Drag is permission.
Drag is permission to play with gender. Permission to play with performance. To live and indulge in your fantasy. To look busted and still be adorned as a superstar. To feel good. To feel confident. To trust in your abilities. To be loud and visible. To take risks. To embarrass yourself. To be humbled. And in my particular case, permission to perform an air-band cover of “Despacito” played by a rubber chicken.
This permission is very, VERY, addictive.
Imagine being a little kid again, dreaming of growing up to be a big pop star, or an astronaut, and a circus performer. Within the realm of drag, ALL of that is possible, simultaneously, within a single 3-minute performance if you wanted. And it is because of this that drag has a funny way of sneaking up on you and taking over your life.
Putting on a wig and red nose allowed me to set aside time and space to do these things that I’ve always wanted too. It’s allowed me to produce the art I want to produce, AND get paid for it.
See the real twist of it all is that getting all done up doesn’t permit ME to do anything, but gives the viewers permission to say “hey, let’s indulge in this persons fantasy-land for a few minutes,” and that’s your chance to SELL THEM YOUR SCHTICK HONEYYYY. Can’t make money off your artwork? Nothing a little eyelash glue can’t fix.