Baby King
This week, I wrote about two drag shows that I attended at Rubulad and Lincoln Center. What I didn’t write about, however, is that I’ve been playing around with drag makeup since moving to New York City.
The birth of this alt-persona, who I’m calling Max Lode, happened around Halloween. I’d decided to dress up as the green M&M, as a nod to Tucker Carlson’s comment that the candies were becoming “nonbinary” and “less sexy.” I thrifted the perfect jacket, and packed my leotard with fun-size peanut M&Ms.
In the coming months, a drag king friend showed me how to do basic makeup. And so, the next time Mx. Green went out to Henrietta Hudson, they were even more gender-bendy, with the addition of contouring, an actual packer, and a mascara mustache.
I’ve since been practicing, often while watching Drag Race on Friday nights, or before going out. I’ve been amazed by how something as simple as a mustache makes me feel so much more confident and powerful. It’s also been a way of exploring my self-presentation in a temporary way.
But I’ve also noticed I’m slightly less comfortable in cis lesbian spaces. I get looks that say, “Why is a man in here?” turning to relief upon closer examination. As well as intrusive questions like, “How long have you been on T?” when I’m actually not.
As I started planning an unconventional cello recital at House of Yes for September, I began thinking, “What if I did it in drag?” (No promises yet.)
Then, I started writing for the queer opera zine-turned-blog, Parterre Box, under the name “Max Keller.” (Note the mustachioed author photo.) The blog’s editor James Jorden, writes under several aliases, including La Cieca, a gossipy and opinionated drag queen.
At the same time as my novice experimentation, I started hearing about proposed anti-drag legislation popping up in several states. These bills, essentially censoring art under the guise of supposedly “protecting children,” could also discriminate against trans and gender-nonconforming people. It’s all very dystopian.
Not to mention personally resonant. Growing up near Provincetown, I knew about drag queens from a young age. My parents even took me to see Dina Martina early in high school, just as they took me to lots of other kinds of performances. Is this exposure what make me queer? Somehow, I don’t think so.
In fact, I remained closeted in high school (and partially through college) dressing in “girl drag” (without even knowing it!). When I look at photos from this period, my long hair really looks like a wig. Until this year, wearing makeup made me feel dysphoric.
But, even as a little kid, I loved playing dress up in the safety of my own home. I recently found a photo of myself, age 5 or so, wearing a ridiculous fake beard. I was also obsessed with these stick-on mustaches, which looked like fuzzy caterpillars.
When adults asked me, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I couldn’t understand why they laughed at my answer, informed by my love of Elton John’s songs for that musical with Lion in its name: “I want to be a king.”