Drag King Stories (pt 1)

If you’d have known me in college, you’d know 1) I was fond of saying, “One day I will be a drag king” and 2) I appeared to be one of the least likely candidates ever, for such an endeavor.  I was beyond shy.  I had very few friends, so it’s not likely you would have know me in college anyway!  I avoided people at a lot of costs – never attended parties, found the back entrances and emergency staircases to buildings so as not to walk with the masses, went to dining halls at off times, etc.

But I was mesmerized by the idea.  I wanted to personify different artists.  I wanted to be seen by others in this specific context, which largely meant being seen as male.  Then again, I never danced.  I never went to bars, night clubs, drag shows.  It was all just a hypothetical idea.

One day, I did become a drag king.

Billy Idol is very macho, no?

Fast forward a year after graduation.  I was living at home with my parents, just starting out in my career as a janitor.  I had gone to a drag show once with some friends.  I was starting to make friends.  The way the drag kings presented themselves was enviable, but also to me, a little uncomfortable.  They were so overtly macho and sexual.  Wasn’t so sure about that.  They were fun to watch, but could I actually do that?  Still, I never ever danced, let alone grind up on strangers and gyrate on poles.

I knew of one drag king, a friend of a friend, named Maurice (K).  But we had never met.  She worked at a local historic theatre, so when I found myself there, with my mom, I decided to ask, does K still work here?  The person replied, “I’m K!”  I told her that we have a mutual friend, and it’s really cool to meet you and stuff.  She said we should hang out; she told me when her next show was.

I went to that dingy dive-of-a-gay-bar; it was my first time there, and I’m sure I arrived early.  The floor was black, the bar was black, the walls were black, the tiny stage was black.  The only thing that seemed only slightly fabulous was the shimmery silver drapes that lined the wall behind the stage.  A mix of techno and hip-hop hits blared way too loudly.  A few people milled about in groups.  I was there with a friend; we didn’t drink.  We stood around awkwardly.

I don’t recall much about the lineup that night, but I can still picture this mysterious potential friend’s performance vividly.  Maurice had on a pink blazer and a visor.  Everything about him was colorful – his swagger, his movements, his outfit.  I’d never heard the song before, but I was instantly in love with it.  (I asked him later; it was Japan – The Unconventional.  I tracked it down on record soon after, and listened to that whole album over and over and over.)

He was certainly not exuding a macho persona, and he’d tell you he’s not going for sexual overtones (although I’d argue they’re there, unconventionally).  I mean, of course!  There are so many styles of music from which to draw from.  Not just hip-hop, country, and pop punk, which was all I ever saw from anyone else.  Maybe I could do this thing, if I just stuck to what I liked, which tended toward effeminate anyway.  Glam rock, new wave, post-punk, there were all sorts of things to explore.  And somehow, my path let me to find this person who was already doing this thing, his way, and wanted to connect with me about it.

After the show, he asked me, “So have you thought of being a drag king?  You wanna be one?”  And the rest is history.  (By which I mean, there’s more to come.)

David Sylvian, of Japan, looks so very effeminate, in this video, and always.  Maurice was, essentially, a woman impersonating a man who looks an awful lot like a woman.  It was fantastic.