Decolonize Drag

Also from Decolonize That! Handbooks for the Revolutionary Overthrow of Embedded Colonial Ideas

Edited by Bhakti Shringarpure

Decolonize Hipsters by Grégory Pierrot

Decolonize Museums by Shimrit Lee

Decolonize Self-Care by Alyson K. Spurgas and Zoë Meleo-Erwin

Decolonize Multiculturalism by Anthony C. Alessandrini

The Decolonize That! series is produced by OR Books in collaboration with Warscapes magazine.

© 2023 Kareem Khubchandani

Published by OR Books, New York and London

Visit our website at www.orbooks.com

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, except brief passages for review purposes.

First printing 2023

Cataloging-in-Publication data is available from the Library of Congress. A catalog record for this book is available from the British Library.

Typeset by Lapiz Digital Services. Printed by BookMobile, USA, and CPI, UK.

paperback ISBN 978-1-68219-395-2 • ebook ISBN 978-1-68219-396-9

CONTENTS

Editor’s Preface—Bhakti Shringarpure

Introduction

Chapter 1: Hairy Situations: Drag, Performance, and Gender Binaries

Chapter 2: Beyond Gender: Race, Realness, and What Counts as Drag

Chapter 3: NeolibRulism: RuPaul’s Drag Empire

Chapter 4: Decolonization at the Club: Staging Violence, Embodying Pleasure in Drag

Chapter 5: Just Do It! Techniques and Technologies for Decolonizing Drag

Outroduction

Acknowledgments

Notes

EDITOR’S PREFACE

BHAKTI SHRINGARPURE

It is a strange twist in the tale that a radical, dissident, beautifully amorphous and sometimes clandestine art form such as drag has today become an empire racking up millions. The legendary RuPaul, creator, host and rainmaker of the reality show RuPaul’s Drag Race might immediately come to mind. But think also of Trixie Mattel, or Alyssa Edwards, or Bianca Del Rio, who have amassed equal millions of Instagram followers as their dollar net worths. Empire begets empire and that they all emerged as power players because of RuPaul’s music, performance and drag conglomerate is proof of this. Though it can be a default moralizing mode to turn up our noses at this grubby game of cash, caché and celebrity mongering, it is hard to begrudge drag artists their success and to not view them through a lens of courage. Drag has an inherent capacity to evoke pleasure, politics, physical rigor, and awe. Even passively consuming an unabashedly gender-bending drag performance can feel rebellious, since we still live in a conservative and normative world where gender binarism, hetero-patriarchy, queerphobia and sexism remain firmly entrenched.

But what if drag’s rise to the top of its game as a popular, commercial art form has meant selling out and feeding right into problematic gender binaries, whiteness, or coloniality? Once you start indulging these suspicions, you’re sure to find plenty of RuPaul quotes that might soothe. Like this one: All sins are forgiven once you start making a lot of money. Or: The key to navigating this life—don’t take it too seriously. That’s when the party begins. While these might seem like vulgar declarations, RuPaul and the mainstream drag world can get away with them because they are anchored in the idea that drag is subversive at its core. So if it is now being beamed into everyone’s screens and broadening our minds and making us woke, why should we start churning with all this empire talk? Why overthink? Why spoil the party? Come on now, it only just began.

Well, stop right there, because scholar Kareem Khubchandani and his fabulous drag avatar LaWhore Vagistan do not want us to buy into these false logics. The duo is here to answer the age-old existential question: if it feels so right, why is it wrong?

Decolonize Drag by Kareem and drag aunty LaWhore is a paradigm-shifting meditation on drag’s extraordinary power and its simultaneous cooptation by market forces today. This unique book successfully dismantles the thickly entwined bulwark of race, gender, class, and ability through a meditation on a form of expression which has a presence and a history almost everywhere in the world. Decolonize Drag starts on a somber note, as LaWhore tells the story of finding herself in Texas during the protests in the wake of Freddie Gray’s death in cop custody in Baltimore. LaWhore and the other drag queens are reminded of the Stonewall riots in 1969, when LGBTQ protesters had risen up against the police, and in which queer and trans Black and Brown people had played an instrumental part. LaWhore realizes that this urgency and these histories of brutal criminalization of bodies, genders, and desires have come to be largely forgotten in the blur of corporate-sponsored drag parades and Pride months.

Disappointed with the turn that drag has taken today, LaWhore asks: What would drag look like if it was not in subservience to and collusion with colonial aesthetic and knowledge forms? To answer LaWhore’s poignant questions, we are handed over to Kareem, brilliant scholar and patient teacher who holds our hand through a history of drag from below. Kareem returns us to the insurgent and anticolonial core of drag, and and rescues it from its present-day whiteness, gender binarism, and profit imperatives.

The five chapters of Decolonize Drag are an eye-opening adventure, and Kareem’s talent for juggling the roles of teacher, scholar, and performer means that we are learning, we are critiquing, we are dismantling—but we are also intimately placed alongside transgressor figures whose bodies bear the scars of cruel colonial histories. Drag today has been occupied. Popular culture insists that drag is just queens and kings (usually queens, really) who produce glamorous spectacles usually through heavily feminized aesthetics like big hair, high heels and perfect lip syncing. Drag as it is represented and experienced by audiences today tends to focus on the performance of crossing and transgressing gender. Kareem reminds us that "gender is not the only or primary identity or politic being staged; race, nation, language, religion are all salient parts of drag, as are the multitude of visual, literary, and media references cited by performers in their music, dress, movement, and makeup. And this is where colonialism comes into the mix and, more importantly, the ways in which gender works as a colonial tool." Topics such as which races are more effeminate or which ones have higher sexual appetites or who can dance or sing better still remain completely normalized in media, in research and in casual conversations. Kareem connects the dots to show that empire’s civilizing missions, with its strategic and violent use of science and culture have generated these pernicious binaries of sex, race and gender.

Conquest, Kareem writes, compels the colonizer to put on display their imagined version of the sexual and gender perversity of the racialized Other. This book proves just how urgently we need a decolonized drag to break, bust, shatter, unsettle and undo the binary structures put in place by Euro-American empires. Decolonize Drag also exposes the ways in which neoliberal regimes beget hyper-professionalization which in the drag universe leads to overly curated looks and choreography; in short, a push towards perfection. The final chapter, Just Do It! Techniques and Technologies for Decolonizing Drag explicitly counters this trend. Kareem offers a how-to guide for decolonized, messy, fucked-up, untidy, de-professionalized and emancipated drag.

Much like the topic it tackles, the book functions on many different levels. There’s the critical-thinking part and there’s the deliberate-unlearning part, but the most delightful aspect of the book is the doing part. So, don’t let the shiny cover fool you. In encouraging readers to create this new world through their bodies, Kareem not only expands the meaning of drag but paves the way for what decolonizing itself might mean.

INTRODUCTION

Hai!

It’s me, LaWhore Vagistan, your favorite, over-educated, over-opinionated, over-dressed, South Asian drag aunty. I’m glad you’re reading this little book. Kareem didn’t think he could tell the story alone and wanted a famous voice from the drag world to be part of the story. He couldn’t afford one, so he asked me. Ha! Aunty is here to give you some perspective from an actual drag artist, not just a stressed-out scholar. Are we ready to spill the chai?

Picture it: Austin, Texas, 2015. It’s six in the evening at a dive bar on Red River Street, and ten drag queens are gathered around a high-top table. The manager is telling us: Pick up your own tips. No stealing. Watch your stuff. Make sure you give the DJ your music. It’s opening night of the inaugural Austin International Drag Festival, a first-of-its-kind event featuring drag artists, vendors, headliners, and opportunities for amateurs. The city was overrun by drag! Drag festivals like Wigstock (est. 1984) and Bushwig (est. 2012) in New York City certainly preceded Austin’s Festival, but girl, Austin has mastered the festival format. Like SXSW and Austin City Limits, this drag festival was massive in scope. Every downtown bar, gay and straight, had a drag show scheduled. The mornings featured marketplaces selling wigs, zines, binders, and jewelry. The afternoons showcased panels, workshops, and live recordings of queer podcasts. And at night there were drag artists serving every gender, species, and object you could fathom.

We’re only half in drag. It’s Texas in May, and so way too hot to be in full lewks before the sun has fully set. TBQH I’m not sure why they asked us to get here so early. I guess they’re nervous about everything since this was the festival’s launch. And because queens are always late! Amiright? The event manager runs through the performance set; we’re each supposed to perform two numbers, though there’s no designated changing area. Typical!

Suddenly we can’t hear ourselves talking. Black Lives! Matter! Black Lives! Matter! No justice! No peace! No justice! No peace! A little over two weeks prior, a twenty-five-year-old Black man named Freddie Gray died while in the custody of the Baltimore Police, due to the use of excessive force during his arrest. In the wake of his death, Black Lives Matter protests erupted across the US protesting extrajudicial violence against Black people. Austin’s protesters march past our venue, drowning out our pedantic planning. We stop talking, trying to figure out what the commotion is. One queen—she’s not white, but I’m not sure of her race either, queens of color need that lightening makeup for the stage, you know? She says, to break the ice and get us back to work: Ignore them. That has nothing to do with us.

A pregnant silence tells us that we don’t fully agree. "That has everything to do with us," I say. I really don’t have to say more. Our silence says we understand. That moment forced us to reflect on the Black and Brown drag queens, cross-dressers, gender rebels, and sex workers who were central to sparking the 1969 Stonewall Riots in New York, riots against the harassment of LGBTQ people by the police. We commemorate Stonewall and other uprisings like it with annual global Pride celebrations. But decades of fanfare and flair at Pride have diluted the urgency of that sticky Sunday in June 1969 when queer patrons of the Stonewall Inn resisted police harassment. Instead we drag queens sit pretty in corporate-funded floats, waving graciously at happy faces who have forgotten that our bodies, genders, and