Mind you, she only tore her wig off after the countless shots of tequila. Never again.
Showing posts with label Logan Hardcore. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Logan Hardcore. Show all posts
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Night Three: Logan
Wow, so this is what a real drag queen looks like during the "in between" phase...
Mind you, she only tore her wig off after the countless shots of tequila. Never again.
Mind you, she only tore her wig off after the countless shots of tequila. Never again.
Night Three: Logan
After last week’s class, I realized that there were a significant number of unanswered questions that needed to be answered before I could actually sit down and make a significant claim about the drag subculture in New York City. Yet again, I returned to Barracuda (which reminds me: go somewhere new next week!) in order to get to the bottom of some of the most important lingering questions about the world of drag.
On my way to Barracuda, I somehow managed to pick up two very lost but friendly and obviously drunk gay guys. Without even giving me their names, they decided we were going to be best friends. I mentioned my assignment to them, and suddenly their eyes widened: they had magically transformed into my fairy godfathers, because it just so happens that they were roommates with Logan Hardcore, one of the top queens in the show.
Once we arrived at Barracuda, we made our way to their reserved couch and waited for people to arrive. And they do. Soon, Logan arrived, and we became the hot couch in the place. Logan was without a doubt the queen bee of our little circle. To my admittedly amateur eye, she seemed perfect. Her wig was flawless, her makeup just barely over the top enough to be drag-appropriate. There was no one here with as much glamour as she could bring. My new friends introduced me to her, and told her about my project. “Yeah,” she smirked. “I guess I could help.” I was in! One of my two new friends asked for my phone number, to pass on to Logan. I acquiesced happily, grateful for the opportunity.
And so a few nights later, I met Logan again at Barracuda for drinks. It was still early, around 7:00 pm on a Saturday. I was the first to arrive, so I sat down and ordered a Tanqueray and tonic. Logan arrived about 15 minutes later, decked out in a blond wig, with black tights and an extra-large gray t-shirt that seemed to have been transformed into a dress. She informed me that it was her night off, but she still needed to “dress to impress.”
How do you become a good drag queen?
Listen sister, you can’t just wake up one morning and say, “Hello world, I’m ready to be the queen bee.” It takes poise and practice. Honestly baby, I don’t know if there is any one correct answer to that question. My advice though is be big and over the top in anything that you do. Big hair. Big make up. Big opening number. And naturally, big titties.
Why do you perform in drag instead of merely performing as a gay man?
BORRRRING! (She screams it over and over again, banging her hands against the bar, prompting the bartender Colin to deliver us several shots of tequila. Ugh, I hate tequila.) It’s just plain old boring! There is something fun about getting up on stage and being unrecognizable. Being someone so completely different from the man that you’ve been for the greater part of the past 24 years. And plus, some queens can make between $800 and $1500 per night! In cash! Hot damn, that’s good money, right? And unless you’ve got an expensive seamstress, that money is tax free and all yours!
What do you outfits costs you?
Not much – I make my own clothes, so it depends on the price of the fabric. And sometimes, I’ll just go to Forever 21, get something tragic and slutty, and fabulous-it-up with some glitter and pizazz. Some queens spend hundreds though. Hundreds.
What do you admire in other queens?
Guts. I admire a hot cunt who doesn’t mind getting out on stage all dolled up in sequins and feathers who will give it her all, sing her heart out and just be fucking fabulous. She doesn’t have to be RuPaul, she can be some little no-one newbie, but as long as she’s got heart then she’s golden in my book.
Is there a hierarchy among queens?
Of course there is! While I’d love to say that it’s all about talent, it’s actually about how many fags you’ve got wrapped about your finger. (Which reminds me: I need to speak with the regular men in the audience to see what attracts them to drag queens.) Popularity darling, popularity. For example, see Busty down there (referring to Busty LaRue, a red headed drag queen at the opposite end of the bar dressed up as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz), if I ever see you talking with her, I’ll cut your cock off faster than you can say John Wayne Bobbitt. (She says with a wink, and a squeeze of my thigh, which prompts...)
So, do you sleep with men or women?
Honey, wouldn’t you just love to know. (Which is then followed by a wink, another shot of tequila, and a kiss on the check. Oy vey. Tequila is evil.)
And with that shot of tequila – our seventh, thank god for tape recorders – it is now 9:00 pm, and Logan wants me to join her and another queen, Miss Sheneeda Drink, as well as a few gay buddies for some more drinks and dancing at Therapy in Hell’s Kitchen. So, the seven of us head off to Logan’s apartment so that she can change for the evening, and so that we can pre-gaming. (Wait, didn’t we already pre-game? Ouch, my liver.)
On my way to Barracuda, I somehow managed to pick up two very lost but friendly and obviously drunk gay guys. Without even giving me their names, they decided we were going to be best friends. I mentioned my assignment to them, and suddenly their eyes widened: they had magically transformed into my fairy godfathers, because it just so happens that they were roommates with Logan Hardcore, one of the top queens in the show.
Once we arrived at Barracuda, we made our way to their reserved couch and waited for people to arrive. And they do. Soon, Logan arrived, and we became the hot couch in the place. Logan was without a doubt the queen bee of our little circle. To my admittedly amateur eye, she seemed perfect. Her wig was flawless, her makeup just barely over the top enough to be drag-appropriate. There was no one here with as much glamour as she could bring. My new friends introduced me to her, and told her about my project. “Yeah,” she smirked. “I guess I could help.” I was in! One of my two new friends asked for my phone number, to pass on to Logan. I acquiesced happily, grateful for the opportunity.
And so a few nights later, I met Logan again at Barracuda for drinks. It was still early, around 7:00 pm on a Saturday. I was the first to arrive, so I sat down and ordered a Tanqueray and tonic. Logan arrived about 15 minutes later, decked out in a blond wig, with black tights and an extra-large gray t-shirt that seemed to have been transformed into a dress. She informed me that it was her night off, but she still needed to “dress to impress.”
How do you become a good drag queen?
Listen sister, you can’t just wake up one morning and say, “Hello world, I’m ready to be the queen bee.” It takes poise and practice. Honestly baby, I don’t know if there is any one correct answer to that question. My advice though is be big and over the top in anything that you do. Big hair. Big make up. Big opening number. And naturally, big titties.
Why do you perform in drag instead of merely performing as a gay man?
BORRRRING! (She screams it over and over again, banging her hands against the bar, prompting the bartender Colin to deliver us several shots of tequila. Ugh, I hate tequila.) It’s just plain old boring! There is something fun about getting up on stage and being unrecognizable. Being someone so completely different from the man that you’ve been for the greater part of the past 24 years. And plus, some queens can make between $800 and $1500 per night! In cash! Hot damn, that’s good money, right? And unless you’ve got an expensive seamstress, that money is tax free and all yours!
What do you outfits costs you?
Not much – I make my own clothes, so it depends on the price of the fabric. And sometimes, I’ll just go to Forever 21, get something tragic and slutty, and fabulous-it-up with some glitter and pizazz. Some queens spend hundreds though. Hundreds.
What do you admire in other queens?
Guts. I admire a hot cunt who doesn’t mind getting out on stage all dolled up in sequins and feathers who will give it her all, sing her heart out and just be fucking fabulous. She doesn’t have to be RuPaul, she can be some little no-one newbie, but as long as she’s got heart then she’s golden in my book.
Is there a hierarchy among queens?
Of course there is! While I’d love to say that it’s all about talent, it’s actually about how many fags you’ve got wrapped about your finger. (Which reminds me: I need to speak with the regular men in the audience to see what attracts them to drag queens.) Popularity darling, popularity. For example, see Busty down there (referring to Busty LaRue, a red headed drag queen at the opposite end of the bar dressed up as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz), if I ever see you talking with her, I’ll cut your cock off faster than you can say John Wayne Bobbitt. (She says with a wink, and a squeeze of my thigh, which prompts...)
So, do you sleep with men or women?
Honey, wouldn’t you just love to know. (Which is then followed by a wink, another shot of tequila, and a kiss on the check. Oy vey. Tequila is evil.)
And with that shot of tequila – our seventh, thank god for tape recorders – it is now 9:00 pm, and Logan wants me to join her and another queen, Miss Sheneeda Drink, as well as a few gay buddies for some more drinks and dancing at Therapy in Hell’s Kitchen. So, the seven of us head off to Logan’s apartment so that she can change for the evening, and so that we can pre-gaming. (Wait, didn’t we already pre-game? Ouch, my liver.)
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