be competitive at times, and as in any personal relationship, performers may have personal conflicts or misunderstandings with other community members. But for the most part, I have found that most performers have a “pay it forward” or “give back to the community” mentality. Most drag performers get their starts thanks to the openness and generosity of already established performers who were willing to give them space to perform. For this reason, drag performers stay humble and are generally very happy to do the same for new artists who want to get into the scene. As Iodine Quartz repeats to me anytime I thank her for a performance opportunity, they are simply doing the same as what their drag mothers, aunties, or sisters would do for them. The drag community is strong because the people in it make each other strong. They empower each other, believe in each other, and build each other up. Despite any competitiveness that may bubble up here and there through local competitions, pageants, or awards, drag performers want each other to be their best selves. They understand the work that goes into each others’ art like no one else, and they want to see each other thrive like no one else. That is what makes drag family.
Drag as Love
Everything about the core of the art form of drag circles back to love: love for oneself—learning to give yourself love through creative practice self-understanding; love for individuals—loving those you intimately connect with, loving the strangers you share space with; and love for a community—free, open, and unconditional love and appreciation for your creative peers.
Interviews
I sat down with three different drag performers to do in-depth interviews about their personal experiences in the New York drag scene. I had a list of questions, but the interviews were structured more like casual conversations than formal interviews, so the topics focused on somewhat varied depending on how our conversations flowed. For purposes of legibility, this following section features slightly condensed or edited versions of these interviews. All interview write-ups have been sent to and approved by the interviewee (as have the sketches accompanying them.)
Interviews appear in the order in which they were conducted.
Iodine Quartz
Drag as an Experience
Left: a sketch of Iodine Quartz during our interview. Right: a sketch of Iodine Quartz in a drag look.
Find Iodine on Instagram: @iodinequartz.
I met Iodine Quartz by chance after seeing another show in Hell’s Kitchen. After the show, I went to a bar with the performers from the show, and Iodine happened to be there. We talked for a while and exchanged Instagrams, and I later contacted her to ask for an interview.
Iodine Quartz: I’ll try to be as authentic as possible.
Milenka Bermanova: And of course, if you don’t feel comfortable answering anything, that’s totally fine
Quartz: Oh, I’m an open book. As long as I can answer the question and I know the information, I’ll give you whatever you want. “I’ll give you whatever you want!” Just like Burger King! Oh wait no, that’s “have it your way.”
Bermanova: Alright, so, what is your drag name, first of all?
Quartz: My drag name is Iodine Quartz, IQ if you’re nasty, that is the full name—yes, you must include the “IQ.”
Bermanova: What name and pronouns do you use outside of drag?
Quartz: My real name is Isaiah Green, as in the color. And pronouns don’t matter to me, personally. He… If I know you from work, then she… they/them… anything, you know? It depends on the mood for me. Just livin life!
Bermanova: How do you define drag?
Quartz: An experience of expression. An experience of expression, creativity, an artform of its own. For everyone, too—not just for cis men. Anyone who’s trans, for cis women, for straight women, for nonbinary people—anyone can do drag and make it their own artform and create their own experience through it. That’s what it is. An experience.
Bermanova: How did you get into drag?
Quartz: Ooh! You want the short story or the long story?
Bermanova: Long story!
Quartz: Ok! Long story! Picture a scrawny, weird, latchkey kid who didn’t get to go anywhere, stuck in high school, stuck in my room… I started to experiment with special effects makeup and I was very much interested in pursuing that sort of career, so like I really wanted to do, like you know the show Face-Off? I was obsessed with that show where they would do special effects makeup in a timely manner, and, you know, they had challenges, so I would challenge myself to see what I could do. And at the time, I actually started experimenting with other genders, like doing it on myself, and I was like, “wow, I could really make a career out of this!” And you know, of course I saw RuPaul, but that’s not what motivated me to do it. More than anything, once I moved to New York a few years later, I met a drag queen named Madeline Hatter, who changed my life. She just told me, like, “just do it!” And she helped me throughout the whole way, and so did my drag mom, Black Lae D, they’ve really helped cultivate who Iodine is. So, I guess that’s it.
Bermanova: What was your first performance like, and how did you get into actually performing?
Quartz: Oh, lord! That is a story of its own… so, my first performance ever, I spent the entire day shopping for my first drag moment. I already made padding and went out and bought a wig, and bought a $200 corset (which I still regret to this day)… and one of my friends was like, “oh, you can get ready at my house! Like, it’s totally fine, like who cares? Everyone’s gonna love it and live for it!” And I get there with a full suitcase of makeup and drag, and she’s like “oh… I don’t know how my grandmother’s gonna feel… I don’t know how her roommates are gonna feel about it… but you can get ready in her lobby, in her lobby bathroom!” So it’s like the end of July, it is hot as hell—it is SO hot, and I have, like, one of my friends in the bathroom in the lobby with me, he is fanning me while I’m putting on my makeup, my makeup is smudging off and melting. Anyway, got that done and I ended up going to Bottoms Up Vodka Soda. And I thought I looked a hot mess, but the security guard in the lobby was living for us. She asked to take a picture and everything, she was just so excited. So then we get to Vodka Soda and I meet a drag queen named Ally Gaza who was doing karaoke that night, and she was like, “oh, YES!” She was like, “girl, you’re in face, you’re here, do you wanna give a show?” And I’m like, “No! Absolutely not, my night is already going terribly, I’m very good.” And my friend was like, “you better do a show! Come on, have a drink first and then tell me how you feel.” After two frozen margaritas on an empty stomach, I’m like, “you know what? I’m gonna do a show, I’m gonna perform a song! I don’t know what song.” So I performed New Attitude by Patti Labelle, and I stood there—I did not move, I stayed in the same place, I had a reveal, I had an outfit reveal, but I did not move at all and I was just… shook. So nervous. So nervous! I’m pretty sure if you looked close enough you could see my knees buckling, it was bad. But I made $15! And that’s how I got my first gig! Ally Gaza was like, “wow, you really do know your words—you need to move around a little bit, you know, don’t be afraid, but like, you really know your words! Please come back next week and do a show for me!” And then I did that, and next thing I knew it, every Wednesday I was just making coin!
Bermanova: So it wasn’t planned at all?
Quartz: It was not planned. I was just gonna go in drag, I was just gonna go in face and have people see me, and just have a good time and see how I felt about it and then maybe eventually find a way to perform, but I had no real plan! Which is weird, cause it worked out for itself because Ally ended up moving to Miami and the show got cancelled, but right after that, Madeline (the queen who helped me throughout the way) created a competition at The Ritz which really helped make me a bit more polished as a queen cause it incorporated competition into my drag aesthetic, which was, like, much needed, you know? Cause I was doing it for me at the time, and now I’m like, “oh! I could take anybody on! Come at me!”
Bermanova: So would you say that Ally Gaza is like your drag mother in a way? Or how does all that work?
Quartz: No… I mean, she can definitely be my drag auntie—shout out to Ally if she ever reads this! She’s definitely my drag auntie, but no, my two mothers right now are Madeline Hatter and Black Lae D. In order to have a drag mother, they have to be either someone who has, either taken you in literally, like you’ve moved into their home, or they’ve created an environment that was very welcoming and has presented opportunities for you to grow as a drag performer or as a queer person in general. And they give you tips like pointers—they help you grow, basically. They nourish you, like a regular mother would. So I think those are my two mothers.
Bermanova: I know there are drag families and, like, drag houses—how official is all of that? Are your drag mothers the mothers of a house?
Quartz: Yes. So, I mean, Madeline and I, even though she’s my drag mom—on a bad day, she’s my drag auntie. But Black Lae D is my main drag mother, and I’m a part of Haus of D, so whenever we throw a function or an event or whatever, I must attend. That is just how I feel it, Black Lae D is very understanding though. She’ll be like, “oh, if you can’t make it, I understand.” But, you know, we come in a unit. We’re a squad, you know? And we have to help each other. Well, not have to, but we do because we love each other.
Bermanova: So like, when one of you books a show then all of you are there?
Quartz: Yeah! Even just like to support, not even to perform—just to help out in any way we can, or promote it on our social medias. It’s a community. It’s a community within the community, because a lot of people don’t realize, the drag community is a wonderful community. It’s beautiful. But it’s very competitive. Especially, with all of these new shows coming out, everyone is so hungry for more money and a better downpayment, so you have to have a community within the community to have that sense of relief.
Bermanova: Yeah… that sort of goes into Drag Race and the sort of environment that Drag Race is creating. Would you say that when you got into drag, that Drag Race was already blown up?
Quartz: Oh, yeah… I mean, if you believe it, I’m not even a year old yet as a drag queen! July is my year marker. But yeah, Drag Race has been around since I was in middle school. And it’s always been something I’ve watched, but recently, I’ve looked at and been like, “I could do that, I could be on that!” As a kid growing up I was like, “wow, these creatures are so wonderful and other-worldly, I could never even touch something that’s close to this.” But now I’m like, “I mean, I could if I wanted to… for the money.” That’s all it would be for.
Bermanova: How do you feel about the way Drag Race portrays drag? Now that you’re performing and seeing the show versus actually being in the community, do you have a different opinion of the show?
Quartz: I do… you’re tryna get me cancelled, oh my gosh! So, I will start by saying this—Jasmine Masters’ voice: “Rupaul’s Drag Race fucked up drag!” I’m kidding, no… Rupaul’s Drag Race is a great show, it’s wonderful, it’s opened a lot of doors for all of us… we have to take our hats off to Rupaul for doing the damn thing and being such a mogul, but: Drag Race is starting to put itself into a box. A very unhealthy box, especially being from the queer community, it’s not cool. It’s great to be commercialized, but it’s not cool to put labels on yourself when your entire profession is not labelled. And the fact that we have not had– well, we had Gia Gunn representing the trans community, but we have not had cis women on Drag Race. I think we’ve had a few people come out as nonbinary after Drag Race, but we don’t have much representation of the full community on the show, and I feel like in the place of a lot of these campy comical skits, we could have moments where we really educate our new cisgendered and hetero fans who might not know fully who we are. Like, we’re your family, we’re people you see on the street, we’re your coworkers, we’re your friends, loved ones, like… get to know us—all of us. Instead of thinking we’re just for comic relief, and to be “sickening” and design clothes for you. That’s not just what we do, you know? We’re people. So, I just feel like Drag Race could do a lot better with that. But there is another show which is on the rise, which is a more edgy version of Drag Race that I think is starting to do that, which I’m excited to see. And that show is called Dragula! Stream it now on Amazon!
Bermanova: I was really trying not not ask that question in a leading way, cause I’ve written papers about this… I have a lot of opinions about this, so I was trying to like, not lead you..
Quartz: No… I mean, it is… if you’re a local queen in the community, you already have an opinion about Drag Race, and nine times out of ten, that is everyone’s opinion. Because you see it… you see that between working nightlife and local drag communities versus watching it on television, it’s totally different. The feeling is very different, and even though it’s competitive, it’s much more sisterly. It’s much more loving. And why don’t we have drag kings? It’s RuPaul’s Drag Race, not RuPaul’s Drag Queen Race! It doesn’t make sense to me… drag kids, which a lot of people don’t even know about. You know, drag kids are such an interesting asset to our drag community—and I don’t mean actual drag children, even though there are drag children out there, and I support them, and I’m here for expressing creativity safely—but people who are older, but they put on the persona of a child for their performances, and it’s art, it’s performance art. It is genuinely art, and we just don’t see that on Drag Race. Like, I’m tired of seeing these girls perform top 40 songs and not give me any emotion in their numbers. Like, send them all home! Recast! That’s how I feel about it.
Bermanova: And people make the argument that Drag Race has opened doors, or that it’s made it easier to make it as a drag queen, which I can see being true, but a friend of mine made the point that what Drag Race did was basically made a 1% in drag, so there are certain queens who can go really far in drag, but then other performers are left behind.
Quartz: I completely agree. Because people are now—it’s so interesting, the politics of drag—people are now starting to get used to a certain idea of queens, like you said, that 1%. They are the ones who are successful, who can make it to the next step. Even the people who don’t win Drag Race, they are set for life as far as performances go. There are queens who are charging $3000 just to show up to a club and give two numbers, and they still get tips. Which is crazy, if you’re doing that six nights a week, you’re gonna be a millionaire very soon. But there are so many other performers who are legends in the community who have actually told me personally that they had to change their drag, change their makeup style, change their performance style, because of this box that we’ve been pushed into. So it has opened certain doors for some queens, and mostly the newer queens who grew up on Drag Race, because that’s all they are used to. They are used to this idea of, “oh, this is just what drag is.” But for the people who actually set the stones for us to walk on, created the path, they’re being left behind. Especially in Brooklyn. There are so many legends who may never be on Drag Race if they don’t enter, that these children will never know about, that just jump on Drag Race and misrepresent all of us. Like even me, when I first started drag, I was very rough around the edges. Not my makeup style, but how I performed, like I wasn’t doing top 40 songs. I was very much trying to give you an experience. And until recently (now I’ve made my makeup much softer and less scary) I wanted to freak people out. That was my goal. I wanted you to walk away from my performance terrified. That was like the ultimate goal, or just have some sort of shock from what just happened. But recently, in order to be more diverse, I’ve had to paint more polished, just to fit into everyone’s preference—for everyone to be comfortable with what I’m giving them. But at the same time, I will look very beautiful and gorgeous, and the next thing you know, I’m vomiting on stage—or something you weren’t expecting. Drag Race has opened a lot of doors, but it’s also made it more difficult for the more creative people in the community. That’s not fair, I actually take that back—everyone is creative, everyone’s doing great… but it’s made it more difficult for the weirder girls.
Bermanova: So you think a lot of people are compromising what they actually want to be doing to fit into the sort of Drag Race box?
Quartz: Yeah, I mean… some people naturally just want to be beautiful when they’re in drag or just want to look handsome, or just want to have that sort of cis-normative heteronormative style to their look, because they want to paint the fantasy and that’s their fantasy, but a lot of other people—like I know a really crazy talented queen named Luka Ghost, who is a fawn. Like that is their drag persona, it is a fawn out of the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, 100% a fawn all the time. Gives you different looks, but always a fawn—and I live for it. But certain things like that might not be welcomed on Drag Race cause they’re like, “oh, well let’s see what you look like as a pretty girl, or let’s see–” You know, because the performer themself, they’re trans, and I just feel like there are so many things that would hold them back from getting onto that show, and even if they got on that show, the audience would not be as receptive because of their expression and their fantasy.
Bermanova: You kind of mentioned the history of drag, and the roots of it being a political movement, but also just like survival. Like you mentioned creating family… and some things have gotten better for the LGBT community, but there are still things going on—do you think that drag is still working in the same ways that it was, like do you think it’s still a catalyst for social change? And if it is, what do you think it’s doing?
Quartz: That’s a hard question to answer… thank you for that question, though, because that’s a good question to ask. I feel as if– it depends on the queen, it truly does. My drag mother, Black Lae D, they are a very exceptional person in the community, in the Brooklyn community. They are very much politically driven, and they are all about equality and loving. They have a speech that they open up with before every show where they’re like, “Hey, this is a loving environment, if anyone comes after you or tries to attack you, I am the pretty guardian of Brooklyn, but I’m here to protect all my queer femmes, all of my trans people, my nonbinaries, you know, consent is a thing…” And they even have a lot of charity events that they do for, like, people of color who are homeless, trans people who are homeless… But like I said, it just depends on the queen. I feel like—and this is not to poop on Manhattan queens at all—I feel like the Brooklyn community is more politically driven, and we have a bit more… I don’t know, if something goes wrong with one queen in our community, we all will rise up to either uplift them, and work towards correcting the issue rather than minding our business. Like in Manhattan, everyone just pretends like it didn’t happen and just keeps moving. If a club—I’m not gonna mention the club’s name, but there’s a certain club in Manhattan that I heard about recently, that told a Drag Race girl that she could not bring her friends there anymore because people would start to think that it’s a black club, and that that’s not how they wanted to represent themselves. They told this queen that, and they told everyone else, and they moved the party that was there, but other people still kept going to that club. If that happened in Brooklyn, that club would be cancelled. That club would be over, they would probably go out of business within the next two months. So you can kind of see the divide of community, unity, and any sort of activism within Manhattan and Brooklyn. I can’t speak on Queens or the Bronx because I don’t work there.
Bermanova: So, this is kind of changing the topic now; how separate or connected is you in drag versus you out of drag? Like do you bring a lot of yourself into your drag, or is it kind of like a separate persona?
Quartz: Well, I will say this… Iodine is everything Isaiah could not be from the beginning. She was born just being sweet to people and being very talkative. Out of drag, sometimes I can be very shy, but when I tell queens that I work with, or people who I know through drag, that in my boy life I’m very shy, they don’t believe me. Because Iodine is just—she will jump on a microphone, she will do a weird dance or freak people out, but she’s very loving and very caring and understanding, and she loves being able to be that shoulder to cry on for people, for anybody. Many random people have cried on me, and I’m like, “It’s ok, sweetie, it’s alright. Let’s just keep talking.” But I will say, the one thing that Iodine and Isaiah do have in common is their love for people, even though humanity can sometimes be so horrible, you just want to give up on humanity and give up on people, but Iodine does not. Isaiah sometimes does… so I think they’re very much two different people, like when I’m out of drag I feel very different. I feel like a totally different person, I can’t explain it, it’s weird. Like, once I get out in full face and full geish, I’m more bubbly, I’m more like, “Oh, let’s have a great night!” even if things are going terribly. But out of drag, I’m just like, “Ugh, let’s stay home, let’s watch Sailor Moon and eat Chinese food all day, I don’t wanna talk to people, barely wanna talk to my roommates, no one talk to me…” Yeah, they’re two very different people.
Bermanova: How much does drag have to do with gender and gender expression for you? And kind of going back to the same question, how related is your relationship to gender in drag versus out of drag?
Quartz: Oh, I love that question! So, before I did drag, I was actually, I feel, very closed-minded to how I represented myself, and I was so held back by gender constructs that I didn’t experiment with anything. Like even getting my ears pierced—which isn’t a feminine thing, by the way, world—like, painting my nails, or wearing something I thought was cute rather than it being like, “Oh, this is in the men’s section, this is for boys,” whatever. But since I started drag, I don’t know, I just.. don’t care. I don’t care, I love wearing crop tops, and very almost over-revealing daisy duke booty shorts, I will just do it. If it’s hot, I am out here, you will see me in these streets and you’ll be like, “What is that?” The other day, yesterday actually, I had rehearsal for a drag show, and I had my heels on and I was just walking around the city with my heels on, and I was like, “Who’s gonna say something? What? Get into it, I’m working these heels.” But to go back into the start of your question, drag has nothing to do with gender, but it has everything to do with gender expression, if that makes sense… You don’t have to subscribe to any gender at all to do drag. It doesn’t matter who you are, what you are. I feel like the main thing you need to have to be a drag queen, drag king, drag kid, drag person, anything, you just have to have a kind personality. Cause you’re gonna be dealing with people day in and day out. If you can talk to someone and just hear them as they are and be very open-minded, you can do it. You can do it 110%. You don’t have to be a certain way to do any of this. Just live your life. That’s what drag has really taught me, is just like live your life, have an open mind, and experience people. Cause like I said, it’s all about the experience. Full circle.
Bermanova: So in a way, do you think what differentiates someone from being just a performance artist versus a drag artist is if they choose to call themselves a drag artist?
Quartz: Yeah. It definitely depends on the individual, like there are a lot of people that I would consider just to be an artist rather than a drag king, drag queen, but it’s all about how they identify. Like, Theydy Bedbug is an artist. Like, you give me moments, you give me an experience. Savion is another one. I think that they are just a wonderful performer—the only time I’ve ever cried during a performance is from Savion. And Medulla Oblongata, they give you so much emotion, and they just know how to cultivate, just… raw human nature in their performances. It’s otherworldly. But at the same time, it’s so authentic, so just.. nostalgic, in a way. Like, you recognize it, but at the same time it’s so unfamiliar. So yeah, it just depends on the person and how they identify, like I consider myself to be a drag queen, but there are some days where I don’t even look like a person. So it just depends.
Bermanova: Recently, Aja said that they’re a queer artist—that they wouldn’t call themself a drag queen, that they do drag, but they’re a queer artist. How would you define that differentiation? And do you think there’s like a queer artist community, and then a drag community, and then some overlap in any ways?
I: This kind of ties into two of my answers, about like, RuPaul’s Drag Race boxing us, but at the same time, this is how we box ourselves. Because I feel like– number one, I support Aja in their statement, I support them making that step. Because that’s a hard thing to do when you already have a pretty big platform, to fully identify yourself to the world, that’s hard. That’s really hard. When you’re just, like, a local queen and you come out as queer, people are just like, “Ok, work sis, like we’re all queer, like yes”. But when you have a fanbase that might not be fully understanding, that’s a difficult step to make. But at the same time, I feel like it needed to be said. I think, though, that everyone within our community should start to identify more as queer. Because, I don’t know, maybe it’s just me, I feel like I’m queer as fuck, you know, so… I don’t know. That’s a very hard question… if you’re in the community, though, and you have an issue with it, all I can say is wake up. Wake up and realize who we are. We don’t need to fit into these heteronormative structures where it’s like, “Oh, i’m not queer, I’m ‘he,’ I’m a man”. It’s all an illusion, and it’s all extra folds of skin. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter. That’s like saying, “Oh, I have, like.. an earlobe,” or like, “I have hitchhiker’s thumb”. It doesn’t matter. I know it’s not that frivolous, but I’m saying, like, I see all of us as queer individuals. I see all of us as a queer community. That’s why, automatically, if I meet someone and I don’t know their pronouns, I’ll just go by they/them, cause I’m not tryna misgender or mis-pronoun anybody… I don’t know if what I’m saying is making any sense.
Bermanova: Yeah no, that makes sense, yeah.
Quartz: But, I dunno, I feel like the “gay” community is more so the queer community, because we all are just experiencing ourselves throughout life, and we’re all finding out new things about ourselves, and I just feel like it makes more sense to call ourselves queer rather than, “Oh no, I’m gay, I’m this, I’m that, I’m bi,” whatever you’re feeling. If you’re queer, you’re queer! But then again, some people might genuinely enjoy just wearing men’s clothes if they were born as cis male, so… but, you know, nine times out of ten, those men date people who just like them, so… that was shade… I don’t know. How do you feel about that question? Turning it back on you…
Bermanova: I forgot what question I asked…
Quartz: Just like.. the queer community, Aja coming out as queer…
Bermanova: Oh, yeah! Yeah, I think that that was, like… like I’ve been very interested in drag, and the only drag that I’ve seen before I came here… I mean, I’m from Chicago, so there’s a lot of drag around, but they’re a lot more strict about being 21+, like the government is more like…
Quartz: Well, if the government reads this, what I’m about to say is a lie…. But um, New York is not! Aja started when she was like 16! I know almost everyone who’s worked with Aja, and… let me just say, from the beginning, they were very banjee and very.. very much a sore loser– I’m kidding! You’re a winner now, baby! But yeah, like New York is not like that, we’re more just like open to every type of performer. At least Brooklyn is. Some Manhattan clubs will turn you away if you don’t look the part of a man in a dress… but, you know, not all Manhattan clubs, but I’ve heard some have… but Brooklyn is very open. You’ll see some weird shit in Brooklyn.
Bermanova: Yeah, so I think that that was freeing, or like, opening to me, because I think I sort of internalized some of the– even though I heard people saying “anything can be drag, anyone can do drag,” but I wasn’t seeing that. I was hearing that statement, but not actually seeing it,, so I was like, well, can I do drag? So seeing Aja be a voice for that was empowering… and now I’ve performed once, so I’m still very new…
Quartz: Well, welcome to the community! I mean, like I said, it needed to be said. You know, and.. we’re all one. We’re all one. Even though it’s good to know our preferences and like who we are as an individual, we need to stop separating ourselves from the actual community of just us being queer people. Because there will come a time when someone is going to attack us, and we need to all stand together. We need to stop saying, “oh no, I’m not like them, I’m more like everyone else who’s ‘normal’ , Because nothing’s fucking normal, allright?! But that’s a whole other conversation.
Bermanova: Do you know many people who consider themselves to be performers but not drag performers, and if you do, what are the differences you notice between their and drag artists’ attitudes about their careers?
Quartz: I mean, we all have the same… we’re all within the same community, and I wouldn’t say that think of themselves higher or lower. I think they think of themselves in the same spectrum, which is all queer performers. But there’s a lot less that goes into their preparation, so they feel like they need to bring it a bit more on stage, I have seen that. Especially, like, live performers, like people who are not in drag who are giving you just, like, a club kid look, or more of a cabaret or burlesque dancer. I actually have worked with a lot of burlesque dancers recently. Shoutout to all the burlesque dancers! They are wonderful, wonderful people. They really know how to orchestrate their body, which I’m a huge fan of. It is genuinely art. It’s an art show… But yeah no, like we’re all on the same level. I feel like they view themselves also on the same level. Some actually, if they’re competing against a drag queen, they are a bit more nervous, because some drag queens– not some—most of us, we do stunts, so we always have some sort of secret up our sleeve. So a lot of them are like, “Oh, I have to make sure I bring it, or make sure I have that extra umph..” Like that extra characteristic that will set them apart from the crowd. But that’s if it’s a competition. If we’re just working together regularly, it’s just a fun time! Like, honestly, the performer relationship that we have with each other, it’s very fun. Like, backstage, we have a great time. We all get drinks together afterwards, we all get food together. We have a sisterhood, we have group chats, we’ll just, like, kiki, we’ll go over to each other’s houses… um I don’t know, the drag community tries to be inclusive. Be like, “Hey, you do burlesque? Sickening! You’re a club kid and you wanna do a show? Sickening! Do it! We support it! We will give you our money!” You know, and that’s another thing. We give each other a lot of our money. If I just made a bunch of tips, you better believe I’m sharing half of these tips with you. You worked that shit, I’m gonna throw the money at you.
Bermanova: Did you do other kinds of art before you did drag, like have you always been creative?
Quartz: Oh, yeah! I actually went to college for—I got accepted to the New School, my portfolio was accepted, but I’m too broke to go, so—I ended up majoring in English, but my minor was in visual arts, illustration, painting, sculpture, I do all of that. I was in theatre through all of high school, but I was too afraid, like I said, very shy, I was too afraid to get on stage, so I was only in tech. Shout out to tech! Everyone in tech, shout out to y’all! But yeah! I played violin… I don’t anymore… Oh, and I’m a writer! That’s its own thing for me. I will say this though, my illustrations and my painting has definitely helped my drag career, because besides the creative element of it, just knowing how to work brushes, and form, and being able to create shapes in my mind and figure it out on my own on my face is pretty exciting.
Bermanova: And then, I guess this is a good closing question; what would you tell, like, a new drag performer? Like someone who wants to get into doing drag and performing? What do you have to say that you wish you knew?
Quartz: Oh.. I would want to say, in the words of Madeline Hatter, what she said to me when I told her I wanted to do drag, “Just fuckin do it. Just fuckin do it, bitch. And kill it. And be sickening. I want to see you do it.” But in all seriousness, have fun. Have fun with it, don’t look at what other people are doing, don’t compare yourself to anyone else. You can get certain aspects of, like, makeup tips from other people, but as far as your journey in drag goes, you need to focus on you, and you need to cultivate your character and love your character as another person. Treat your character right, because if you treat your character right, your character will treat you right. You know, that persona will be uplifting to you. I don’t know if you watch Steven Universe, but that’s where where I get my drag inspiration from, and it’s because I consider Iodine to be a separate entity—a fusion of me, love, and… if you view yourself as a separate person in drag, it’s easier to give yourself the love that you would’ve never given yourself had you just been you, if that makes sense. So just have fun with it, love it, love yourself, and always be willing to grow. Always be willing to grow—you stay stagnant, you don’t grow, you’re dead. Don’t do it. Just have fun. And grow.
She’Knead Thisgig
Drag as Storytelling
Left: a sketch of She’Knead Thisgig during our interview. Right: a sketch of She’Knead Thisgig in a drag look.
Find She’Knead Thisgig on Instagram: @shekneadthisgig
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I met She’Knead Thisgig at zine fair at the NYC LGBT center. Two of her zines featured photos of her drag, so I began talking to her about drag. At this point, I didn’t think that I wanted to perform—I was more interested in making accessories for drag performers—so I offered that she could borrow my chainmail if she ever needed it for a performance or a photoshoot. We exchanged Instagrams, and she later contacted me to ask to use my chainmail for a photoshoot. I went with her to help style her for the shoot, and we have since become good friends. I already knew her quite well when I asked her for this interview.
Bermanova: What is your drag name?
Thisgig: She’knead Thisgig [pronounced “she need this gig”]. Knead with a K, This (definitive pronoun), G-I-G, gig. She’knead Thisdick if you’re nasty! I just added that one, I think it’s a good one!
Bermanova: And then, what name and pronouns do you use outside of drag?
Thisgig: I’ve always been one of the girls… I use all the pronouns, I like all the pronouns. So call me he, call me she, call me the baddest bitch you’ve ever seen.
Bermanova: Why did you start doing drag?
Thisgig: I started doing drag– I was inspired, obviously, by Drag Race, seeing queens like Bob the Drag Queen and Nina Bo’Nina Brown, I was like, “This feels really close, this feels like something I can do. And places that I’ve gone before with my illustration, I flirted with performance during my thesis year at Parsons, and after graduation I moved back to Georgia, and I really had the opportunity to exercise the ideas because I had the space and I had a green screen and all that stuff, so I started to, like, make my own music videos as Keiff Jones (one of my characters), and a lot of it involved facepaint. And that was basically drag, you know? I would costume, it was like boy drag. So I felt like I could take it a step further and become She’Knead Thisgig.
And so, I had a false start in Atlanta. I looked like the vice principle, wearing some Keiff Couture, and like, a little bob… Phoenix from Drag Race had a competition there (also, Nina used to do it). And I was at Lips for my and my ex’s anniversary, and the lady told me—Monica Van Pelt told me to go talk to Shavonna Brooks and do Fresh-Face Fridays, and I was like, “Ok, I’m gonna go try it.” And they were not really here for what I was presenting. So I was like, “Well I have my videos, I don’t need this shit.” I put on a whole concert that summer as Keiff Jones, “Pussy Problems”, and I was doing my thing with the parodies, and they just didn’t understand it. And I was like, “I don’t have to fight it.” So I put it off until I moved back here to New York. I finished my degree, and then I took a trip to Philly. And I was just living my best life, and it was right around my birthday, so I was just full of excitement and sun queen energy, and when I came back I was like, “I’m gonna do drag.” And I did Polish the Queen at Stonewall, that was my first competition. And the promoter, Phil, it was his birthday, so he thought that they had brought me in as a birthday prank! So that was when I started drag. Just to bring those ideas I was doing on-camera onto a stage and give them more of an audience, and a different type of platform.
Bermanova: So you had kind of performed in Georgia?
Thisgig: I did drag twice as She’knead Thisgig. The first time I did it I was like, “If I never do drag again, what’s one song that I can go to my grave and say, “Yeah, I did drag once, and it was this song.”? It was Madonna, “Burnin’ Up.” And I did a little voice-over saying “I’m weather woman Hoochie Wally”, and talking about how it’s hot, like, “Burnin up”. And so my story was having, like, three stages of burnin up. So it was: physically burnin up like temperature, then burnin up like weed, and then burnin up like “Ooh, I got a– my coochie was on fire!” Setting the stage. So the first week they were like, “Interesting, but like, okay…” And then the second week I did, I sang live to a parody called “I got it so I use it”, it was a parody of ABBA’s “Thank you for the music”. And they were like, “No, ma’m”. So kinda like, you know… one of the queens tried to read me, she was like, “What’re you doing? Why are you here, what’s your drag?” and I was like, “Girl, this is just my second time!” and I explained it to her, but she just… Tasia Thomas. Eat it, bitch! Eat it, Tasia! I’m a fucking star! She’s fierce, but like, closed-minded.
Bermanova: Wow… did it take you a while to recover from that?
Thisgig: It did, and I didn’t realize it, like I didn’t realize that I let that affect me as much as it did. And I shouldn’t give a fuck what she thought, honestly. But everything happens for a reason, and I took the time to go back into my drag and explore other things, and I don’t think that I missed anything by not going to those competitions. For starters, the maximum amount of time for any track was 4 minutes. I have one number that’s less than 4 minutes, and that’s because I did it for Drag Race viewing party with Flower Tortilla at Mood Ring, and she was like, “We’re gonna perform in the commercial breaks, and if your number goes past it, we may just cut it, and that’s it.” And I was like, “I’m gonna be pissed if I don’t get to finish my number,” so I edited Shitney Houston down to like 4:17 and then I edited it down even further to like 3:51, which is like, that’s the shortest mix I’ll ever make! And now it’s 4:02 because I added some more of the chorus to “I wanna dance with somebody.” But like, where else would I do a 4-minute mix? It was impossible! It wasn’t fun, and they gave very generic drag… no girls doing anything interesting. So yeah, it wasn’t the place for me. I kinda wanna go back to compete now, just to be like, “Hey bitches, do you remember me? Also, like, I’ll slay you hoes with my New York City drag!”, you know?
Bermanova: So what was your first time performing in New York like? And how was the reaction?
Thisgig: It was personally very cathartic. The reaction was—I told you, Phil Chanelle though that he was being pranked. One of the girls backstage, Ana Val Banana, who’s a friend of mine now, she was like, “I love your paint!” I was like, “Thanks!” She was like, “Are you a blowfish?” So I was like, “okay, bitch!” The theme was colorblock! I was giving, like, I had a yellow face, a red robe, a purple dress, and this apron that I made using fabric scraps. She was giving colorblock fantasy! And that was exciting. I did a mix called “the lovesick mix,” because She’Knead’s story is like, she’s a– she was a housewife, and she’s escaped it to rediscover her youth and be a hoe, basically! Which is, like, kinda my life. That’s my life story—from serial monogamist to slut! That’s what I’m living right now! And I don’t know, it’s funny how that happened… but that’s her story. So that’s what I was giving that first night. One of the judges, she was the head judge, Lady Jasmine Van Wales, she’s a New York City legend, she was like, “I’m not doing it, no ma’am, ….” But I walked up to her during “unbreak my heart,” which is so funny, cause like, I slow it down so it’s like “unbreeaak my heeeaart,” like really deep Toni Braxton, and I was like right up to her, singing, and she was like …. This *makes a face* …. I have a clip, it’s so good! But yeah, so it was a very mixed reaction. A lot of people were like, “Ew,” other people were like, “Wow that’s so interesting, I love your energy, I love this comedy…” I didn’t really know I was giving comedy back then, but yeah! I kinda wish that I would do more of that, it was very punk, it was very cool… like I don’t do cool stuff anymore because now, I don’t know… like, I have to meet a standard. And from experience, I know that looking one way versus looking another way gets you different responses. So, you know, like the reason I was a pretty girl for Mr(s) BK was because it works. It works for my type of drag, where my aesthetic isn’t as polished, I guess. My performance is really funny, so if I’m out there as a weird, cooky-looking person doing weird cooky-looking things, I distance a whole lot of superficial people. Which is mostly people at the gay clubs. But if you look pretty, they’re like, “Ok,” they wanna know, like, “What is she doing?” and then do something interesting, they’re like, “Oh, wow!” and they just gush, and it works! So, you know… but I think I’m gonna pull a cartoon look next week (at the Mr(s) BK finale), just to show the judges something a little different. But yeah, I kind of haven’t done it in a competition in a while.
Bermanova: What’s the sort of standard that you mentioned? Do you think there’s a sort of standard created by Drag Race?
Thisgig: RuPaul’s Drag Race had done fucked up drag! Cause you know what? Honestly, there’s two sides to every story, but… Drag Race put drag out there. Drag queens could not have made money like this 10 years ago. Like I can take the train, I can do so many things as a drag queen because it’s mainstream, because people accept it, and people not only accept it—they embrace it, and they want it. We’re, like, aesthetic right now. It’s really easy to make money as a drag queen, which is a great thing. The other part of this, and this is a little harder, the market is saturated, so it makes everything like—you really have to step it up. And Drag Race costumes, like… I don’t know how they do it. They’re really, like, doing student loans again to go on the show! And it’s not guaranteed that you’ll get very far. So it takes a lot to put out there, and the idea is that it’s supposed to be fun. And that pressure kinda makes drag a lot harder, less fun. But there’s spaces in Brooklyn, in New York City, that make all types of drag okay and acceptable. People are always looking for something different. That’s why I need to be in this place. Yeah… Atlanta was no… although, we did have two girls on Dragula, two Atlanta girls on Dragula, and one of them won! Do you watch Dragula?
Bermanova: I’ve heard about it a lot, but I haven’t watched it.
Thisgig: You would love it! The Boulet Brothers, they do, like, gorey drag, but glamour is a huge part of it. And the one who won, she was an Atlanta queen who went glam and then re-introduced the spook back into it. They love it, they just love it, it just works! So you know, Drag Race has that effect of, anything that becomes popular, it gets a little less cool. Like everybody’s doing it, everybody’s doing drag, everybody’s doing this type of drag, everybody’s doing this reveal… but also, thanks to Drag Race, you see different queens, and that makes the spaces more open. So werk, it’s like, it’s a great show.
Bermanova: How would you define drag? What is drag, what does drag mean to you?
Thisgig: The more I do it, the more it is just, like, something I’ve been daydreaming. Something I’ve been doing all my life. And now it just happens a lot later, and like, plain daydreaming is a little different. I like the crossdressing element because I definitely, I guess, used to have a fantasy as a kid, but I wouldn’t have the gall to go through with it, and I didn’t have the resources and the support either. And I really love doing it now. I really feel that transformation, and I really love it. So I think that’s what drag is… playing dress-up, living a fantasy. Fulfilling a fantasy. That’s what it is, yeah.
Bermanova: How separate is your drag persona from yourself day-to-day or outside of drag? Would you say that your drag persona is you?
Thisgig: She’s the part of me that I hate to sayis me. Like, so, the joke about She’Knead is that she’s perpetually unemployed, slash unhireable. She’s always drunk or high, she’s careless, she’s tardy, she is a slut, she’s makes stupid decisions. And like, I just described myself… and those are all the things I don’t want people to know about me. So whenever anyone catches a hint of that, I’m like, “Oh, no!” I get so embarrassed. So She’Knead is fun, because she doesn’t care. You know? She’s a hot mess. I used to not like when people responded to my drag that way, so watching the videos is a good thing because I just see that when I’m having fun, they’re having fun. I try to keep that as the constant string. So that’s me, like, ignoring hardship and just trying to find a bright spot in everything, and I don’t know, does it really work? It works until it all comes crashing down. But I try to keep pushing. And I think that’s the She’Knead story as well. Like she’s gonna crash, but hey, let’s go for it! The last part of [my Mr. Krabs performance] is that she gets an interview, a call from her recruiter saying that they want her to be the ambassador for crabs cream, so she wins anyhow! I took it out cause it’s too long, but yeah, we have hope for She’Knead Thisgig! We have hope for Keith Jones. And like, so last night, I met this guy who works at Adobe—I have an interview coming up at Adobe. And like, the reality of “She’Knead Thisgig” is, she really need this gig. Like you don’t understand, she need this gig. That’s my life story, always looking for work! Always trying to stabilize. I’m not a stable person, but I want stability. Yeah, like… that’s my life.
Bermanova: How much does drag have to do with gender for you? Like with how you experience gender, and gender expression?
Quartz: So, the drag name that I invented—I was doing a lot of stuff—I had five characters as Keith Jones. There was Keith Jones (me), then there was Keiff Jones the artist (who eventually took us all over), the Young Dance Daddy (who was like the music artist), the Young Dilf Daddy (which is still very much me), and then Late Nite Keiff on the Late Nite Kreep. And so I was like, now I have a full cast of characters now that I’m using for stories and comics, like as a base for everything in my universe—Fried Chicken America, that was the name of the universe—like, it was a whole world. And I was like, “I need female characters.” So she was just “Sheiff” with two F’s. And I was like, “She needs a last name!” Like Sheiff Nannigans or something like that, and my ex was like, “Sheiff Need a Job!” I was like, “Haha, that’s kinda funny!” So when I did drag, the first night I went out, I changed it to “She’Knead Thisgig,” cause it’s a little more appropriate for the club and a little less hard to pronounce and spell. But yeah, so the gender part of it is, like, totally… doing drag to express femininity. Even though I was doing gay boy before, having the proportions kinda sexes it up and brings it up to a real transformation. Like, yeah… so I appreciate that. And you can, like, flirt with it—like, that’s what Cetait and… who else was it that I mentioned earlier? Foxy Belle Afriq / Uncle Freak does as well, like they float between genders. I want to do more of that, like that’s very fun. Iam West Dakota, she did that last night as well—gave a very androgynous look with a moustache, which was like, “Okay! Mr(s). BK, that’s right! Give us both, give us all!” Yeah, so I love that. I think gender is very malleable. I’ve never felt like I was “one of the boys”, but I never felt like a girl… like, I like the sexuality of being a male, but I like the gender expression of being a lady… Yeah… specifically an old lady…
Bermanova: So, getting into drag in New York, were you mostly on your own? Or did you have someone guiding you, like do you have a drag mother?
Quartz: I don’t have a drag mother. I’ve had a couple of people offer to be drag mothers. I started on my own, and I had, like, a drag butler. He knew about things like hair, and just certain beauty things, and he was very attentive, and he was a gentleman with escorting me… he was kind of like a presence to help me out, so that was nice. But also, when I started, I don’t think anyone knew what to do with me, so I didn’t get a drag mother. But as I started winning, those bitches started, like, “Heey!” So I’ve had people offer, and, like, say that, but very few people commit to following through with help and resources. You know, there are people who step in, who have been great drag sisters and great drag family, but I’m a little hesitant to call anyone my drag mother. Cause it just gives them so much—like on the outside, people assume they had a lot to do with everything here, and I want them to know that no one did, okay? I was out here on my own, y’all bitches were just pointing and laughing! And I had to figure it out by myself! Yeah…
Bermanova: What’s the difference between a drag family and a drag house? Is it like the same thing?
Thisgig: It’s somewhat the same… I have many sisters. I feel like drag family can even be like, for example, just New York City girls. Like if there were three of us on Drag Race, maybe we’re not the closest, but because I know you better than I know the rest of these bitches, we’re kind of like sisters. But then the rest of the Drag Race girls become sisters because they also have that experience. So family is malleable, but the houses are pretty established. Like, there are more formalities that go into building a house. Yeah.
Bermanova: You said that you’re part of Haus of D?
Thisgig: Yes. So, Black Lae D—very good sister! We’re competing against each other on Thursday, actually, so I think Iodine might be there. She is an amazing producer, she recognized me because of my ex… and we hung out and shared some things, and we had the same perspective, so we’re more like brain sisters. And yeah, I like that. And Iodine is part of that clique. And I think we all mesh well. And Black Lae D looks out, she books the bitch—she comes through, and I fuck with her! I love her! And I’m gonna beat her on Thursday! And if she makes it to the finale I’m gonna beat her at the finale, but like, that’s part of what being sisters is all about!
Bermanova: You said that the houses are more formal, so did you get, like, an invitation to be part of it?
Quartz: Yes, and they have to check with the other house members, and yeah… it’s like a little more official, like joining a fraternity. I have an invitation right now… and I said yes, but I think that maybe I should… say no.
Bermanova: So can you be in multiple houses at the same time?
Quartz: I think so, I think so. I mean, I don’t know if it’s ideal, but like… with the power of my positive thoughts, I create the environments I desire in my life, and so just saying yes and being open to the possibilities of having support and love, why would you say no to that?
Bermanova: And how big do the houses get? Like are some houses closer than others? Do you generally have a personal relationship with everyone who’s in your drag house, or are they more just in the same circles?
Thisgig: So, I’m not in a huge drag house. We’re very local. But for instance, one Davenport in New York City definitely wouldn’t know all the Davenports, because a lot of them are in Texas. So there’s that part of it. It just depends on the house. In Atlanta, the Brooks girls run Atlanta. Cause they all know each other, that’s a very tight-knit family. But then some people get drag daughters, and their drag daughters get daughters, and that doesn’t always go through to their drag grandmother. So there’s that part of it, and so forth. So it gets a little bastardized as it keeps going. But it’s all in good fun, and I think with something like that, it changes! People’s drag names change as well. I wouldn’t change mine because I like consistency. I think it just makes life easier if people can always find you, if you don’t change your shit up. But I think it’s all malleable, drag is just fun. It’s just fun—people take it a little seriously, but you can do whatever you want. That’s the fun thing about it. And, for instance, the Boulet brothers have their usual characters, but they have people they dress up as outside of Boulet’s and you wouldn’t recognize them! They use different names and everything! I think that’s genius, I would love to do that! Like, you know, have a drag king persona, or just something else, and go out as a different persona because they can, just having fun!
Bermanova: I might have already touched on this, but how would you describe the drag community, slash like, the queer artist community in New York? And how much do queer artists who don’t necessarily call what they do drag but who are in queer circles—would you say there are smaller overlapping communities, or is it like one big network?
Thisgig: The overlaps are very small, because they just happen in different places. Like drag happens mostly in gay bars, and the queer art happens in art galleries and art festivals. And I wish there were more intersections. But people aren’t buying zines at night and queens are not awake during the day, so… You know, they are starting to overlap. I’ve seen, like, Black Lae D, she poses at the Society of Illustrators (which is like a throwback for me cause I used to intern at the Society of Illustrators and exhibit at the Society of Illustrators) where they do live figure modelling. Or they used to have gay club, “G Lounge”, and they would have guys come in and pose, and sometimes drag queens come in and pose just for a “drink and draw”. So I think that’s a healthy overlap. But like, the weird, alternative—Brooklyn. Queens like Untitled Queen, who you should also reach out to..
Bermanova: Yeah, I saw her perform! She’s amazing!
Thisgig: She is amazing. So Untitled Queen does it, she creates events that are the intersection of art and drag. And I think that might be the most expansive version of that. A few of my friends invited me to be in their project, they do stuff with the history museum and whatnot. Nadahada is the collective’s name. They’re doing a music video, and they want me to play Jesus. And I’m like, “yeah, I’ll be slutty drag Jesus!” So that’ll be a nice intersection. We’ve been trying to work together since June. First at Secret Project Robot, which is full circle, right? And now this came through, they got the grant to make the music video, so that’ll be fun! And back in the 80s, there was way more overlap. Like, the Lady Bunny queens, they have like weird drag art films. Those are super cool, I think we could use more of those. Chris of Hur does, like, animations. They do, like, Sweaty Eddy, they do queer performance art animation—most of this stuff happens in Brooklyn, or in museums… But yeah, there definitely are spaces. Not too many of them, just because of how the worlds naturally separate.
Bermanova: Yeah.. cause you’ve done both, like you make zines, right? Have you found that you kind of had to choose where you invest your energy?
Thisgig: Unfortunately, unfortunately… So, I think, here’s what She’Knead gave my life that I was missing as Keiff Jones: the drawings were cool, and I was doing the music videos and whatnot, but it was missing a mainstream thing to pull people in. It was just a little too weird. And being a drag queen got me an audience. And my work, I had all the time before to make these things, but I was just making them for myself. I mean, they were in galleries and stuff, but She’Knead has a real base of people who I’ve connected with just by touring. So it got me out. Doing drag got me out of the house, cause you can’t do drag inside, you can’t do it! But I could make those music videos in my bedroom, honey! I had no problem doing that! I could paint this much, film this much, and it works! So like…. Bring it back to the question, I forgot where this was going…
Bermanova: If you have to choose where you invest your energy?
Thisgig: Yes, so, right! I had an amazing opportunity last summer to do comics for Vice. Which is, like, the illustrator’s dream. They wanted gay comics, but I just couldn’t produce them… I told them, like, I’m not making comics right now, I’m doing drag. And I’m painting, but I’m not, like, painting images on paper, or on canvas—I’m doing it on my face. So now that I have an audience, I feel like it opens a door for what I can do. I can bring comics back. I was doing all that stuff, and it was cool, it was interesting, but She’Knead is more interesting. And so, if I do all those things in drag, the music videos, the comic books, the clothing even, I could really make money… I think she’s getting to that point now where I can really take it to the next level. That’s what I want to do. I would like to get some stabler income first, so that I can take care of myself and really produce these projects. And now, all those girls who are following me, they’re gonna see, like, “oh, she’s that bitch! Yes! She’s more than just a funny girl on stage, honey—she’s a creative genius!”
Bermanova: You mentioned a little how Drag Race has made it sort of cookie-cutter… do you think that you, and maybe other performers, are compromising some of their creativity or originality to sort of fit into a mold?
Thisgig: Yes. I feel like I have done that… I mentioned that earlier—I feel like my earlier drag was just a little more cool and punk. And I started changing it up for tips and victories… and, you know—praise. Not to say that I can’t get that as a (and I have done it) as a cartoon queen… it’s kind of fun, also, to challenge yourself, and to get out of your comfort zone. And to apply the things that you see on TV. If you like it, try it. And if it works, use it. But if it doesn’t, throw it out. But whatever you do, take something from everything. And that’s really what you want to do. Don’t be so stuck in, “I’m a cartoon queen” that you can’t do anything else, that’s silly. Why would I do that to myself? I started very specific, but I’m open. That fluctuates. And yeah, I’ve compromised, but it has also helped me to try things out. And, you know, it’s good that they have queens like Nina on Drag Race, for people who aren’t just glamour—for them to see something else. And for queens like Yvie, who’s gonna win, and who I’m gonna marry! And who is me in 5 years, like to the frickin tee! It’s so good that they have people like them on Drag Race, because the girls who only do glamour can at least see it and appreciate it, so it’s not so closed-off.
Bermanova: Drag has sort of historically been connected to social movements, and LGBT rights… do you think there’s still some of that going on?
Thisgig: Yes… Maybe not enough, because everyone’s afraid to take a stand, and also, it’s not like… people go to the club to have fun, not to have their intellect challenged. Even if it’s interesting, you have to be funny about it… there are very few people who can do that successfully. But yes, so like, the next step of drag is getting out of the clubs and taking your character and applying it in the real world. There are people who do that in politics like Marti G. Cummings, and then there are people who do it with comedy and politics, like Jackie Beat—my favorite drag queen (she’s also a leo!) I wanna be.. Jackie Beat. That’s like, that’s what inspired me to perform in the first place, was watching Jackie Beat videos. Just amazing. She takes on sex, and she takes on politics in a very funny way. She’s not charming, but her anti-charm is charming. She’s really cool. Again, that’s part of getting those stories out there. Like, you have a responsibility. If you have the time, if you have the tension. Don’t just go be basic with a “boom boom boom, kick, J-Lo..” you know? Like, have a reason, have a story. That’s what people want to see.
Bermanova: What issues do you think the drag community is facing now?
Thisgig: The same issues that the world is facing…. Cause, it is where we come from, we are still people of the world. What are some topics I’ve seen addressed recently? … I think, you know, like Trump is an easy one, that’s one they’ve been doing at Mr(s) BK. But also like issues of gender, and trans rights, and making sure that everyone is equally appreciated on the spectrum. That’s really, like, a hot topic, and it’s important. Cause trans rights are real in the world, and if we can’t get it together in drag, how are we gonna get it together in North Carolina restrooms, you know? Also, Jackie Beat does a parody to “Meeting in the Ladies’ Room” called “Penis in the Ladies’ Room”—it’s good, it’s so good. She’s good, she’s smart.
Bermanova: And then tying that back to Drag Race, do you think some of the activism in drag has been lost through the show?
Thisgig: Because of Drag Race? You know, yes… I would say yes, I don’t have statistics for it… Although on Drag Race they have made it a point to talk about things that are happening in politics, to encourage people to vote on topics that affect our community directly, and encourage people to take a stand, and be authentic and brave and courageous. And as silly as it sounds, if people can take that much from a TV show—it’s a reality. This is how people are consuming media and knowledge. Because who’s reading books? Who’s watching Ted Talks? They’re watching Drag Race. So having some of that responsibility displayed on Drag Race, I think people take from that. Those conversations in untucked with The Vixen and Aquaria—no one was going to talk about it, but now we’re talking about it. I mean, I don’t know how much that affects race policy in America, but it definitely brought light to things that people ignore. So yeah, I think it gets people talking about certain topics.
Bermanova: I wanted to end by asking, what advice would you give to someone who’s newly entering drag?
Thisgig: I would say to remember why you started, and have fun. Cause that’s the goal, It’s easy to get swept up into everything else—especially when you start to earn money ‘cause money complicates everything, right? But if you can stay true to the source, then that’s the goal. It’s kind of like religion. Read your bible, kids! Read your bible and pray, that’s my advice!
Junior Mint
Drag as Self-Actualization
Left: a sketch of Junior Mint during our interview Right: a sketch of Junior Mint in a drag look.
Find Junior Mint on Instagram: @juniormintt
I met Junior Mint at a preliminary round of the Mr(s) Brooklyn competition in which she competed against She’Knead Thisgig. I talked to her briefly that night and we exchanged Instagrams, through which I later contacted her to ask for an interview.
Milenka Bermanova: What’s your drag name?
Junior Mint: I’m Junior Mint
Bermanova: And what name and pronouns do you use outside of drag?
Mint: Outside of drag, any pronouns. In drag, she/her.
Bermanova: How would you define drag, what does drag mean to you?
Mint: I feel like drag is the artform of yourself. The reason drag is so beautiful is the fact that you get to use whatever medium you want to express exactly what you want the audience to understand and feel. And it’s the only artform that you have to be present to present it, and you’re looking people in the eyes when they’re taking in what you’re doing. I’ve done painting and design and even theater design, designing something for the stage. And you can see how the audience reacts, but noone is looking at the set and going, “That was Junior—I see what Junior is in this.” But when it comes to drag, you’re standing there and you’re present, and you’re looking at them while they’re taking in a piece of you. So unlike many other artforms where you can put it out and then maybe get a Yelp review where someone is telling you exactly what they thought, you have to physically present what you’re doing to them and look them in the eyes while it’s happening. You have to experience whether they’re not gonna laugh, cry, whatever you planned on. For me, it’s the real artform of yourself, because it’s also the journey you have to go through for self-discovery. If you don’t put yourself out there and experiment, and figure out exactly who you are, you’re not gonna get to the bottom of it and people won’t really like what you’re doing cause it’s not authentic. Yeah, that was my long-winded answer! Werk!
Bermanova: How did you get into doing drag?
Mint: Well… like most people, I feel like I started out watching Drag Race… I knew about drag, I didn’t understand it, I didn’t really know anything about it. And like, for me, watching Drag Race was one of those moments where I looked the people and just went, “Oh, I could do that.. Oh my god, this would be great.. and this would be great…” And when I would mention things, all of my friends would be like, “You would be amazing for it! You should just do it! You would be amazing, just do it, just do it!” And all that started around freshman year of college. Freshman year of college, I discovered Drag Race, and when I discovered it, I was an RA in college for three and a half years, I planned weekly programs for Drag Race viewings and all of that stuff, and I would sponsor drag queens coming to perform at the school and everything. It wasn’t until I graduated and moved to New York that I actually got into the drag community in terms of consistently going to shows and really taking in all the performers, and more than just watching Drag Race. And then, there was an open competition at Haus of Yes. It was in June of last year, and I was like, “Maybe I shouldn’t do it… I’m too nervous…“ Like, I was just very scared. Previous to that experience, I had never been on a stage before. Like I’m not a performer, I never did it before, so doing it, all my friends were just like, “No, you have to do it! Like, you have to!! You can’t just say you’re gonna, you have to do it!” And that’s when I ended up doing the competition, and I didn’t win, but the host of the competition loved me and loved what I did so much that she asked me back every time, and she’s still offering me gigs. And that went so well and people loved it so much that I was like, “Oh.. so I have to keep doing this. Like, this was amazing, I felt like I really left a piece of myself on the stage in the best way.” People loved it, and on top of that, there were POC in the audience, and all of the queer people, and all of the trans people loved it. That was honestly the thing that really pushed me forward, was pieces of the community that I identify most with identified with what I did, and it touched me.
Bermanova: So did you have an artistic practice outside of drag before you did drag?
Mint: Design… scenic design, production design, and I was a carpenter. I’m also a painter, studied that as well. Yeah, it’s kind of all around. I’m just one of those people, I have so much energy and so much attention and so much interest in things that. Like I was like, “Oh, sewing seems so much fun!” I learned how to sew in college, and that’s how I can make all the outfits… I loved the idea of editing music and mixing things, so I would ask a friend, “Can you show me some things?” so I edited my mixes and everything. I picked up all of these little skills that intrigued me, and they all helped to formulate exactly who Junior Mint is. It’s deeply rooted in my painting and design skills, because when I envision my number, before I see any of what I do, I see what the stage will look like. I’m always like, “ok, I’m gonna work the stage in this way, I wanna get to these levels, and everything.” I usually think as a scenic designer first, and then it’ll fade into all of the other artsy stuff. But yeah, like scenic design and painting is where it started.
Bermanova: Tell me about the first time you performed. What was your performance like? How planned was it, was it like a spur of the moment thing, or did you plan, like did you have a mix?
Mint: Oh, very planned… very planned. I think there’s nothing more attractive on a stage than when you know the performer has rehearsed. Like when you can look at a performance and say, “Ok, so there was time put into this. Someone has thought and intention behind it.” I made my own mix in, like, two days for that. I thrifted this really amazing outfit, I made a whole mix and everything, and it was a mix that was basically about respecting people’s space and understanding the ways that you can or cannot speak to someone. It spoke from the perspective of a black woman who’s been told to shut up by white people consistently, and that was the number… and every single woman of color in the audience went crazy at it. It made my day. Yeah, it was very planned out. But just like every performance, it doesn’t go perfectly, and that’s part of the fun of it. It was like, “Well, this didn’t work,” and so you have to work around it. It was a lot of fun, yeah. My first time was very fun. It wasn’t super crazy eventful, but it was a great time.
Bermanova: Did you have a friend with you supporting you or anything? Or did you just go by yourself?
Mint: I showed up by myself, but I had one friend who I knew was going to be there in the audience. And it was so funny that day—there was a big red curtain, closed, and I was on the other side of the curtain waiting for my number to start. And the host was amping me up, talking about me to the audience, and there’s one person in the audience going crazy. And the host was like, “Oh, you seem to really be excited for the next performer..” and pulled them onto the stage to introduce me like, “You really love this person, ok…” and it turned out to be my best friend. That was one of those moments where as soon as I heard my best friend’s voice come onto that mic, I was like, “Oh, I’m gonna slay this…” It was like when that one person really tells you, “You’re gonna kill it.” It was so sweet. Her name’s Emma, best friend from college… angel.
Bermanova: Drag has historically been a political artform, and fuelled a lot of political movements. And I saw your one performance where you had the speech about trans rights… do you think that’s still very present in drag and the drag community?
Mint: I think it’ll always be there, just because it’s queer, brown… all these different bodies on a stage. Like, no matter what, inherently, just getting up on stage, you’ve already made a choice to be political about something. Because if anyone except for a cis straight white man gets onto the stage, we’ve already made a choice to be political about it, because you’re having a bunch of people take in your art and have a perspective about it, which is something that is already rare in this country. So I think it’s always there. It depends on the performer, how much they want to lean into it. Because, for me, I feel like I wouldn’t be doing myself authentically on stage if I didn’t talk about all of the issues that go on on a daily basis. I’m a very optimistic, positive person, but of course I get frustrated just like everybody else. The stage really is that outlet. I love that even when I get angry, people can still relate to it, and this is my avenue to get that out. Some performers, it’s beautiful for them to have the opportunity to get on stage and forget about the fact that they’re trans for six minutes, and get to just perform and be a performer. Because every other second of the day, all of society just reminds them of every part of them that’s different. I see performers get on the stage, and it’s obviously political because it’s them on the stage, but they’re just doing a really amazing job doing this number for you, and they had a blast, and you had a blast, you got to watch a trans performer perform. But there are also the people who go out there and will say things flat out (aka. me). I feel like it’s always political, and there’s no way of ever getting around that. Even if we get to a point where everyone has rights and everyone is enfranchised and everything like that, there’s still something to be said about me getting up on the stage and me owning that space with my body with me as a disenfranchised person in this country. Like, “You’re gonna take this in, and on top of that, you paied money to watch this, so you’re gonna take this political statement in, whether I want to hit you over the head with it, or if I just want to give you small subtle messages.”
Bermanova: How much do you separate yourself from your drag persona, or how different are you in drag versus out of drag?
Mint: Oh, it’s always. If you meet one, you met the other. Junior Mint feels like a piece of myself that I don’t get to share that often, and is typically encouraged to come out on the stage. But you can meet Junior Mint anytime. Like walking down the street to get here, I had three different people (brown women) yell out at me, “I love your hair, you look amazing!” And Junior Mint came out in that moment. Whenever I get to connect with my community, Junior Mint comes out. But whenever I’m not connecting with the community, it really just feels like Junior’s here. But I’m always Junior Mint, I’m always just Junior. It’s a beautiful thing that I’m just rolling with. Yeah, 100% of the time I’m always both.
Bermanova: How much does drag have to do with gender for you, versus just being an artform? People associate it with gender a lot, but do you think it really has to do with gender?
Mint: I think that because we live in a society, it’s about gender. I think that it’s just an artform and an expression, but because of the rules that this society has set up, it is gender. It’s performance, it’s art, you can do whatever you want. You don’t necessarily need to be making a statement about gender, whatever you choose to put on your body is not necessarily about gender all the time. But solely because of our society, you know that 99% of people will look at it and go, “Oh, this is some form of gender expression” when it really it’s just a performance. When I look at someone on the stage, I don’t necessarily think, “What are they trying to represent about their gender? What is the statement about gender?” I more think, “That is someone who doesn’t want to be limited by their expression, by whatever perspective society puts on them.” But at the same time I think to myself, “This is a person who has a great, amazing concept and understanding of gender, and knows that what they’re doing on the stage is some form of expression to these people.” It may not feel like it, but to the audience, because we are in America at this time, they will be reading it as gender expression. And I feel like if you go onto the stage not understanding that, that’s where a lot of self-doubt in your performance can come in. You grapple with the fact that the audience has a certain perspective—it might not be the right perspective, but it’s still a perspective that is in this space. Some of the best performers I’ve found are the ones who have the understanding that “This may not be about gender expression, but I still have to play that for the audience.” It’s just like being queer every single day. You have to balance yourself with how much you want to deal with the perspective of everyone else on the street.
Bermanova: You mentioned Drag Race—what do you think of RuPaul’s Drag Race?
Mint: Oh, I think it’s an amazing opportunity for representation of drag for people in the middle of this country, people who still may not be completely on-board with human rights for everybody. I think that that show is something that everyone in the middle of this country needs to witness—witnessing queer people being queer and just living. The show itself, I feel like is one that is inherently problematic because it is made after/rooted in a cis gay men. Inherently, this is RuPaul’s Drag Race, so it’s based off the criteria of what RuPaul needed, which is what cis gay men need, in drag. But it’s neglecting the fact that, for example, RuPaul references Paris Is Burning (which is a film and documentary about gender nonconforming, trans, the whole spectrum of the community) but Drag Race focuses on and refuses to allow anyone other than a cis gay man on the show. It’s one of those shows that is made for the mainstream and it’s made for an uneducated community to watch it and love it. It’s also made to make queer people feel good, but not all queer people. I think it’s an amazing show that needed to happen for us to get to a point where the next thing that comes out can be something that is actually representative of the whole community. I’m so thankful for the fact that it happened because RuPaul has done phenomenal things that has pushed our community forward, but at some point you need to push all of the community forward. This isn’t the 80s and 90s anymore. There are people out here who you’re completely neglecting. You can’t say, “We’re all a family, but not these people.” When RuPaul said that she wouldn’t let trans people on the show, I was pissed off. But I was also very happy that she said it, because the last thing that I ever want is trans contestants being judged by a cis panel of people. What you need is actual representation on your panel, because, who? Ok, Michelle Visage, but has she done drag? Has she done drag?
Bermanova: Yeah, they’re bringing all these celebrities now… Like Miley Cyrus??
Mint: Don’t even get me started on her…
Bermanova: And the fact that– I’m sorry, I shouldn’t influence your answers…
Mint: These are already the answers! Why is Miley on here??
Bermanova: Yeah, as a drag king, after RuPaul rejected drag kings that applied to the show??
Mint: “We’re gonna put some pubic hair-looking hairs on your chin and call you a drag king, go in there!” What? What?? And then on top of that, you’re gonna get the artist that just wears blackness as a costume?? You’re gonna get Miley Cyrus—what happened to twerking Miley? It wasn’t financially stable enough for her anymore, so you know, she had to jump on and go back to her whiteness, get her light blond hair back… It’s just, why, why, why?? I want the cast of Pose to make a new show. Not Ryan Murphy—the cast of Pose. I just want a space where the performers that I get to watch in the Brooklyn scene have a place to go. Because why is it that only cis gay men get the opportunity to have their career and financial status elevated by being on this television show? Why?
Bermanova: Yeah, and something that one of my friends said was that, like, people say that Drag Race has created opportunities for drag performers, but at the same time, he pretty much just made a 1% in drag, like a small amount of performers that are way up here, but then are all these performers are still down here struggling.
Mint: To be real, I was not rooting for Sasha Velour to win. She slayed it, she deserved to win, but what Sasha did that made me love her after the show was her Nightgowns. She didn’t do what every other contestant did after the show—which is leave the community. We have this one show where Sasha will promote local queens, and also drag kings, sideshow performers, burlesque performers, vocal performers. It’s at National Sawdust. It’s this amazing, large venue that’s a quality production—it’s an actual stage. And she rents it out for her monthly review where she’ll have local drag performers, drag performers she loves, not even big names—maybe one from Drag Race. But like, you actually get the chance to be on a stage with good lighting and everything. But once again, that’s all her friends. That’s why I hope that one day, I’ll be able to open a venue where people can actually have good lighting, good equipment, good stage setup, all of these things that can actually give them a good production with good footage of what they’re doing, and they don’t have to be performing for 3 or 4 years in order to get that. Because it makes no sense that starting off, for 3 months someone has to perform in a dimly lit bar that you can’t even see them. Like at some bars, you can’t even see the performers! On top of that, they’ll be doing it for free. People will offer you an open set at the very end of the show at 3am when no one’s there. Where’s any opportunity for anyone to actually begin? Especially in a community and a profession where every single person started from nothing. Every single person only got to where they did because someone cared enough about them to give them an opportunity and take a shot on them. That’s why I feel like it’s very much community oriented. Like, no one else in this society gives a fuck about us queer people, us trans people, us brown people. Why can’t we just care for each other? Why can’t we actually give people the opportunities that people deserve?
Bermanova: You mentioned how RuPaul quotes Paris is Burning a lot. A lot of people only know the sort of catchphrases that RuPaul says from there, and they don’t realize where they come from. What do you think of some people’s only exposure to drag being Drag Race, and what does Drag Race leave out of drag? Other than, like, trans performers…
Mint: Well, I feel like, just like every other cis person, RuPaul uses the community for whatever is helpful. It’s one of those things that I have to look back and understand that Ru is pushing 60… RuPaul grew up in a time when you had to behave like white people in order to succeed in their world, you had to worry about yourself. And I feel like it’s very cis, it’s very privileged, it’s a very degrading process to go through. I feel like Ru needs to truly acknowledge what the fuck this whole thing is built off of. The fact that, for example, we only just met Lady Bunny for the first time last All Stars—after 10 seasons and 3 All Stars. We just met for the first time one of the, quote-unquote, legends of drag. Where’s anybody else? Where’s anybody else? Like why have we not seen any of the people who laid the path before Ru, who laid it with Ru? Where are any of these people? And when it comes to the show, they drop little seedlings of the foundations of drag, but I also think it is rooted in a lot of people’s laziness. I’ve heard RuPaul say, like in the reading challenge, “In the great tradition of Paris is Burning…” but like, just give us a footnote! Add a little footnote being like, “This documentary that was the first introduction, for the majority of the world, to the fact that queer people actually have lives that were of value of any sort.” Like, that documentary changed the world. It’s like the old footage of Marsha and Sylvia. What’s the name? I can’t remember the name of that videographer who recorded all that footage…
Bermanova: For Happy Birthday Marsha!?
Mint: Yes, yes! So like, that type of footage! We’ve heard about Stonewall on the show and everything, but why have I not heard Marsha P. Johnson’s name, Sylvia’s name, all of the icons? But I also think there’s a complacency of cis people thinking that this can be their source of information. Like, no, no. You have to do work, you have to research—you don’t get to just watch a show and say “I’m informed.” No, you have to actually go experience it. A lot of drag artists will always say, there’s a difference between being a huge fan of drag, and being a fan of Drag Race. If the only people you can list off in drag are people on the show, you’re not a fan of drag. You love reality television competition shows. But when it comes to actually enjoying drag, there’s no way you can go into a queer space, a queer bar, and watch drag performers and not pick up something—some little educational droplet. Even if it’s just asking bitches’ pronouns. Even if it’s simply that you don’t own the space as a cis person or a straight person walking in here. You will learn something. White, privileged people just feel entitled watching the show. RuPaul needs to do a better job, but also, so does the audience. Effort needs to be put in on both ends. The queer people have done all the work, it’s a struggle just making it through the day. So we did our jobs, why don’t you pick up a book? We get fired in half these states just for being who we are, why don’t you pick up a book?
Bermanova: Someone was also talking to me about how Drag Race created this sort of divide between drag and transness. For example, like with Marsha P. Johnson, everyone says now, “Marsha P. Johnson was a trans woman.” She never said that explicitly because it was more blurry, like drag versus being trans. Why do you think this sort of divide has happened?
Mint: I feel like it’s always existed. Like once again, leave it to cis people to oversimplify terms. I feel like cis people will consistently try to put things into a category. Like, “These look similar, so they must be the same.” Typically, doing drag is just a representation of a person who understands that it is performative. My favorite thing about performing in Brooklyn is that you can’t make an assumption about a performer, you can’t! You have trans men performing as drag kings, you have trans men performing as drag queens, you have nonbinary people performing as drag jesters, and you have everything in between. Every single person with a superficial understanding of drag has helped to perpetuate it since the beginning. There’s always gonna be a person who is like, “well that person is wearing this article of clothing, so we’re gonna make that assumption about them.” It’s kind of been around for a while.
Bermanova: I’ve also heard a lot of trans people start to distance themselves from drag, even though the histories are very tied together. What would you attribute that to?
Mint: Trauma… trauma. I’ve had it myself—when you walk into a dressing room where it’s only cis performers, the first thing you’re gonna feel is uncomfortable. And then having had people literally come up to me—and like, I don’t know them or anything—just look at my chest and go, “Oh, you’re on hormones.” From a cis person—who are you? You don’t know anything about me! And it’s the lack of empathy and the lack of simple common sense of the fact of what you can say to a person—stop making assumptions about a person. It’s like, for example, the NAACP awards. When you’re traumatized by one part of society and say, “You know what, we’re gonna create our own little area over here. We’re gonna create something that beautifies and congratulates us and makes us feel beautiful.” By separating yourself from the drag community, you can find a bunch of like-minded trans people who will actually validate exactly how you feel about your artform. Whether you ever choose to actually use the term drag or not, it’s like, are you playing around with your own form of artistic expression? Dope. As long as it’s satisfying to you, use whatever term you want. Because honestly, if you say what you’re doing isn’t drag, hey, it’s your art form! You tell me what it is!
Bermanova: So do you think that Drag Race has sort of alienated trans people further from the art form of drag?
Mint: To the people who don’t already know drag? Yes. But if you truly understand and love drag, you’ve never alienated the trans people from our community. Because if what you’re doing is alienating, you never were a fan of drag in the first place. You were never a fan of drag. And I feel like Drag Race is a show for people who have already alienated drag queens and the trans community. Because by putting a term on who can and can’t do it, you’ve already alienated the entire drag community. I think Drag Race solidified people’s preexisting beliefs.
Bermanova: Do you have a drag family? Or have there been figures who helped you?
Mint: I have a huge drag family! There are so many names, I wouldn’t be able to list them all… I got started in June, and it’s all of the people along the way that validate you, that support you, that come out to the shows, that book you for shows. My drag family is huge because I really consider anyone who I show up in a space and they’re excited to see me and I’m excited to see what they’re bringing, and I know they’re gonna bring something. I love someone that I know I’m gonna get up on the stage and they’re gonna respect it, or at least listen and see exactly what I’m gonna be saying. I consider all of them my my family—anyone that’s ever come out to a show, hit follow, sent a DM with a nice message, any of them are my drag family.
There’s a core group of people that really helped me. There’s Rara Darling, Theydy Bedbug, Dream Boi… but those are just 3 of a huge bunch. But your drag family is someone who supports you. They push you to do better. They’re the ones that sit and watch every one of your performances and will be like, “I love what you did, this is how you can make it a little better… I see what you were going for, this is how you can improve it.” It feels like your professors. You’re someone who’s taking in my art enough that you can see what I’m going for and how I can improve it. They’re the ones who, when you’re going through something emotional—whether it’s cis people in dressing rooms saying something to you, whether it’s… anything—they’re the ones you can turn to and be like, thank you. Thank you for this help. And I have a huge plethora of them. There are so many people who have said so many kind words when I needed them, given me such amazing advice, pushed me harder… yeah. I’m so blessed.
Bermanova: Are you part of a drag house?
Mint: Yes..? So… I started last June and I was 7 or 8-ish months in. I was doing competitions, and I didn’t necessarily have a drag mom or anything like that—like I was doing everything myself. And then I did a competition, and the drag queen Emi Grate saw me and loved what I did. I was a huge fan of Emi Grate beforehand, she was the first drag queen that I ever saw in the city. She loved what I did, she loved my message, we’re very similar people, and she was like, “I want you to be in my drag family.” So she adopted me in, and she’s a very experienced drag queen.
Bermanova: Would you say that there are many overlapping smaller communities, or is there one overarching community? And how interlinked is the community? Like, how likely is it that you’ll know a random other performer?
Mint: It’s very much tied to location. There’s the Brooklyn community, the Manhattan community, the Harlem community, and that’s really it. Cause there are no other real queer bars anywhere else. In the Brooklyn community, generally everybody knows everybody. You may not have physically met a person, but you’ve seen their Instagram, you probably have seen a performance at some random time. The communities are so interconnected as well, because in Brooklyn there are about 5 or 6 queer spaces—well okay, more than 5 or 6—but there are 5 or 6 spaces where it actually has a good quality production where there will be light, there will be bathrooms, there will be a place to change there. There may not—that also adds into the whole divide between the trans and the cis communities. Like a lot of trans people do not feel comfortable enough changing in front of the audience, cause if there’s just a bathroom, then where am I supposed to change where I feel comfortable? Anyway, the drag community here is like, Mackery Park, The Rosemont, Metropolitan… There are six or seven prime places, and if you work there, you know everybody there. There are the performers who are always working at the same bars—big names, small names, everybody knows everybody. There are 6 or 7 competitions that happen throughout Brooklyn consistently, every person who’s been doing drag like under 3 years is in them. So you meet everybody. And drag is the type of thing that you can’t do in your apartment, you have to leave the house. It is a community thing. If you don’t leave the house, no matter how good your makeup is on Instagram, if I don’t meet you, I’m not gonna book you, I’m not gonna know you. You have to leave the house, and that is why everyone knows each other. The Manhattan bubble and the Brooklyn bubble don’t overlap that much, but if you’re in that part, you know everybody. The Manhattan crowd, they all know everybody. Harlem, they all know everybody.
Bermanova: I’ve heard people sort of talk about the difference between the Manhattan and the Brooklyn community, but I haven’t heard much about the Harlem community. Do you know much about it?
Mint: The Harlem community is rooted out of Midtown, Hell’s Kitchen area for queer spaces. The Manhattan and the Harlem crowd is all kind of geared towards, like, cis gays, anyone who can afford to live in Manhattan, and college students. Like, who’s going to Hell’s Kitchen? Who’s going to the Lower East Side? Who’s going to any of those areas for any of the queer things? Rich white gays, cis gays, and tourists. So it’s like, when you go out there, you’ll find 8 counts to top-40s songs, wigs up to here. Very, very Drag Race. Brooklyn, no tourists really come to Brooklyn. You’re really dealing for New Yorkers. So they usually want something that’s out there. Sometimes I walk to my shows in drag, and people have seen far more on the street than that. I love Brooklyn because you can get really artsy with it. You get artistic drag. Every time I’ve seen a show in Hell’s Kitchen I’ve been like, “I know this song… ok, there’s a death drop. Ok, there we go, there’s a weird reveal happening.” But in Brooklyn, like I’ve seen people douche on stage in Brooklyn, I’ve seen someone get fisted on a stage in Brooklyn. Like, shit is going down.
Bermanova: I’ve already kinda touched on this, but how much is there an overlap between the drag community and other queer artists? Is there a seperate queer artist community that don’t consider themselves drag performers?
Mint: If they do drag in any sense of the word, usually they need the community. I have seen other performers who do something very similar to drag or adjacent to drag, and typically those performers need the community of other drag artists to get an audience that actually wants to see what they’re doing. So for example, I’ve performed at concert venues where I’m the only drag performer. I’ve performed at spaces where audience members had never seen a drag performer before and they don’t necessarily understand how drag shows work, like the tipping policy or how they can interact with artists and everything. If you don’t take part in the community, you don’t necessarily get the exposure or money to continue to your career. So if you do anything close to drag, you need to be in the community. But the other queer artists who don’t do things like drag, like painters, designers, musicians, anyone who doesn’t necessarily do drag, there’s a huge separation. I’m performing tonight at this venue that will be having a live jazz band with drag performers doing burlesque. And that’s crazy, mainly because there’s a live jazz band with musicians who are paid to be there. You never see it. It’s usually just like, “Ok, someone has their phone with their songs on it, there’s a DJ, put the songs on and everything.” Because you don’t really need other performers for a drag show. And to be honest, if you have a cis gay audience, they don’t really want anything else—they just want what they saw on Drag Race. I’ve seen people really walk out of a show because they were like, “There’s only one drag performer??” There was a body painter, there was someone doing fire-breathing, but they only wanted drag queens.
Bermanova: This is straying from my written questions a little bit—I’ve sort of seen online people talking about the role that DJs play in the community. What’s that role, or what does that look like?
Mint: Oh, they make or break the show. I have seen DJs be amazing, show up early, make sure the mic’s checked, soundchecking without any performers, just taking the initiative to do it. They set up the sound, they check in with each performer to make sure they have the right track. But I’ve also seen DJs not bring aux chords, show up without their laptop… I’ve seen DJs find out that a file is corrupted on their computer and not say anything until 2 seconds before the performer goes onstage. The DJ is really the key to it. If they don’t play good music in between sets, then the audience won’t be that excited for anyone to perform. If they’re not actually starting the music at the right time—you only get one chance to really start. Like if you have to restart it, it’s a little awkward. Like, if I’m supposed to start center-stage with my back to the audience and the DJ starts the music before my name is even called—there’s so many levels to where a DJ can mess it up, because they’re the only ones with a technical aspect to take care of. Oftentimes, the DJ will also be the one controlling the lights. So if the DJ’s controlling the lights—and this is something I’ve had really happen—and they just turn off the lights and now I’m just in the dark still lip syncing because I don’t know when the lights are coming back on, and it’s like… you are the gatekeeper to the music. Without you, there are no tracks, there is no performance. I need to get started on the right foot and I need you to have it together. It’s no different than when artists email their tracks to DJs an hour before the show. Everyone needs to do their job well, because at the end of the day, this is still a job. And so DJs, much like performers, producers, and hosts, need to do their job. Like if the host doesn’t warm up the crowd and get the energy going, no one will want to give you money. If the DJ is playing sad, softer songs in between sets, no one will want to stay. If the performer doesn’t show up on-time and ready, no one will be excited to see them. Because if you’re fumbling around just to get into the space, who wants to sit there and watch you fumble around on the stage? Everyone just needs to take their art seriously. Because trust me, I am. Trust me, I’m so excited to see what people present on that stage. I’m so excited to see the art, the piece of someone that someone decided to bring to this bar tonight—I am so excited for it, I’m taking it dead serious. I’m giving you my attention and my money, so please give me the best that you got. And I want it from everybody, the audience as well! If you see something you like, cheer! That’s why I love drag. The whole community plays a part. If one person is fucking it up, it’s fucking it up for everybody. Because every single person needs to be having a good time, and there’s no reason everybody can’t.
Bermanova: So it’s very much an exchange, like that the audience plays as much of a role?
Mint: It’s all symbiotic. Like for example, I don’t go into certain spaces anymore because I know the audience is gonna touch my hair: well, I’m just not performing for you anymore, cause I’m not getting paid anywhere near enough for that. It would have to be in the 6-figures for people to be touching my hair. Like, it’s outrageous. Very symbiotic, mhm.
Bermanova: So would you say that drag performance is different from other types of performance art in that way?
Mint: I’d say it’s all relatively the same, just because I feel like all art is communal. If there isn’t a person viewing it, it’s art, but what’s the point in it? You can paint for yourself or perform for yourself all you want, but didn’t you make this for someone to appreciate? If you did it for yourself, you can just do your makeup at home—you don’t need to leave the house. Same thing for musicians. I was first-chair flutist for like 3 or 4 years growing up, and like, you have to go onto the stage! If you’re not performing for anybody, that is perfectly fine, but you need to leave the house. There could be no audience, but you still need to leave the house, because the extra energy of getting out of the house is like, this is communal. This is something that I’m sharing. If you’re not sharing, it’s just like writing in your diary.
Bermanova: What advice would you give to someone who’s newly coming into the drag community now, or who’s wanting to perform for the first time and wanting to pursue this?
Mint: Well, one: just be yourself—you won’t be able to do it any other way. People won’t like it if you don’t, people will see exactly how inauthentic it is, people will not relate to it, people won’t give you money for it. Because there’s already someone out there being somebody else. So be yourself, cause no one can do that. Nobody else can do that. Trust yourself—you know what’s right, you know what feels good, you know what you want to show. Don’t be swayed by what anyone else wants, don’t be swayed by what that person did, don’t be swayed by what that person asked of you. Be yourself, push yourself, trust yourself, and leave the house, because that’s the hardest part. Choosing to leave the house knowing that you’re open to people’s reactions to you. That’s the scariest part of it, which is why I feel like it’s so deeply rooted in the queer community. Every single day, queer people, black people, women, have to choose to leave the house knowing that society and the world is going to tell you their opinion of you—the only people who don’t have to are cis white men, they’re the only ones who leaving the house is chill. We have to make the choice to leave the house and deal with whatever the world has for us that day. And that is no different in drag, and it’s just as scary in drag—if anything, more. It’s you turned up, so there’s even more of you that can be criticized and can be attacked and can be taken down, which makes it even more powerful when you hold true to who you are. Because you’ll be like, “Ahh, I got to be me all day, and I had a blast.” Yeah, that would be my advice.
About the Author / Outro
Left: a sketch of me in a day-to-day look. Right: a sketch of me in a drag look.
Works Cited
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Junior Mint. Interviewed by in Brooklyn, NY, April 14, 2019.
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