Or on the seventh day ye shall strut thy stuff
Okay, so Sunday night this happened.
That's right. That long, lithe lady rocking those heels (and skimpy threads) on well-defined calves... is a Dude.
I am not even kidding. There's not one inch of cottage cheesy flab on her 59 year-old bare buttocks. That is soooo not fair.
|Miss Thang working that dress|
A pile of us old friends attended the Tri-State Drag Pageant. The 19th Annual for them, the first for all of us. I had heard about these affairs from our beloved niece, Regi who attended a number of similar festivities when she lived in the Burgh. I'm not unfamiliar with this particular type of spectacle. Long ago and far away when Geo and I used to frequent the indie movie theaters, we saw the quintessential drag-pageant doc, Paris is Burning, but I've never experienced one first hand.
|these two are like 6'10"|
Man, I love that movie. Did you recognize the girl in the long white wig? That's Guy Pearce. Yes, that Guy Pearce from LA Confidential and Memento. No shit. He looks FABULOUS in make up. The other one is the nasty sunglass-wearing cur from The Matrix and the third is legendary actor Terrence Stamp as the old queen. It's a great movie. Go Netflix it.
I'm not a short person, but waiting for my buds in the lobby I felt like a munchkin amongst the towering frames of poofed out, vamped up and tucked in attendants gliding along in their five inch heels.
|Seriously. Only a drag queen can walk in these beauties|
no cankles on this runway, dahlink
How do they do that?!? I don't know of any women who can effortlessly strut along in those spikes. Again, so not fair.
|the higher the hair, the closer to God|
The competition was broken up into two parts: evening wear and talent which mainly consisted of lipsynching, voguing and emoting to songs. In between sets, former winners and famous (to this community) performers worked the crowd into a fevered pitch with what I assume are their classic numbers and in turn were showered with appreciation in the form of singles.
|She's as gorgeous as Lena Horn|
how is that even possible?
By far the most amusing and slightly disturbing act of the evening was this Joan Crawford medley.
That is just so wrong in so many deliciously sick and twisted ways. I particularly enjoy how her wig moves back and forth as if floating on a cushion of air.
In the end, the winner was a gal who goes by the middle name of Pork Chop.
1. Cartwheels and handsprings on a narrow runway are impressive in their own right, but executed in four-inch heels is downright magnificent.
2. The act of lining up to hand over dollar bills to the "ladies" performing on the runway felt a little icky and stripperish, but who am I to judge.
3. Standing beside beautifully bedazzled, statuesque drag queens in the ladies room is a little unsettling, if only for the fact they make this natural born double XXers feel like a troll.
4. FYI: Drag queens sit when they tinkle, Yo.
5. The Ladies looooooove the bling.
6. When the gals by bazongas, they buy up, BABY.
7. Is it pervy that I couldn't stop looking at their boobage spilling forth from their deep V necklines? I mean, come on. They were just... out there.
8. Not all drag queens are created equal as evidenced by this dude in the red frock. From the front, he looked like Ned Flanders and he is NOT meant for heels. Ever.
stick to the church lady footwear
And Finally, the question you all want to ask....
9. Where do they hide their junk? Seriously.
|so little fabric|
so much duct tape
The evening was certainly an interesting look into an entire subculture I didn't realize existed in our town. A nurturing culture which takes care of its own. One which encourages it's member to be who they are with a warm embrace, cheering each other on. Sure there was a lot of good-natured snark and attitude in the room, but I could also feel an enormous amount of love and support.
And really, how could that be a bad thing.