The Clackamas print., May 10, 2006, Page 5, Image 5

Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Special Section 5
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The Clackamas Print sends a reporter
deep undercover to give the scoop on
when it takes to be a drag queen
.After
. C.J. Ciaramella
I The Clackamas Print
So I was sitting backstage in a dress, waiting for
my cue to go on, and all I could think was “God,
these heels are murder.”
I was participating in Clackamas’ first ever drag
show. Yes, as in men in women’s clothing (and vice
versa). I figured, “How many times in my life am
I going to get the opportunity to put on a dress and
dance my ass off on stage?”
I signed up with the Rainbow Club Advisor Carol
Burnell. My drag name was “Starlet,” and I was
going to perform to Abba’s “Dancing Queen.”
Of course, there’s more to being a drag queen than
slapping on a dress and a wig. Take my word for it.
Perhaps the hardest thing for an actor is to play the
opposite sex, and to be a good drag queen you have
to believe in yourself fully, look in the mirror and say
“I’m the most glamorous bitch in the world.”
But finding an outfit is no walk in the park either.
I am by no means feminine; my shoulders are too
broad, and my hips are square. Most dresses I tried
on got stuck halfway over my face. By the grace
of God alone I found a pair of heels that fit, and I
thanked Him for that sasquatch-footed woman.
The night before the show I strapped on my heels
and cued up “Dancing Queen,” the anthem to my
drag odyssey. My girlfriend watched me strut around
the living room for a little while, but soon she left. It
was just me and Abba.
The next morning I.headed to the bathroom to
change. Two of the other drag contestants were
already there, shaving their legs. As I squeezed into
my little black dress a man walked into the bath­
room, took a look at the scene and said, “’scuze me
... ladies,” as he strode by.
Backstage, women applied mustaches and men
applied blush. Three professional drag queens were
there to perform as well as judge the contest. When
I saw them in their full attire - glorious wigs, tiaras,
flowing dresses -1 realized I was a Kinkade in the
presence of Rembrants, a Danielle Steele among
Faulkners.
How was I supposed to compete? I realized I
couldn’t, but I was still going to be fabulous. A scene
from John Water’s “Pink Flamingos” flashed through
my head as I anxiously waited to go on; in the movie,
a reporter asks the ultra-glam drag queen Divine if
she believes in God. She replies, “I am God.”
With that in mind, I stormed the stage as “Dancing
Queen” echoed throughout the Community Center.
Men swooned, and women wished they were me. It’s
safe to say in retrospect that there has never been, or
ever will be, such a fine performance of Abba, not
even by Abba.
Was I disappointed when the first place award
went to another contestant? No, I channeled my inner
diva and came to the only possible conclusion: I was
too good for that show, and everyone knew it.
I would say “next year,” but I’ve already moved
beyond that show. From here, it’s all the way to the
top, baby.
Jeff Sorensen Clackamas Print
See that girl, watch that scene, diggin’ the
Dancing Queen.
Nobody said being pretty was easy.
Are my boobs on straight?”
Photos by Adam J. Manley Clackamas Print
He’s bound to catch a sailor with these nets.