GAYLETTER

Flotilla DeBarge in New York City.

Lets face it: drag as we know it is getting tedious. The names from TV are all starting to conglomerate, as each passing year gifts us with a new lot of queens to replace the last. And with each passing coronation ceremony we catapult a new crop of bitches into the drag industrial complex and move silently further from a time when queens weren’t guaranteed a check, and had just their goddess-given compulsion to transform into a glamorous diva to motivate them. The advent of ‘content’ has further smudged into obscurity the storytelling and community-building aspects of drag — which used to be tenets of the job description — and all but cast white noise over our history.

I was weary with this exhaustion when I arrived at the Jane Hotel last month for the Legends of Drag book release party. Over the past few years, my friends Harry James Hanson (more formidably known to Brooklyn as Amber Alert) and Devin Antheus have been traveling the country cataloging “queens of a certain age” for this art book meets archival project spotlighting 16 living legends from the pre-reality TV era. The book features portraits of each girl with a gorgeous bespoke floral bouquet by Antheus, followed by the lore, perspective, and fond memories that the pair managed to glean from within her. Nearly every account has raucous tales of resistance to oppression or outright violence, shenanigans from sex work, and mentions of drag family and regional dynasties, effectively rendering Legends of Drag a map of the Wild West of drag, of a time before there was anything more than utter faggotry to motivate you to put on your heels.

For the celebration, Amber flew in some of Legends’ most colorful characters, who poetically assembled beneath the original Studio 54 disco ball in the ballroom of the Jane Hotel. Pomp and circumstance were both underdressed for the occasion wherein the most outlandish costumes cleared a three-foot diameter, like the ensemble of Texas’s Tasha Kohl who posed upon every couch in her massive beaded wedding gown before she even hit the stage. Surely the fire marshal hadn’t considered queens of a certain age when considering the crowd in the ballroom, as lowly new-school queens like myself in our skimpy dresses and heels were quickly squeezed against vases and fireplaces adorning the Jane, while volcanoes heretofore dormant for perhaps decades spewed their lava into the air like limp-wristed handfuls of confetti. The bar was out of sponsored Prosecco Chambord before the sun went down, the hors d’oeuvres almost never made it to the center of the room, and even Susanne [Bartsch] had some trouble at the door. Don’t worry, reader, we got her in.

Egypt LaBeija was followed by a four-man film crew in all black from entrance to exit, but every cheek she kissed was well-rehearsed in pretending they weren’t there. The notorious Brooks family from Atlanta perched in the center of the ballroom thus emburdening themselves as the energetic focal point of the whole affair. Still, Shawnna and Nicole Paige Brooks took many moments to exchange gossip behind rings and fingernails between mother and daughter, stockpiling little reads that Nicole could whip out on the mic when she hosted shows.

For a moment, I doubted that Amber had arranged the drag set appropriately, because each number seemed to be a closer. Representing hometown NYC, Flotilla DeBarge addressed her subjects on the mic both in homily and harangue before ripping apart “When You’re Good To Mama” from Chicago in perfect alto. Las Vegas’s Lawanda Jackson, festooned in yellow ruffles and two-foot plumes, was escorted by her entire drag family to the stage to “Entrance of the Gladiators” and left the crowd in tears with her story of overcoming paralysis after a stroke. Honey, we thought the show was over and went outside for a smoke. Little did we know that Tasha Kohl, in a complete character reversal from her grand ballroom dress, was to appear onstage for the second set in a haggard and disheveled bridal gown, bodying Yvonne Fair’s “It Should Have Been Me” as a sort of jilted Havisham type and offering her other side, her inner self in contrast with to what she presented earlier, the Elphaba to her Glinda, before flying down the banister from the upper level into the ballroom. Really some deep shit. Fittingly, Shawnna Brooks, who exudes soul the way other queens sweat, and whose spirit is most definitely not of a certain age, shut the party down in her New York debut with “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” like it had come out yesterday, the way the kids kick their way through Charli XCX.

Legends of Drag offers us more than a look backward, but rather a return to purity of the art form moving forward. In bringing these queens’ stories into the modern literary discourse, Hanson and Antheus have solidified into the zeitgeist the passion in drag and the gay deity of queens, one that existed in its concentrated form before it was paved over by the highway to catchphrase phase. I left the Jane Hotel wishing everyone could’ve seen it, that queens who suffer from drag ennui as I do could realize that they’re descendants of the most fabulous lineage there’s ever been, that being fierce knows no age, borders, or physical limits, that resilience and survival just make you fiercer, I swear I saw it myself! But they were all tucked under my arm in this crucial new addition to my gay library and yours. Legends of Drag is out now from Abrams Books, and Hanson and Antheus will be throwing kikis like they did at the Jane nationwide on tour this summer.

This story was printed in GAYLETTER Issue 16, get a copy here.

Get the Legends of Drag book here.

Carla Gay in San Francisco.

Lets face it: drag as we know it is getting tedious. The names from TV are all starting to conglomerate, as each passing year gifts us with a new lot of queens to replace the last. And with each passing coronation ceremony we catapult a new crop of bitches into the drag industrial complex and move silently further from a time when queens weren’t guaranteed a check, and had just their goddess-given compulsion to transform into a glamorous diva to motivate them. The advent of ‘content’ has further smudged into obscurity the storytelling and community-building aspects of drag — which used to be tenets of the job description — and all but cast white noise over our history.

I was weary with this exhaustion when I arrived at the Jane Hotel last month for the Legends of Drag book release party. Over the past few years, my friends Harry James Hanson (more formidably known to Brooklyn as Amber Alert) and Devin Antheus have been traveling the country cataloging “queens of a certain age” for this art book meets archival project spotlighting 16 living legends from the pre-reality TV era. The book features portraits of each girl with a gorgeous bespoke floral bouquet by Antheus, followed by the lore, perspective, and fond memories that the pair managed to glean from within her. Nearly every account has raucous tales of resistance to oppression or outright violence, shenanigans from sex work, and mentions of drag family and regional dynasties, effectively rendering Legends of Drag a map of the Wild West of drag, of a time before there was anything more than utter faggotry to motivate you to put on your heels.

For the celebration, Amber flew in some of Legends’ most colorful characters, who poetically assembled beneath the original Studio 54 disco ball in the ballroom of the Jane Hotel. Pomp and circumstance were both underdressed for the occasion wherein the most outlandish costumes cleared a three-foot diameter, like the ensemble of Texas’s Tasha Kohl who posed upon every couch in her massive beaded wedding gown before she even hit the stage. Surely the fire marshal hadn’t considered queens of a certain age when considering the crowd in the ballroom, as lowly new-school queens like myself in our skimpy dresses and heels were quickly squeezed against vases and fireplaces adorning the Jane, while volcanoes heretofore dormant for perhaps decades spewed their lava into the air like limp-wristed handfuls of confetti. The bar was out of sponsored Prosecco Chambord before the sun went down, the hors d’oeuvres almost never made it to the center of the room, and even Susanne [Bartsch] had some trouble at the door. Don’t worry, reader, we got her in.

Egypt LaBeija was followed by a four-man film crew in all black from entrance to exit, but every cheek she kissed was well-rehearsed in pretending they weren’t there. The notorious Brooks family from Atlanta perched in the center of the ballroom thus emburdening themselves as the energetic focal point of the whole affair. Still, Shawnna and Nicole Paige Brooks took many moments to exchange gossip behind rings and fingernails between mother and daughter, stockpiling little reads that Nicole could whip out on the mic when she hosted shows.

For a moment, I doubted that Amber had arranged the drag set appropriately, because each number seemed to be a closer. Representing hometown NYC, Flotilla DeBarge addressed her subjects on the mic both in homily and harangue before ripping apart “When You’re Good To Mama” from Chicago in perfect alto. Las Vegas’s Lawanda Jackson, festooned in yellow ruffles and two-foot plumes, was escorted by her entire drag family to the stage to “Entrance of the Gladiators” and left the crowd in tears with her story of overcoming paralysis after a stroke. Honey, we thought the show was over and went outside for a smoke. Little did we know that Tasha Kohl, in a complete character reversal from her grand ballroom dress, was to appear onstage for the second set in a haggard and disheveled bridal gown, bodying Yvonne Fair’s “It Should Have Been Me” as a sort of jilted Havisham type and offering her other side, her inner self in contrast with to what she presented earlier, the Elphaba to her Glinda, before flying down the banister from the upper level into the ballroom. Really some deep shit. Fittingly, Shawnna Brooks, who exudes soul the way other queens sweat, and whose spirit is most definitely not of a certain age, shut the party down in her New York debut with “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” like it had come out yesterday, the way the kids kick their way through Charli XCX.

Legends of Drag offers us more than a look backward, but rather a return to purity of the art form moving forward. In bringing these queens’ stories into the modern literary discourse, Hanson and Antheus have solidified into the zeitgeist the passion in drag and the gay deity of queens, one that existed in its concentrated form before it was paved over by the highway to catchphrase phase. I left the Jane Hotel wishing everyone could’ve seen it, that queens who suffer from drag ennui as I do could realize that they’re descendants of the most fabulous lineage there’s ever been, that being fierce knows no age, borders, or physical limits, that resilience and survival just make you fiercer, I swear I saw it myself! But they were all tucked under my arm in this crucial new addition to my gay library and yours. Legends of Drag is out now from Abrams Books, and Hanson and Antheus will be throwing kikis like they did at the Jane nationwide on tour this summer.

This story was printed in GAYLETTER Issue 16, get a copy here.

Get the Legends of Drag book here.

Dolly Levi in Los Angeles.

Lets face it: drag as we know it is getting tedious. The names from TV are all starting to conglomerate, as each passing year gifts us with a new lot of queens to replace the last. And with each passing coronation ceremony we catapult a new crop of bitches into the drag industrial complex and move silently further from a time when queens weren’t guaranteed a check, and had just their goddess-given compulsion to transform into a glamorous diva to motivate them. The advent of ‘content’ has further smudged into obscurity the storytelling and community-building aspects of drag — which used to be tenets of the job description — and all but cast white noise over our history.

I was weary with this exhaustion when I arrived at the Jane Hotel last month for the Legends of Drag book release party. Over the past few years, my friends Harry James Hanson (more formidably known to Brooklyn as Amber Alert) and Devin Antheus have been traveling the country cataloging “queens of a certain age” for this art book meets archival project spotlighting 16 living legends from the pre-reality TV era. The book features portraits of each girl with a gorgeous bespoke floral bouquet by Antheus, followed by the lore, perspective, and fond memories that the pair managed to glean from within her. Nearly every account has raucous tales of resistance to oppression or outright violence, shenanigans from sex work, and mentions of drag family and regional dynasties, effectively rendering Legends of Drag a map of the Wild West of drag, of a time before there was anything more than utter faggotry to motivate you to put on your heels.

For the celebration, Amber flew in some of Legends’ most colorful characters, who poetically assembled beneath the original Studio 54 disco ball in the ballroom of the Jane Hotel. Pomp and circumstance were both underdressed for the occasion wherein the most outlandish costumes cleared a three-foot diameter, like the ensemble of Texas’s Tasha Kohl who posed upon every couch in her massive beaded wedding gown before she even hit the stage. Surely the fire marshal hadn’t considered queens of a certain age when considering the crowd in the ballroom, as lowly new-school queens like myself in our skimpy dresses and heels were quickly squeezed against vases and fireplaces adorning the Jane, while volcanoes heretofore dormant for perhaps decades spewed their lava into the air like limp-wristed handfuls of confetti. The bar was out of sponsored Prosecco Chambord before the sun went down, the hors d’oeuvres almost never made it to the center of the room, and even Susanne [Bartsch] had some trouble at the door. Don’t worry, reader, we got her in.

Egypt LaBeija was followed by a four-man film crew in all black from entrance to exit, but every cheek she kissed was well-rehearsed in pretending they weren’t there. The notorious Brooks family from Atlanta perched in the center of the ballroom thus emburdening themselves as the energetic focal point of the whole affair. Still, Shawnna and Nicole Paige Brooks took many moments to exchange gossip behind rings and fingernails between mother and daughter, stockpiling little reads that Nicole could whip out on the mic when she hosted shows.

For a moment, I doubted that Amber had arranged the drag set appropriately, because each number seemed to be a closer. Representing hometown NYC, Flotilla DeBarge addressed her subjects on the mic both in homily and harangue before ripping apart “When You’re Good To Mama” from Chicago in perfect alto. Las Vegas’s Lawanda Jackson, festooned in yellow ruffles and two-foot plumes, was escorted by her entire drag family to the stage to “Entrance of the Gladiators” and left the crowd in tears with her story of overcoming paralysis after a stroke. Honey, we thought the show was over and went outside for a smoke. Little did we know that Tasha Kohl, in a complete character reversal from her grand ballroom dress, was to appear onstage for the second set in a haggard and disheveled bridal gown, bodying Yvonne Fair’s “It Should Have Been Me” as a sort of jilted Havisham type and offering her other side, her inner self in contrast with to what she presented earlier, the Elphaba to her Glinda, before flying down the banister from the upper level into the ballroom. Really some deep shit. Fittingly, Shawnna Brooks, who exudes soul the way other queens sweat, and whose spirit is most definitely not of a certain age, shut the party down in her New York debut with “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” like it had come out yesterday, the way the kids kick their way through Charli XCX.

Legends of Drag offers us more than a look backward, but rather a return to purity of the art form moving forward. In bringing these queens’ stories into the modern literary discourse, Hanson and Antheus have solidified into the zeitgeist the passion in drag and the gay deity of queens, one that existed in its concentrated form before it was paved over by the highway to catchphrase phase. I left the Jane Hotel wishing everyone could’ve seen it, that queens who suffer from drag ennui as I do could realize that they’re descendants of the most fabulous lineage there’s ever been, that being fierce knows no age, borders, or physical limits, that resilience and survival just make you fiercer, I swear I saw it myself! But they were all tucked under my arm in this crucial new addition to my gay library and yours. Legends of Drag is out now from Abrams Books, and Hanson and Antheus will be throwing kikis like they did at the Jane nationwide on tour this summer.

This story was printed in GAYLETTER Issue 16, get a copy here.

Get the Legends of Drag book here.

Shawnna Brooks in Atlanta.

Lets face it: drag as we know it is getting tedious. The names from TV are all starting to conglomerate, as each passing year gifts us with a new lot of queens to replace the last. And with each passing coronation ceremony we catapult a new crop of bitches into the drag industrial complex and move silently further from a time when queens weren’t guaranteed a check, and had just their goddess-given compulsion to transform into a glamorous diva to motivate them. The advent of ‘content’ has further smudged into obscurity the storytelling and community-building aspects of drag — which used to be tenets of the job description — and all but cast white noise over our history.

I was weary with this exhaustion when I arrived at the Jane Hotel last month for the Legends of Drag book release party. Over the past few years, my friends Harry James Hanson (more formidably known to Brooklyn as Amber Alert) and Devin Antheus have been traveling the country cataloging “queens of a certain age” for this art book meets archival project spotlighting 16 living legends from the pre-reality TV era. The book features portraits of each girl with a gorgeous bespoke floral bouquet by Antheus, followed by the lore, perspective, and fond memories that the pair managed to glean from within her. Nearly every account has raucous tales of resistance to oppression or outright violence, shenanigans from sex work, and mentions of drag family and regional dynasties, effectively rendering Legends of Drag a map of the Wild West of drag, of a time before there was anything more than utter faggotry to motivate you to put on your heels.

For the celebration, Amber flew in some of Legends’ most colorful characters, who poetically assembled beneath the original Studio 54 disco ball in the ballroom of the Jane Hotel. Pomp and circumstance were both underdressed for the occasion wherein the most outlandish costumes cleared a three-foot diameter, like the ensemble of Texas’s Tasha Kohl who posed upon every couch in her massive beaded wedding gown before she even hit the stage. Surely the fire marshal hadn’t considered queens of a certain age when considering the crowd in the ballroom, as lowly new-school queens like myself in our skimpy dresses and heels were quickly squeezed against vases and fireplaces adorning the Jane, while volcanoes heretofore dormant for perhaps decades spewed their lava into the air like limp-wristed handfuls of confetti. The bar was out of sponsored Prosecco Chambord before the sun went down, the hors d’oeuvres almost never made it to the center of the room, and even Susanne [Bartsch] had some trouble at the door. Don’t worry, reader, we got her in.

Egypt LaBeija was followed by a four-man film crew in all black from entrance to exit, but every cheek she kissed was well-rehearsed in pretending they weren’t there. The notorious Brooks family from Atlanta perched in the center of the ballroom thus emburdening themselves as the energetic focal point of the whole affair. Still, Shawnna and Nicole Paige Brooks took many moments to exchange gossip behind rings and fingernails between mother and daughter, stockpiling little reads that Nicole could whip out on the mic when she hosted shows.

For a moment, I doubted that Amber had arranged the drag set appropriately, because each number seemed to be a closer. Representing hometown NYC, Flotilla DeBarge addressed her subjects on the mic both in homily and harangue before ripping apart “When You’re Good To Mama” from Chicago in perfect alto. Las Vegas’s Lawanda Jackson, festooned in yellow ruffles and two-foot plumes, was escorted by her entire drag family to the stage to “Entrance of the Gladiators” and left the crowd in tears with her story of overcoming paralysis after a stroke. Honey, we thought the show was over and went outside for a smoke. Little did we know that Tasha Kohl, in a complete character reversal from her grand ballroom dress, was to appear onstage for the second set in a haggard and disheveled bridal gown, bodying Yvonne Fair’s “It Should Have Been Me” as a sort of jilted Havisham type and offering her other side, her inner self in contrast with to what she presented earlier, the Elphaba to her Glinda, before flying down the banister from the upper level into the ballroom. Really some deep shit. Fittingly, Shawnna Brooks, who exudes soul the way other queens sweat, and whose spirit is most definitely not of a certain age, shut the party down in her New York debut with “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” like it had come out yesterday, the way the kids kick their way through Charli XCX.

Legends of Drag offers us more than a look backward, but rather a return to purity of the art form moving forward. In bringing these queens’ stories into the modern literary discourse, Hanson and Antheus have solidified into the zeitgeist the passion in drag and the gay deity of queens, one that existed in its concentrated form before it was paved over by the highway to catchphrase phase. I left the Jane Hotel wishing everyone could’ve seen it, that queens who suffer from drag ennui as I do could realize that they’re descendants of the most fabulous lineage there’s ever been, that being fierce knows no age, borders, or physical limits, that resilience and survival just make you fiercer, I swear I saw it myself! But they were all tucked under my arm in this crucial new addition to my gay library and yours. Legends of Drag is out now from Abrams Books, and Hanson and Antheus will be throwing kikis like they did at the Jane nationwide on tour this summer.

This story was printed in GAYLETTER Issue 16, get a copy here.

Get the Legends of Drag book here.

Tasha Kohl in Dallas.

Lets face it: drag as we know it is getting tedious. The names from TV are all starting to conglomerate, as each passing year gifts us with a new lot of queens to replace the last. And with each passing coronation ceremony we catapult a new crop of bitches into the drag industrial complex and move silently further from a time when queens weren’t guaranteed a check, and had just their goddess-given compulsion to transform into a glamorous diva to motivate them. The advent of ‘content’ has further smudged into obscurity the storytelling and community-building aspects of drag — which used to be tenets of the job description — and all but cast white noise over our history.

I was weary with this exhaustion when I arrived at the Jane Hotel last month for the Legends of Drag book release party. Over the past few years, my friends Harry James Hanson (more formidably known to Brooklyn as Amber Alert) and Devin Antheus have been traveling the country cataloging “queens of a certain age” for this art book meets archival project spotlighting 16 living legends from the pre-reality TV era. The book features portraits of each girl with a gorgeous bespoke floral bouquet by Antheus, followed by the lore, perspective, and fond memories that the pair managed to glean from within her. Nearly every account has raucous tales of resistance to oppression or outright violence, shenanigans from sex work, and mentions of drag family and regional dynasties, effectively rendering Legends of Drag a map of the Wild West of drag, of a time before there was anything more than utter faggotry to motivate you to put on your heels.

For the celebration, Amber flew in some of Legends’ most colorful characters, who poetically assembled beneath the original Studio 54 disco ball in the ballroom of the Jane Hotel. Pomp and circumstance were both underdressed for the occasion wherein the most outlandish costumes cleared a three-foot diameter, like the ensemble of Texas’s Tasha Kohl who posed upon every couch in her massive beaded wedding gown before she even hit the stage. Surely the fire marshal hadn’t considered queens of a certain age when considering the crowd in the ballroom, as lowly new-school queens like myself in our skimpy dresses and heels were quickly squeezed against vases and fireplaces adorning the Jane, while volcanoes heretofore dormant for perhaps decades spewed their lava into the air like limp-wristed handfuls of confetti. The bar was out of sponsored Prosecco Chambord before the sun went down, the hors d’oeuvres almost never made it to the center of the room, and even Susanne [Bartsch] had some trouble at the door. Don’t worry, reader, we got her in.

Egypt LaBeija was followed by a four-man film crew in all black from entrance to exit, but every cheek she kissed was well-rehearsed in pretending they weren’t there. The notorious Brooks family from Atlanta perched in the center of the ballroom thus emburdening themselves as the energetic focal point of the whole affair. Still, Shawnna and Nicole Paige Brooks took many moments to exchange gossip behind rings and fingernails between mother and daughter, stockpiling little reads that Nicole could whip out on the mic when she hosted shows.

For a moment, I doubted that Amber had arranged the drag set appropriately, because each number seemed to be a closer. Representing hometown NYC, Flotilla DeBarge addressed her subjects on the mic both in homily and harangue before ripping apart “When You’re Good To Mama” from Chicago in perfect alto. Las Vegas’s Lawanda Jackson, festooned in yellow ruffles and two-foot plumes, was escorted by her entire drag family to the stage to “Entrance of the Gladiators” and left the crowd in tears with her story of overcoming paralysis after a stroke. Honey, we thought the show was over and went outside for a smoke. Little did we know that Tasha Kohl, in a complete character reversal from her grand ballroom dress, was to appear onstage for the second set in a haggard and disheveled bridal gown, bodying Yvonne Fair’s “It Should Have Been Me” as a sort of jilted Havisham type and offering her other side, her inner self in contrast with to what she presented earlier, the Elphaba to her Glinda, before flying down the banister from the upper level into the ballroom. Really some deep shit. Fittingly, Shawnna Brooks, who exudes soul the way other queens sweat, and whose spirit is most definitely not of a certain age, shut the party down in her New York debut with “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” like it had come out yesterday, the way the kids kick their way through Charli XCX.

Legends of Drag offers us more than a look backward, but rather a return to purity of the art form moving forward. In bringing these queens’ stories into the modern literary discourse, Hanson and Antheus have solidified into the zeitgeist the passion in drag and the gay deity of queens, one that existed in its concentrated form before it was paved over by the highway to catchphrase phase. I left the Jane Hotel wishing everyone could’ve seen it, that queens who suffer from drag ennui as I do could realize that they’re descendants of the most fabulous lineage there’s ever been, that being fierce knows no age, borders, or physical limits, that resilience and survival just make you fiercer, I swear I saw it myself! But they were all tucked under my arm in this crucial new addition to my gay library and yours. Legends of Drag is out now from Abrams Books, and Hanson and Antheus will be throwing kikis like they did at the Jane nationwide on tour this summer.

This story was printed in GAYLETTER Issue 16, get a copy here.

Get the Legends of Drag book here.

Christina Chase in Milwaukee.

Lets face it: drag as we know it is getting tedious. The names from TV are all starting to conglomerate, as each passing year gifts us with a new lot of queens to replace the last. And with each passing coronation ceremony we catapult a new crop of bitches into the drag industrial complex and move silently further from a time when queens weren’t guaranteed a check, and had just their goddess-given compulsion to transform into a glamorous diva to motivate them. The advent of ‘content’ has further smudged into obscurity the storytelling and community-building aspects of drag — which used to be tenets of the job description — and all but cast white noise over our history.

I was weary with this exhaustion when I arrived at the Jane Hotel last month for the Legends of Drag book release party. Over the past few years, my friends Harry James Hanson (more formidably known to Brooklyn as Amber Alert) and Devin Antheus have been traveling the country cataloging “queens of a certain age” for this art book meets archival project spotlighting 16 living legends from the pre-reality TV era. The book features portraits of each girl with a gorgeous bespoke floral bouquet by Antheus, followed by the lore, perspective, and fond memories that the pair managed to glean from within her. Nearly every account has raucous tales of resistance to oppression or outright violence, shenanigans from sex work, and mentions of drag family and regional dynasties, effectively rendering Legends of Drag a map of the Wild West of drag, of a time before there was anything more than utter faggotry to motivate you to put on your heels.

For the celebration, Amber flew in some of Legends’ most colorful characters, who poetically assembled beneath the original Studio 54 disco ball in the ballroom of the Jane Hotel. Pomp and circumstance were both underdressed for the occasion wherein the most outlandish costumes cleared a three-foot diameter, like the ensemble of Texas’s Tasha Kohl who posed upon every couch in her massive beaded wedding gown before she even hit the stage. Surely the fire marshal hadn’t considered queens of a certain age when considering the crowd in the ballroom, as lowly new-school queens like myself in our skimpy dresses and heels were quickly squeezed against vases and fireplaces adorning the Jane, while volcanoes heretofore dormant for perhaps decades spewed their lava into the air like limp-wristed handfuls of confetti. The bar was out of sponsored Prosecco Chambord before the sun went down, the hors d’oeuvres almost never made it to the center of the room, and even Susanne [Bartsch] had some trouble at the door. Don’t worry, reader, we got her in.

Egypt LaBeija was followed by a four-man film crew in all black from entrance to exit, but every cheek she kissed was well-rehearsed in pretending they weren’t there. The notorious Brooks family from Atlanta perched in the center of the ballroom thus emburdening themselves as the energetic focal point of the whole affair. Still, Shawnna and Nicole Paige Brooks took many moments to exchange gossip behind rings and fingernails between mother and daughter, stockpiling little reads that Nicole could whip out on the mic when she hosted shows.

For a moment, I doubted that Amber had arranged the drag set appropriately, because each number seemed to be a closer. Representing hometown NYC, Flotilla DeBarge addressed her subjects on the mic both in homily and harangue before ripping apart “When You’re Good To Mama” from Chicago in perfect alto. Las Vegas’s Lawanda Jackson, festooned in yellow ruffles and two-foot plumes, was escorted by her entire drag family to the stage to “Entrance of the Gladiators” and left the crowd in tears with her story of overcoming paralysis after a stroke. Honey, we thought the show was over and went outside for a smoke. Little did we know that Tasha Kohl, in a complete character reversal from her grand ballroom dress, was to appear onstage for the second set in a haggard and disheveled bridal gown, bodying Yvonne Fair’s “It Should Have Been Me” as a sort of jilted Havisham type and offering her other side, her inner self in contrast with to what she presented earlier, the Elphaba to her Glinda, before flying down the banister from the upper level into the ballroom. Really some deep shit. Fittingly, Shawnna Brooks, who exudes soul the way other queens sweat, and whose spirit is most definitely not of a certain age, shut the party down in her New York debut with “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” like it had come out yesterday, the way the kids kick their way through Charli XCX.

Legends of Drag offers us more than a look backward, but rather a return to purity of the art form moving forward. In bringing these queens’ stories into the modern literary discourse, Hanson and Antheus have solidified into the zeitgeist the passion in drag and the gay deity of queens, one that existed in its concentrated form before it was paved over by the highway to catchphrase phase. I left the Jane Hotel wishing everyone could’ve seen it, that queens who suffer from drag ennui as I do could realize that they’re descendants of the most fabulous lineage there’s ever been, that being fierce knows no age, borders, or physical limits, that resilience and survival just make you fiercer, I swear I saw it myself! But they were all tucked under my arm in this crucial new addition to my gay library and yours. Legends of Drag is out now from Abrams Books, and Hanson and Antheus will be throwing kikis like they did at the Jane nationwide on tour this summer.

This story was printed in GAYLETTER Issue 16, get a copy here.

Get the Legends of Drag book here.

China in Fort Lauderdale.

Lets face it: drag as we know it is getting tedious. The names from TV are all starting to conglomerate, as each passing year gifts us with a new lot of queens to replace the last. And with each passing coronation ceremony we catapult a new crop of bitches into the drag industrial complex and move silently further from a time when queens weren’t guaranteed a check, and had just their goddess-given compulsion to transform into a glamorous diva to motivate them. The advent of ‘content’ has further smudged into obscurity the storytelling and community-building aspects of drag — which used to be tenets of the job description — and all but cast white noise over our history.

I was weary with this exhaustion when I arrived at the Jane Hotel last month for the Legends of Drag book release party. Over the past few years, my friends Harry James Hanson (more formidably known to Brooklyn as Amber Alert) and Devin Antheus have been traveling the country cataloging “queens of a certain age” for this art book meets archival project spotlighting 16 living legends from the pre-reality TV era. The book features portraits of each girl with a gorgeous bespoke floral bouquet by Antheus, followed by the lore, perspective, and fond memories that the pair managed to glean from within her. Nearly every account has raucous tales of resistance to oppression or outright violence, shenanigans from sex work, and mentions of drag family and regional dynasties, effectively rendering Legends of Drag a map of the Wild West of drag, of a time before there was anything more than utter faggotry to motivate you to put on your heels.

For the celebration, Amber flew in some of Legends’ most colorful characters, who poetically assembled beneath the original Studio 54 disco ball in the ballroom of the Jane Hotel. Pomp and circumstance were both underdressed for the occasion wherein the most outlandish costumes cleared a three-foot diameter, like the ensemble of Texas’s Tasha Kohl who posed upon every couch in her massive beaded wedding gown before she even hit the stage. Surely the fire marshal hadn’t considered queens of a certain age when considering the crowd in the ballroom, as lowly new-school queens like myself in our skimpy dresses and heels were quickly squeezed against vases and fireplaces adorning the Jane, while volcanoes heretofore dormant for perhaps decades spewed their lava into the air like limp-wristed handfuls of confetti. The bar was out of sponsored Prosecco Chambord before the sun went down, the hors d’oeuvres almost never made it to the center of the room, and even Susanne [Bartsch] had some trouble at the door. Don’t worry, reader, we got her in.

Egypt LaBeija was followed by a four-man film crew in all black from entrance to exit, but every cheek she kissed was well-rehearsed in pretending they weren’t there. The notorious Brooks family from Atlanta perched in the center of the ballroom thus emburdening themselves as the energetic focal point of the whole affair. Still, Shawnna and Nicole Paige Brooks took many moments to exchange gossip behind rings and fingernails between mother and daughter, stockpiling little reads that Nicole could whip out on the mic when she hosted shows.

For a moment, I doubted that Amber had arranged the drag set appropriately, because each number seemed to be a closer. Representing hometown NYC, Flotilla DeBarge addressed her subjects on the mic both in homily and harangue before ripping apart “When You’re Good To Mama” from Chicago in perfect alto. Las Vegas’s Lawanda Jackson, festooned in yellow ruffles and two-foot plumes, was escorted by her entire drag family to the stage to “Entrance of the Gladiators” and left the crowd in tears with her story of overcoming paralysis after a stroke. Honey, we thought the show was over and went outside for a smoke. Little did we know that Tasha Kohl, in a complete character reversal from her grand ballroom dress, was to appear onstage for the second set in a haggard and disheveled bridal gown, bodying Yvonne Fair’s “It Should Have Been Me” as a sort of jilted Havisham type and offering her other side, her inner self in contrast with to what she presented earlier, the Elphaba to her Glinda, before flying down the banister from the upper level into the ballroom. Really some deep shit. Fittingly, Shawnna Brooks, who exudes soul the way other queens sweat, and whose spirit is most definitely not of a certain age, shut the party down in her New York debut with “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” like it had come out yesterday, the way the kids kick their way through Charli XCX.

Legends of Drag offers us more than a look backward, but rather a return to purity of the art form moving forward. In bringing these queens’ stories into the modern literary discourse, Hanson and Antheus have solidified into the zeitgeist the passion in drag and the gay deity of queens, one that existed in its concentrated form before it was paved over by the highway to catchphrase phase. I left the Jane Hotel wishing everyone could’ve seen it, that queens who suffer from drag ennui as I do could realize that they’re descendants of the most fabulous lineage there’s ever been, that being fierce knows no age, borders, or physical limits, that resilience and survival just make you fiercer, I swear I saw it myself! But they were all tucked under my arm in this crucial new addition to my gay library and yours. Legends of Drag is out now from Abrams Books, and Hanson and Antheus will be throwing kikis like they did at the Jane nationwide on tour this summer.

This story was printed in GAYLETTER Issue 16, get a copy here.

Get the Legends of Drag book here.