A piece of advice for any budding queen out there: Before you enter the drag world, make sure you have at least a drag "mother," if not a drag "family." Having one or both of these things is something I would say is essential for any drag queen. Vivian does not have either.
When I was 9 I took my parents' album of the Broadway musical Damn Yankees and memorized every syllable of Gwen Verdon's show stopper, "Who's Got the Pain When They Do the Mambo?" Once I was satisfied with my lip synching and choreography, the number was ready for public display.
Drag queens have amazing eyes, and I'm not referring to how they paint their eyes, even though those are fabulous. What I'm referring to is how drag queens see the world. In my opinion, drag queens don't see the world like the rest of us do, and that is a good thing.
Drag is more than entertainment, more than bookings, more than staying on top; it's a doorway to acceptance. Drag teaches us to be true to ourselves and accept others for who they are. If more parents took their children to all-ages drag shows, they would grow up more accepting and loving.
You do drag for the first time because you want to be called "fierce." You do drag because you really want to be on that boat invading the Pines. You do drag because your best friend told you that the only version you should attempt is the grotesque one, and he said that scoffingly.
The more Vivian performed and become known throughout Columbus, the more Jeff became Vivian. Now, when I say, "Jeff became Vivian," I'm not referring to his actions or his personality but to how others, including me, see him.
What is that, you may ask? Well, it's when someone in the audience, mainly gay men, but sometimes women, and on rare occasions straight men, begins performing to the drag queen's number like all eyes are on them. I find it extremely humorous.
One side effect of being a drag queen's husband is that drag is everywhere. What I mean by this is that anything I hear or see suddenly becomes inspiration for a number for Vivian. Basically I have drag on the brain 24/7.
With our annual Pride celebration now only a few weeks away, in between all the shopping and primping a girls got to do, I find myself once again thinking about those who have touched my life; those who have - and still - inspire me to be who I am today.
Pronouns and drag can some times get confusing. When someone performs in drag, the accepted etiquette is to refer to them by the opposite pronouns. That in itself isn't too confusing. The confusion comes more from when they are out of drag.
An evening at the The Pantages in Los Angeles for the touring production of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert is exactly what one would think: an evening of camp, of glamor, of sequins and catty remarks, of laughter and tears.
Honestly, there are times when I just don't understand the game of drag. I was originally going to use the word "world," but the more I thought about it, "game" seemed much more suited to what drag really is. Being involved in drag in any capacity is like playing a real-life game of Dragopoly.
I've often wondered, Why my fascination with drag queens? When did it begin? And that morning it hit me: My fascination began in 1977, when I removed the Charlie's Angels posters from my bedroom walls and joined the KISS Army.
If you can't afford to tip then please feed the queen with applause. You have no idea how much audience reaction means to these girls. A lot of them feed off of it and the more you applaud and holler the better the performance you'll receive.