Like a lot of Down Under darlings, drag is important to me. I didn’t choose the life of glitz, glamour and grit – it chose me. It was a divine calling to a community and art form where I could be myself and be celebrated for all that makes me different.
I grew up as an outcast, a weirdo, someone who didn’t gel with what society was telling me to be or do. I danced to a different drum that beat from the depths of my soul: a calling for camp, colour and creation. I was infatuated with the art of transformation; I yearned for a taste of escapism from the bland world around me.
“I grew up as an outcast, a weirdo, someone who didn’t gel with what society was telling me to be or do.” Credit: Samuel Graves I know I’m fanaticising and adding fluff to a place in time when I didn’t want to be myself. But it’s true.
I didn’t like who I was, and I didn’t like that others could see there was something different about me. But romanticising life and giving memories a makeover is what us drag artists do. We embellish and bedazzle; we add a bit of sparkle, a bit of fabulousness, as we bend the perception of reality.
We take our drab and daggy day-walker selves and evolve them into rare and beautiful creatures that light up rooms like disco balls hovering above a dance floor. I didn’t like standing out for something that I couldn’t control, but I love using the art of drag to demand onlookers’ attention on my own terms. I can be the puppeteer of my own perception, e.
