





































JO.!J B,!Jt 

'QlallJl. QlallJl. QlallJl.· ment tlJe ~rolle.!J 
I am 23 and in a large dressing room full of half-naked drag queens 

primping and pouring themselves into scintillating ball gowns. There is a 
leggy black bombshell to one side who pushes her hip pads into place be­
neath a pair of opaque tights. Her pink brassiere is overflowing with taped 
man cleavage and thick contour lines have been drawn in beige and brown 
eye shadow to give the illusion of breast. I am sitting in a corner with an 
old Minolta 25 in my hands and I place it over my right eye to adjust the 
aperture and snap her photo. 

Next to me, at a dressing table is my best friend, Brett, aka Rose Petal. 
He is sitting bare-chested in front of a large mirror with globe lights above 
it. In front of him are rows and rows of neatly laid out makeup supplies: 
brushes, tubes and jars all arranged on a white towel. His short dark hair 
is hidden beneath a wig cap and he is using a sponge to apply dermablend 
to the sleek curves of his face. Dermablend is a heavy foundation people 
with skin abnormalities use to cover birthmarks and scars, he tells me. It 
is the basis of every good drag queen's makeup because it covers stubble so 
well. He is telling me this because it is my first time being allowed behind 
the curtain so to speak. Straight women, even those who have earned the 
title of endearment known as "hags", like myself, are not typically allowed 
upstairs in the green room before a show. I don't ask why this is, but I am 
aware that they have bent the rules for me on this night. I am shooting a 
series for a photojournalism project and though Brett is my main subject, 
the others have extended this courtesy and are giving me a crash course in 
what it takes to be a professional showgirl. 

A middle aged queen named Lena Myers takes a long drag of her ciga­
rette and leans into me. "That one over there;' she whispers while pointing 
at a stunning brunette who looks similar to Linda Evangelista and is wear­
ing a Barabarella costume. "She's ten years post-op ... The tits look great, but 
they slaughtered the vag. It's a train wreck down there:' 

"Ah ... " I say, without knowing what else to offer. "Well, she's still gor­
geous:' 

"She is, isn't she? Makes me want to gag. She's got a trans-fan man and 
lives her life as a woman full time. But she's really the only M2F on the cir­
cuit. Almost everyone lives in boy mode:' 

I know most of these terms from hanging out with Brett, but I have to 
ask what exactly is an M2F. 

"Male to female, darling;' she whispers back while patting me on the 

88 

head. "You're a good little fruit fl) 
terminology:' 

Brett and I have been friend 
am fascinated by the world of dra 
friends, who also happen to be ga­
mutual enchantment with wigged 
friends and admirers affectionate 
and had just moved up the ranks 
real-live-money-making-crowd-i: 
Garland, and I have to admit that 
he looks incredibly like her. Som€ 
ent outfits, different wigs, lip syn 
cello or Blu Cantrell. But when h 
he costumes himself as a 1950s ] 
Trolley Song" from Meet Me In Sa 

"Well, honey, whaddaya thir 
with my camera. Her face is a wo 
ingly applied layers of dermablenc 
top of this is contoured shadowin 
illusion of fuller cheekbones and : 
the truth, Rose really doesn't nee' 
ready high and full, her nose aln 
powder finish off the skin. Blood 
eyes are the most splendid feature. 
higher, dramatically arched lines 
brown doe eyes are black rimmec 
lashes and shimmering powder. T 
and flawless. 

"I think you are beautiful;' I 1 

bobbed wig are being made with 
spray. When she stands to slip inti 
face and the muscled torso of a sr 
vice used to tuck the penis and t 
top pantyhose and girdle. In a m1 
silicone breast inserts into the cup 
silver stilettos. Bronzer is dusted i 
then she holds up THE GOWN. It 
covered in crystals and bead work. 
finish and clasp the top of the gov. 
ror. The stark contrast between m1 
stunning creature makes me instai 



t~e Trolle.!J 
n full of half-naked drag queens 
:intillating ball gowns. There is a 
llshes her hip pads into place be­
·assiere is overflowing with taped 
e been drawn in beige and brown 
I am sitting in a corner with an 

it over my right eye to adjust the 

best friend, Brett, aka Rose Petal. 
ge mirror with globe lights above 
neatly laid out makeup supplies: 
. white towel. His short dark hair 
ng a sponge to apply dermablend 
~nd is a heavy foundation people 
thmarks and scars, he tells me. It 
ikeup because it covers stubble so 
y first time being allowed behind 
, even those who have earned the 
! myself, are not typically allowed 
"· I don't ask why this is, but I am 
ne on this night. I am shooting a 
though Brett is my main subject, 

1d are giving me a crash course in 
rl. 
1yers takes a long drag of her ciga-
1ere;' she whispers while pointing 
· to Linda Evangelista and is wear­
s post-op ... The tits look great, but 
:k down there:' 
• else to offer. "Well, she's still gor-

gag. She's got a trans-fan man and 
ie's really the only M2F on the cir-
,, 

.nging out with Brett, but I have to 

?ers back while patting me on the 

head. "You're a good little fruit fly, but you really need to bone up on your 
terminology:' 

Brett and I have been friends for a few years by now and he knows I 
am fascinated by the world of drag. We were introduced by my other close 
friends, who also happen to be gay, and immediately hit it off based on this 
mutual enchantment with wigged and sequined men. Brett, or Rose as his 
friends and admirers affectionately call him, was in his late twenties then 
and had just moved up the ranks from sometime female impersonator to 
real-live-money-making-crowd-pleasing Drag Queen. His shtick is Judy 
Garland, and I have to admit that when his is fully made up and outfitted, 
he looks incredibly like her. Some nights, Rose will appear wearing differ­
ent outfits, different wigs, lip synching to the likes of Michelle Nedegeo­
cello or Blu Cantrell. But when he is most lauded, most cheered, is when 
he costumes himself as a 1950s Judy and performs something like "The 
Trolley Song" from Meet Me In Saint Louis . 

"Well, honey, whaddaya think;' he says, as I look up from messing 
with my camera. Her face is a work of art at this point. She has painstak­
ingly applied layers of dermablend to make a perfectly smooth canvas. On 
top of this is contoured shadowing that isn't readily evident, but gives the 
illusion of fuller cheekbones and a thinner nose bridge, though to tell you 
the truth, Rose really doesn't need these touches. Her cheekbones are al­
ready high and full, her nose already petite. Another layer of blush and 
powder finish off the skin. Blood red liner and gloss fill her lips. But the 
eyes are the most splendid feature. She has shaved off her brows and drawn 
higher, dramatically arched lines that remind me of Joan Crawford. Her 
brown doe eyes are black rimmed and made even larger by the false eye­
lashes and shimmering powder. The face before me is incredibly feminine 
and flawless. 

"I think you are beautiful;' I say. The final touches to her dark brown 
bobbed wig are being made with pins and several thick coatings of hair­
spray. When she stands to slip into her gown, she has a woman's stunning 
face and the muscled torso of a small man. His hip pads and gaff, the de­
vice used to tuck the penis and testicles back, are hidden under control 
top pantyhose and girdle. In a moment Rose puts on her bra, places the 
silicone breast inserts into the cups and slides her size 10 feet into six inch 
silver stilettos. Bronzer is dusted in vertical lines to simulate cleavage and 
then she holds up THE GOWN. It is stunning; a black and silver full length 
covered in crystals and bead work. Will you zip me up? She questions. As I 
finish and clasp the top of the gown I am standing behind her in the mir­
ror. The stark contrast between my pale face and bohemian dress and this 
stunning creature makes me instantly want to fix my hair and reapply my 

89 



lipstick. She smiles at me in the mirror and then assesses herself. "Not half 
bad, ifl do say so myself' One last tweak with a brush and Rose slips some 
cash and a pack of Virginia Slims into a beaded handbag and says, "Follow 
me. I need to do one last thing before I am readY:' 

The two of us walk down the narrow stair well to a back door. The 
stage manager is nearby. He's talking into his headset and turns to us: 
"Rose, you are on in ten. Don't be long:' She swings the metal door open, 
grabs my hand and we step out into a dark alley. "I just need to loosen up a 
bit before I face the crowd;' says Rose as she pulls a tiny joint from her pack 
of smokes. Her hands are the only things that betray her here. They are 
too large and square for a woman, even with the long press-on nails. One 
of them reaches up and places the joint gingerly between her lips and the 
other lights the end. She inhales deeply, holds her breath and then seizes 
into a coughing fit as the smokes trails from her mouth. "Here;' she croaks 
as she passes me the joint. To be fair, I have had a few cocktails by this point 
and am already worried about the quality of my vision to continue taking 
photographs. But, out of politeness, I take a hit from the joint and pass it 
back. She inhales one more time and asks me what I am thinking. 

'Tm wishing there were straight female drag queens. I want a reason 
to wear rhinestones and sequins:' 

She chuckles, "Well, honey, gold is in the dust that blinds all eyes. You 
get to have real boobs and wear makeup in the middle of the day without 
anyone thinking twice. Unfortunately, that means we've got the monopoly 
on drag and there's not much room for straight women ... that is unless you 
are willing to do the Victor/Victory thing and run off to Broadway:' 

As we head inside, I ask if she needs anything and tell her to break a 
leg. The venue is such a hole in the wall that to get to your seats out front 
or get to the bathrooms in back you have to wait for a performer to finish 
their routine and race across the ten foot by ten foot stage and down a few 
steps in front of the entire audience. Iman, a 6'3" Janet Jackson imperson­
ator, is winding up her routine with the raucous crowd. Right after she 
leaps up from the splits her song ends, she bows and runs behind the cur­
tain. I take this as my cue to run out to my seat that a group of our friends 
has saved. As I step onto the stage, this group begins to hoot and holler: 
"TAKE IT OFF, BABY!!!" and "SHOW US YOUR TITS!!!" I look into the 
blinding spotlight and knowing I am on the spot, I swing my camera strap 
to the side, throw back my shoulders, curtsy and blow the now laughing 
crowd a kiss. For some unknown reason, I am wildly comfortable in this 
setting. "My gays;' as I call them, have brought me into their mix in every 
regard and after a few years, I am acutely aware that among them is the 
only place I truly feel I can be myself. 

90 

Rose is on after the next per 
in the largest cities like New York 
their own songs. On most circuit: 
synch to music, perform a dance 
that hands out money to the passi: 
Performers start the song on stag€ 
tinuing their routines. Dollar bill~ 
so graciously, the showgirl will t< 
money into her cleavage and lear 
their perfect faces. 

Our table is right up front, a 
here, I also don't want to move arc 
spoil anyone else's view. There is 
shows so much I don't want to sp• 
Tonight, Rose is doing a middle < 

Judy Garland's career you know th 
out of control from an addiction tc 
period in her life is the most endea 
majority of gay icons have several 
out spoken, flamboyant, and typi• 
qualities are what draw gay men 2 

and flawed an individual, the moi 
icons are almost always female. B 
Cher) . My friend David tells me tl 
"We must be able to see a bit of o 
doesn't hurt if they love feather bo; 

The show's presenter, Candy < 
and remind the crowd to tip the 
PLE!" she says in her low, femini2 
and welcome our reigning Miss C 
ROOOOSSSE PETAL!" 

Rose steps from behind the bl< 
What a day this has been/ What a 
being! In love! I am always struck l 
movie star at the beginning of he 
arms flutter out for dramatic effect, 
Then she will walk slowly to one sic 
crowd. Midway through the song, : 
dience to begin accepting tips. She ' 
bills being offered, leans in while st 
person. She is so skilled at her perfr 



i then assesses herself. "Not half 
l'ith a brush and Rose slips some 
aded handbag and says, "Follow 
1 ready:' 
,. stair well to a back door. The 
to his headset and turns to us: 
;he swings the metal door open, 
. alley. "I just need to loosen up a 
e pulls a tiny joint from her pack 
s that betray her here. They are 
rith the long press-on nails. One 
ingerly between her lips and the 
1olds her breath and then seizes 
m her mouth. "Here;' she croaks 
~ had a few cocktails by this point 
' of my vision to continue taking 
e a hit from the joint and pass it 
me what I am thinking. 
ale drag queens. I want a reason 

the dust that blinds all eyes. You 
in the middle of the day without 
tt means we've got the monopoly 
·aight women ... that is unless you 
and run off to Broadway:' 

: anything and tell her to break a 
hat to get to your seats out front 
· to wait for a performer to finish 
by ten foot stage and down a few 
11, a 6'3" Janet Jackson imperson­
! raucous crowd. Right after she 
Le bows and runs behind the cur-
1y seat that a group of our friends 
group begins to hoot and holler: 
TS YOUR TITS!!!" I look into the 
:he spot, I swing my camera strap 
irtsy and blow the now laughing 
, I am wildly comfortable in this 
·ought me into their mix in every 
ly aware that among them is the 

Rose is on after the next performer. Only in certain venues, usually 
in the largest cities like New York and San Francisco, do the Queens sing 
their own songs. On most circuits and in most gay bars, Drag Queens lip 
synch to music, perform a dance routine and play to the adoring crowd 
that hands out money to the passing performers. It's usually the same drill. 
Performers start the song on stage and then walk through the crowd, con -
tinuing their routines. Dollar bills are waved by the crowd, and then ever 
so graciously, the showgirl will take the crowd member's hand, slide the 
money into her cleavage and lean in for an air kiss that doesn't smudge 
their perfect faces. 

Our table is right up front, and though I feel extremely comfortable 
here, I also don't want to move around too much to take photographs and 
spoil anyone else's view. There is that, and also the fact that I love these 
shows so much I don't want to spend the entire night behind my camera. 
Tonight, Rose is doing a middle aged Judy tune. If you are familiar with 
Judy Garland's career you know that late in life she began to quickly spiral 
out of control from an addiction to pain killers. For some reason, this time 
period in her life is the most endeared to true Judy lovers. I believe the vast 
majority of gay icons have several things in common. They are glamorous, 
out spoken, flamboyant, and typically quite tragic and vulnerable. These 
qualities are what draw gay men and women to them. The more talented 
and flawed an individual, the more they love her (I say her, because gay 
icons are almost always female. Be it Barbara Streisand, Bette Midler, or 
Cher). My friend David tells me this vulnerability is why they are adored. 
"We must be able to see a bit of ourselves in them;' he says. "And it also 
doesn't hurt if they love feather boas and can sing the hell out of ballad:' 

The show's presenter, Candy Cane, comes on stage to tell a few jokes 
and remind the crowd to tip the bartenders and waitresses. "OK, PEO­
PLE!" she says in her low, feminized voice. "Get ready for a little Judy ... 
and welcome our reigning Miss Gay Muncie to the stage .... MISS RRR­
ROOOOSSSE PETAL!" 

Rose steps from behind the black velvet curtain and the music begins. 
What a day this has been! What a rare mood I'm in/ Why it's almost like 
being! In love! I am always struck by how much she reminds me of an old 
movie star at the beginning of her routines. She stands statuesque. Her 
arms flutter out for dramatic effect, like a ballerina accentuating the music. 
Then she will walk slowly to one side of the stage and open her arms to the 
crowd. Midway through the song, Rose glides down the stairs into the au­
dience to begin accepting tips. She elegantly uncurls her fingers toward the 
bills being offered, leans in while still lip synching and blows a kiss to each 
person. She is so skilled at her performances that she has timed out exactly 

91 



how long she has to make it through the crowd and back to the stage while 
stopping to present her cheek for a smooch or wink at a patron. Working 
the crowd this way is how Rose makes her money for the night, working 
entirely for tips in the smaller venues. When the music begins to take off 
in certain sections or Judy belts out a few notes, Rose stops in a theatrical 
stance, throws her head back and reaches her arms out as though she is 
releasing the potency of Dorothy right into the air above our heads. 

As the song ends, I realize I haven't taken a single shot. My Minolta is 
still on the table, so I snatch it up, aim and shoot. Later, when I am alone 
in the dark room, I will see this image fade into being. Rose's chin is raised 
to the adulating spectators and she has an enormous smile on her face. 
Her hands are clutched to her heart and the edges of multiple bills spill 
out the sides of her fists. She is resplendent against the darkness of the 
stage's curtain and the glowing spotlight. In the moment, the photograph 
captured adoration for the man underneath the flawless makeup. Rose has 
said in these instants, it is as if the audience is cheering for a little boy she 
was; the one who grew up in poverty, dysfunction and spent much of his 
life persecuted for being true to himself. The audience senses this tonight 
and cheers louder. 

92 

<:Uint Stamatouitij 

€.a.stern ~pit 
i. 

I'm sore on you, babe, sores on you 
And to feel that chicken spine mov, 
It is enough outta you, hush, Hume 
Here comes force to glove its gripp• 
How stupid is a reptile de-function 
Exhausted knowledge gonna knead 
Drool sum, and scare the girls awa) 
Anyway), we'll stay, girl-say, you t 
Louise, we've gotta getta ol' John-b< 
He's got completion in the universe 
And we need this answer, babe, thn 
Delved in the void, dead, spent, bla• 
The car crashed head first before Jo 
No remains, development, or sharp 

ii. 
So, off made some plate 
went Vincent, his dear Catherine,­
shut up the ass-good, too, 
all colours bright, say, 
John boy took the ghost's green 
clay and found essential 
sugars to gust up a silver 
son's dirty hair, 

shorn and open, his eyes shot 
in the clear castle sky, 
let's go to the cave, boys, 
lets' leave the girls a 
mutiny and we'll find 

away; 
bellies full of bubbling 
green bile, got off foot 
loosely and found the 
first floor of the yard-
couple a yeast and ferms later 
and the small boy is done, 
say, we had the babe-lass, 
pigeon-toed, take him-she took 


