Mind you, she only tore her wig off after the countless shots of tequila. Never again.
Showing posts with label Night Out. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Night Out. 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.)
Monday, February 22, 2010
Night One
Despite the fact that I have grown accustomed to frequenting "straight" dive bars over the past few years, I still remember my nights at some of New York's well established gay clubs, most notably Splash, where I spent almost every Thursday evening during my freshman year. From the moment you entered Splash, you were immediately confronted with sleaze. Hard bodies dancing atop the elevated catwalk, bartenders wearing barely-there boxer briefs, and hoards of older men lining the walls searching for their twinkish conquest of the evening. It comes as no surprise that Splash was actually the reason that I stopped going to gay bars.
Barracuda was somehow different. As soon as we entered, I was struck by the intimate atmosphere of the lounge. The bar, though long, was relatively narrow. Unlike the cavernous Splash, it almost felt claustrophobic with its combination of aggressive wallpaper and dim mood lighting. As we moved towards the back of Barracuda, where the stage was actually located, I was struck by how suddenly spacious the area felt. The stage was surrounded by couches with plenty of cushions and pillows, as well as additional chairs and tables, and even a pool table.
It was a Thursday night, and I was there to support my roommate who had entered himself in Star Search: a semi-amateur night for drag queens, young and old. On that night, I wanted to get acquainted with the subculture and understand why a man – gay or straight – would want to strap on padding and painful shoes, slathering on pounds of make-up, and dress up as Cher or Barbra Streisand. And so, I found a vacant spot on a couch in between to queens who both appeared to be wearing my grandmother's couch, ordered myself a strong Maker's and Coke, and hunkered down for what I thought was going to be a long evening.
The host of the evening’s festivities was Shequida, one of New York’s most prominent drag queens. Shequida may also be one of the few drag queens known to a great deal of Middle America, as she made it all the way to the semifinals of America’s Got Talent in 2008, singing opera versions of songs like Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.” Just after midnight, Shequida took the stage, looking statuesque in shimmering blue mini-dress and caramel bob cut wig.
“On with the show, bitches!” she cried, and the games began.
And so the show began. First up is what I gathered to be a forty-something named Chanel Divine, who did a medley of "Proud Mary" and "What's Love Got To Do With It," tromping around the stage and strutting her stuff. Up next was Logan Hardcore, who according to the bartender was one of the top queens in the show. She drove the crowd wild with an original version of Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance,” that included a few personally performed dialogue interludes.
Hardcore was followed by Miss Pixie, who strutted down the aisle in fishnet stockings, showing off her football player thighs. Almost immediately after reaching the stage however, she tore off her wig, exposing her military crew cut.
“That happened to her last week!” my roommate shouted, caught up in the moment. “Girl, she does that EVERY week,” says another drag queen sitting at the table next to us with an eye roll. With that, I turned my attention back to Miss Pixie, and was quite disturbed by what I saw: a petit African-American man dressed up as a woman sans wig belting out his version of Funny Girl's "Don't Rain on My Parade." Her performance was quite interesting in that she still desperately wished to be a woman – sporting some voluptuous fake breasts – and yet due to her lack of wig was clearly a man.
Next was Miss Sheneeda Drink, who performed “A Spoonful of Sugar” from Mary Poppins with what she claimed was a bag of… well, let’s just say it wasn’t sugar. One thing about the gay world that I have always found fascinating deals with the public perception that all gay men use lots of drugs and have unprotected sex which naturally gives them AIDS. I have always tried to combat that idea when speaking with friends and family members from home, so I was a little irked by Miss Sheneeda Drink and her references to drug use. Nonetheless, it made me realize that I would eventually have to question whether or not drugs were apart of the world of drag, seeing that most of the queens seemed to either make a reference to various illegal substances, or were whacked out of their minds.
Last but not least was an up-and-coming newbie, Miss Tequila Mockingbird, the alter ego of my roommate of nearly 3 years, Sam. For me, this was the hardest performance to handle, not because I was ashamed or disappointed in my roommate, but because I didn't know whether or not I should call him a he or a she. It was (and please excuse the language), a complete and total mind fuck. I knew him as Sam, the boy who I used to chug 40s with in the secrecy of our dorm room before stumbling off to an East Village bar. But there SHE was, decked out in a purple flapper dress with a purple boa and blond wig, stuttering her way up to the stage in order to perform "Maybe This Time" from Cabaret, immortalized in the movie by the diva and gay icon, Liza Minnelli.
Following his performance, the night turned into a blur of sequins, feathers, more Maker's and curls of every shade as I was surrounded by a variety of queens. Luckily, my roommates was friendly was quite a few of them, so I was able to expand my list of potential contacts, and will hopefully be able to speak with several of them for next week's field notes. Potential themes that I would like to explore: their background and why they chose to become a drag queen, their everyday lives, and the stories behind their drag names. Hopefully their responses will lead to further questions.
Barracuda was somehow different. As soon as we entered, I was struck by the intimate atmosphere of the lounge. The bar, though long, was relatively narrow. Unlike the cavernous Splash, it almost felt claustrophobic with its combination of aggressive wallpaper and dim mood lighting. As we moved towards the back of Barracuda, where the stage was actually located, I was struck by how suddenly spacious the area felt. The stage was surrounded by couches with plenty of cushions and pillows, as well as additional chairs and tables, and even a pool table.
It was a Thursday night, and I was there to support my roommate who had entered himself in Star Search: a semi-amateur night for drag queens, young and old. On that night, I wanted to get acquainted with the subculture and understand why a man – gay or straight – would want to strap on padding and painful shoes, slathering on pounds of make-up, and dress up as Cher or Barbra Streisand. And so, I found a vacant spot on a couch in between to queens who both appeared to be wearing my grandmother's couch, ordered myself a strong Maker's and Coke, and hunkered down for what I thought was going to be a long evening.
The host of the evening’s festivities was Shequida, one of New York’s most prominent drag queens. Shequida may also be one of the few drag queens known to a great deal of Middle America, as she made it all the way to the semifinals of America’s Got Talent in 2008, singing opera versions of songs like Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.” Just after midnight, Shequida took the stage, looking statuesque in shimmering blue mini-dress and caramel bob cut wig.
“On with the show, bitches!” she cried, and the games began.
And so the show began. First up is what I gathered to be a forty-something named Chanel Divine, who did a medley of "Proud Mary" and "What's Love Got To Do With It," tromping around the stage and strutting her stuff. Up next was Logan Hardcore, who according to the bartender was one of the top queens in the show. She drove the crowd wild with an original version of Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance,” that included a few personally performed dialogue interludes.
Hardcore was followed by Miss Pixie, who strutted down the aisle in fishnet stockings, showing off her football player thighs. Almost immediately after reaching the stage however, she tore off her wig, exposing her military crew cut.
“That happened to her last week!” my roommate shouted, caught up in the moment. “Girl, she does that EVERY week,” says another drag queen sitting at the table next to us with an eye roll. With that, I turned my attention back to Miss Pixie, and was quite disturbed by what I saw: a petit African-American man dressed up as a woman sans wig belting out his version of Funny Girl's "Don't Rain on My Parade." Her performance was quite interesting in that she still desperately wished to be a woman – sporting some voluptuous fake breasts – and yet due to her lack of wig was clearly a man.
Next was Miss Sheneeda Drink, who performed “A Spoonful of Sugar” from Mary Poppins with what she claimed was a bag of… well, let’s just say it wasn’t sugar. One thing about the gay world that I have always found fascinating deals with the public perception that all gay men use lots of drugs and have unprotected sex which naturally gives them AIDS. I have always tried to combat that idea when speaking with friends and family members from home, so I was a little irked by Miss Sheneeda Drink and her references to drug use. Nonetheless, it made me realize that I would eventually have to question whether or not drugs were apart of the world of drag, seeing that most of the queens seemed to either make a reference to various illegal substances, or were whacked out of their minds.
Last but not least was an up-and-coming newbie, Miss Tequila Mockingbird, the alter ego of my roommate of nearly 3 years, Sam. For me, this was the hardest performance to handle, not because I was ashamed or disappointed in my roommate, but because I didn't know whether or not I should call him a he or a she. It was (and please excuse the language), a complete and total mind fuck. I knew him as Sam, the boy who I used to chug 40s with in the secrecy of our dorm room before stumbling off to an East Village bar. But there SHE was, decked out in a purple flapper dress with a purple boa and blond wig, stuttering her way up to the stage in order to perform "Maybe This Time" from Cabaret, immortalized in the movie by the diva and gay icon, Liza Minnelli.
Following his performance, the night turned into a blur of sequins, feathers, more Maker's and curls of every shade as I was surrounded by a variety of queens. Luckily, my roommates was friendly was quite a few of them, so I was able to expand my list of potential contacts, and will hopefully be able to speak with several of them for next week's field notes. Potential themes that I would like to explore: their background and why they chose to become a drag queen, their everyday lives, and the stories behind their drag names. Hopefully their responses will lead to further questions.
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