A little over a year and a half ago, I performed in drag for the first time. I remember the way time seemed to slow down as I stepped through the curtain into the bar, the rush of the spotlight glowing on my face, and the feeling that this was something I was truly meant to be doing. But, just as importantly, I remember the outpouring of support I felt from the community around me after the performance was over; people coming up to talk to me, older performers offering me kind words and advice. This, to me, is the most important thing about drag. Don’t get me wrong, I love the makeup, the glamorous costumes, the spotlights, the chance to transform into another version of myself for a night–but more than anything, I love the community that comes with it.
When I did that first drag number, I had been going to local shows around my city for over a year. The first time I went to a drag show was also my first time in a gay bar, and I vividly remember the feeling of stepping into a space surrounded almost exclusively by other queer people and immediately feeling so incredibly at home. That feeling has only grown stronger. Drag is, and has always been, a space for queer people to find community and family. Experienced drag performers will often “adopt” newer performers and become drag parents, a tradition with roots in the ballroom scene; mentor figures who are there to teach you which rhinestones to use and how to style a wig properly, but also very often become extremely close, chosen family. Not only do I have a drag mom, but several drag aunts, a self-proclaimed drag godmother (who happens to be the very queen I reached out to for that first open-stage), and, since my partner is also a performer, a huge collection of drag in-laws. My partner and I often joke that the patio at the club feels like a family reunion–one of us might get lectured for taking tips badly or having our wigs glued down wrong, but we’re surrounded by people we consider to be close family, people who are often older than us who we can look up to and learn from. It’s a space full of love.
My local drag scene has quickly become a space where I feel safe, cared for, and uplifted, where I can be the fullest version of myself, whether I’m on or offstage. This type of chosen family can be incredibly important for the mental health of queer people, especially those who don’t have support from the families they grew up in, and is, to me, one of the most beautiful things about the queer community. Finding people who you can see yourself in, who share your experience, can be life-changing. When you surround yourself with people who can truly see and understand you, you feel less alone. When everyone around you is the weird gay one, you don’t feel like the odd one out anymore. You feel like a part of something.
I urge anyone who feels like they need closer queer relationships in their lives to find the community spaces around them. Pride events are amazing, but there are so many welcoming queer spaces that exist year-round. Look for your local gay bars or sober queer spaces like coffee shops and art collectives. Look at social media or flyers around town for queer events that continue past June, maybe for a specific identity or a group that you’re a part of. Find your local drag shows and show venues–hey, maybe even pick up a wig yourself. It might change your life for the better.
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