RuPaul's Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture: The Boundaries of Reality TV [1 ed.] 9783319506173, 9783319506180

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RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture

Niall Brennan • David Gudelunas Editors

RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture The Boundaries of Reality TV

Editors Niall Brennan Department of Communication Fairfield University Fairfield, CT, USA

ISBN 978-3-319-50617-3 DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0

David Gudelunas College of Arts and Letters University of Tampa Tampa, Florida, USA

ISBN 978-3-319-50618-0 (eBook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017949268 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2017 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: Claire Alexander Printed on acid-free paper This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by Springer Nature The registered company is Springer International Publishing AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Niall would like to thank Padraig Brennan and Carol Blair Brennan for instilling the desire to explore overlooked places; Helene Kim for countless critical viewings and discussions of RuPaul’s Drag Race; David Gudelunas for his incisiveness and diligence in making this book come to fruition; and Shaun Vigil at Palgrave for his encouragement from the very beginning. Niall would also like to thank contributor Claire Alexander, in particular, for her artistry and vision. David would like to thank his parents and family, his colleagues at Fairfield University and the University of Tampa, and his friends who listen more often than they probably should. Special thanks to Niall Brennan for being such a wonderful co-editor and to all of our contributors for respecting a deadline.

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CONTENTS

Drag Culture, Global Participation and RuPaul’s Drag Race Niall Brennan and David Gudelunas

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Part I Representation and the Parameters of Drag Identity The “RuPaulitics” of Subjectification in RuPaul’s Drag Race Julia Yudelman Contradictions Between the Subversive and the Mainstream: Drag Cultures and RuPaul’s Drag Race Niall Brennan “Pick up a book and go read”: Art and Legitimacy in RuPaul’s Drag Race Dieter Brusselaers North American Universalism in RuPaul’s Drag Race: Stereotypes, Linguicism, and the Construction of “Puerto Rican Queens” Joanna McIntyre and Damien W. Riggs

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CONTENTS

Spicy. Exotic. Creature. Representations of Racial and Ethnic Minorities on RuPaul’s Drag Race Sarah Tucker Jenkins

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The Werk That Remains: Drag and the Mining of the Idealized Female Form Amy L. Darnell and Ahoo Tabatabai

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Big-Girls Don’t Cry: Portrayals of the Fat Body in RuPaul’s Drag Race Ami Pomerantz

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Part II Drag Culture, Community and Belonging “I Am the Drag Whisperer”: Notes from the Front Line of a Cultural Phenomenon Rob Rosiello

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Sissy That Performance Script! The Queer Pedagogy of RuPaul’s Drag Race Colin Whitworth

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Super Troopers: The Homonormative Regime of Visibility in RuPaul’s Drag Race Anna Antonia Ferrante

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“Please Come to Brazil!” The Practices of RuPaul’s Drag Race’s Brazilian Fandom Mayka Castellano and Heitor Leal Machado

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Reception of Queer Content and Stereotypes Among Young People in Monterrey, Mexico: RuPaul’s Drag Race Nazar Ali de la Garza Villarreal, Carolina Valdez García and Grecia Karina Rodríguez Fernández

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CONTENTS

Mainstreaming the Transgressive: Greek Audiences’ Readings of Drag Culture Through the Consumption of RuPaul’s Drag Race Despina Chronaki RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Reconceptualisation of Queer Communities and Publics Kate O’Halloran

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Part III RuPaul’s Drag Race, Globalization and Social Media Digital Extensions, Experiential Extensions and Hair Extensions: RuPaul’s Drag Race and the New Media Environment David Gudelunas

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What Can Drag Do for Me? The Multifaceted Influences of RuPaul’s Drag Race on the Perth Drag Scene Claire Alexander

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“If You Can’t Love Yourself, How in the Hell You Gonna Love Somebody Else?” Drag TV and Self-Love Discourse Chelsea Daggett

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“We’re All Born Naked and the Rest Is Drag”: The Performativity of Bodies Constructed in Digital Networks Ronaldo Henn, Felipe Viero Kolinski Machado and Christian Gonzatti

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Index

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LIST

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FIGURES

Digital Extensions, Experiential Extensions and Hair Extensions: RuPaul’s Drag Race and the New Media Environment Fig. 1

Top ten RPDR queens by total social media followers

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What Can Drag Do for Me? The Multifaceted Influences of RuPaul’s Drag Race on the Perth Drag Scene Fig. 1

Fig. 2

Fig. 3

Fig. 4 Fig. 5

Fig. 6 Fig. 7 Fig. 8

11.30pm, Hannah Conda and BarbieQ outside Connections Nightclub after a performance by The House of Edwards, 2014. 8.48pm, Major Scales and Jinkx Monsoon at the Perth Fringe World Festival for their show The Vaudevillians, 2014. 10.55pm, Scarlet Adams, Hannah Conda (in boy drag), VJJ and Ruby Jewelz in between shows in their dressing room. These four queens are the current (2014–2016) hostesses of Drag Factory at The Court Hotel. 8.38pm, Stryker Meyer backstage before a performance for Perth Fringe World, 2016. 9.31pm, Hannah Conda prepares music for the night on her laptop before hosting Drag Factory at The Court Hotel, 2015. 10.50pm, Veronica Jean Jones during a smoke break in between performances at The Court Hotel. 10.32pm, Ruby Jewelz after a night of judging Queen of the Court at The Court Hotel, 2015. 10.08pm, Champagne de Ville at The Court Hotel, 2016.

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LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 9

Fig. 10 Fig. 11

Fig. 12 Fig. 13

Fig. 14

Fig. 15

2.42am, Feminem on the Drag Stars at Sea Cruise – Caribbean Adventure (2014). These cruises allow fans of RPDR to spend 10 days with queens from the show. 6.43pm, Feminem and Hannah Conda hosting at Bianca del Rio’s 2014 show at The Court Hotel. 2.03am, Back row L–R: Hannah Conda, Rachel Discrimination, Milk, Flo Reel, Maude Mizelle. Front row L–R: Scarlet Adams, Yara Sofia, Feminem, Tarryn Yassup, Ginava, in Perth at Milk and Yara Sofia’s national tour, 2014. 11.03pm, Perri Oxide, 2016. 1.20am, Lani da Rose, Donna Kebab, Alexas Armstrong, BarbieQ and Latrice Royale at Connections Nightclub, 2016 after Latrice Royale, Jayiden Dior Fierce, and Mimi Imfurst’s show. 10.02pm, Trixie Mattel, contestant on RPDR Season 7, interacts with local Perth queen Harvest Dubois during a performance, 2015. 10.26pm, Lunar Sea, Vaboux, Jinkx Monsoon, Donna Kebab & Flo Reel. January 2016, at Jinkx’s show at Connections Nightclub.

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“We’re All Born Naked and the Rest Is Drag”: The Performativity of Bodies Constructed in Digital Networks Fig. 1 Fig. 2 Fig. 3 Fig. 4 Fig. 5 Fig. 6 Fig. 7 Fig. 8 Fig. 9

Problem Britney Spears Glitter Sharon Shock Viado Hair Whipping Inês Brasil Make Love Satanists

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LIST

OF

TABLES

Big-Girls Don’t Cry: Portrayals of the Fat Body in RuPaul’s Drag Race Table 1

Last episode of each season of RPDR with a fat contestant

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Drag Culture, Global Participation and RuPaul’s Drag Race Niall Brennan and David Gudelunas RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR) may seem an unlikely subject for a collection of scholarly essays, but we have arrived at a more crucial juncture than ever to address the program’s social, cultural and political implications. RPDR first broadcast in 2009 on Logo TV, the US-based, Viacom-owned cable outlet with content oriented toward lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer/ questioning (LGBTQ) audiences. Produced by World of Wonder, the same production company behind queer landmarks such as The Eyes of Tammy Faye and Party Monster, each season of RPDR culminates in discovering “America’s next drag superstar” by way of reality/competition-based challenges and the critiques of well-known judges. The series has proven to be a tremendous hit for Logo TV and in season nine, VH1. RPDR has influenced popular culture by bringing catchphrases such as “Condragulations!”, “Lipsync for your life” and “Sashay away”, among others, to public discourse, as well as what could arguably be called the golden age of drag into the zeitgeist. Bloggers, celebrity magazine writers

N. Brennan (*) Department of Communication, Fairfield University, Fairfield, CT, USA D. Gudelunas University of Tampa, Tampa, FL, USA © The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_1

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and influential people in the social media landscape follow each season with passion. Some contestants have left RPDR to tour in Logo TV-sponsored performances, and others have gone on to do their own tours, films, music and commercial work. The series is Logo TV’s highest-rated program, and in 2016, RuPaul won an Emmy award for outstanding reality television host. RPDR’s original incarnation has generated spin-offs – Untucked; All Stars; Drag U; The Snatch Game – and the franchise has migrated beyond its conventional television platform into many realms of digital and real life, from LGBTQ bars and nightclubs, to Facebook and Instagram, to DragCon, the annual drag convention. In a comparative and generic sense, RPDR can be placed alongside longer-running, more “earnest” reality/competition series like America’s Next Top Model and Project Runway. From a theoretical perspective, RPDR embodies, in self-referential and often satirical ways, gender and drag performativities in the mode that Judith Butler (1990) might read the program. In addition to performativity as it coincides with gender and drag, RPDR has its foundations in camp, which, as Newton (1972) importantly defined it, is style, dramatic form and “being as playing a role” (p. 107). These ideas provide a conceptual basis for capturing the spirit of RPDR as it establishes, as much as it plays upon, the contours of queer reality television. While RPDR has never taken itself too seriously, we still need to view the series through a critical lens, as this volume’s contributors do. As such, because RPDR’s contestants are exclusively gay men, this means that we are still a long way from seeing the world of drag kings (women in male drag) similarly featured – this would be an even bigger step for television, even a cable television network with a relatively small viewing base. At the same time, some of RPDR’s contestants have announced their gender transition during an episode, while others have publicly acknowledged their HIV-positive status, however much these issues are secondary to a season’s primary storyline. Moreover, the series regularly confronts homophobia and other forms of bigotry and oppression, and it often incorporates the milestones of American LGBTQ social, cultural and political history into its episodes: the Stonewall riots of 1969; Jennie Livingston’s (1990) groundbreaking documentary Paris Is Burning (which, in many ways, is the premise of RPDR); the 2010 repeal of the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy, allowing gays, lesbians and bisexuals to serve openly in the US Armed Forces; and the US Supreme Court’s 2015 decision to grant same-sex couples the

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right to marry. In the trademark one-on-one, confessional scenes of reality television as well, we come to know some of the contestants’ personal histories of marginalization and disenfranchisement and the implications of their experiences for the distance that lays ahead, still, in arriving at equality for LGBTQ peoples. Despite its US-centrism (and occasional, thorny inclusion of Puerto Rican contestants, which some of our contributors crucially address), RPDR has made drag queens and drag culture infinitely more accessible to American and global audiences. For American LGBTQ viewers located far from the gay meccas of New York, Chicago, San Francisco or Los Angeles, and for straight viewers who would not consider attending a drag act, RPDR provides an up-close, even technical view of what drag entails. In this sense, RPDR has served to propel drag culture from the obscurity of the gay bar/club scene to the mainstream of reality television. It has also helped to transform common views of drag as subculture into drag as art and as a valid profession. It is perhaps the international reach and reverberations of RPDR, however, that best reflect newfound understandings of drag culture by way of its unexpected place in the reality television complex. The global reverberations of RPDR are also a substantial aspect of this collection. The US cable network VH1 has repurposed the program in many parts of the world; RPDR has been distributed through various international broadcast partnerships; and the program streams on Netflix, depending on one’s geographic territory. Moreover, in countries where RPDR is unavailable, the Internet has allowed dedicated fans to obtain episodes and even entire series in less-than-official ways, and social media is replete with the contestants’ and RuPaul’s witticisms and biting phrases. The library is open, so to speak, not just on Logo TV but also in a multitude of digital spaces. As actor, producer, singer/songwriter, product spokesperson and self-proclaimed drag “supermodel of the world”, RuPaul Charles presides over the series and serves as mentor and confidant to its aspiring contestants. RuPaul also brings together a diverse coterie of artists and businesspeople, who provide their insight and advice to the contestants and critique their final runway performances alongside RuPaul (in drag) herself. The ultimate effect of the program is one of queer-friendly intensity, or, better yet, fierceness fused with a sense of queer community. Like virtually all reality/competition programs, some contestants prevail and others fail, which, in RuPaul’s words, respectively, means that “Shantay, you stay” or “Sashay away”.

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RPDR is not without its faults and warranted criticisms, however, despite the ways in which the program has recast drag culture, brought visibility to issues surrounding the LGBTQ community and, refreshingly, expanded the boundaries of a rather predictable reality/competition TV landscape. Anyone with an iota of feminist sensibility would take note of, if not offence with, the jargon thrown around the program by the contestants and by RuPaul alike. “Fishy”, for instance, is frequently used on the program to refer to the legitimacy of drag queens’ “womanly” presentation, but the term can, without doubt, also be read pejoratively to refer to the odor of female genitalia. Moreover, the often-stated framework by which RuPaul judges the contestants’ efforts, performance and artistic vision is codified into Charisma, Uniqueness, Nerve and Talent: an acronym, without the need of articulation, with equally misogynistic connotations. Lastly, and paradoxically, the phrase “You’ve got she-mail”, used in the first few seasons of RPDR as a humoristic combination of technology and cross-dressing, generated backlash among viewers, who saw the pun as derogatory and lacking sensitivity in understanding transgender social issues and visibility. As a result, RPDR quickly, and with added controversy, dropped the phrase from use in the program. At the same rate, we should consider how other marginalized, discounted and suppressed groups have also re-appropriated jargon and terminology to carve-out a sense of identity and to establish a place in society on their own terms – terms which, otherwise, would remain in the hands of a select, well-defined minority. We need only think of how “queer” or “fag”, for instance, can be disparaging or liberating words equally, depending on their use, context and the speaker’s position. Understandably, the issue with RPDR for many feminists is that it is (still) biological men who are deciding on and playing with notions of woman. This position crucially takes into account a misogynistic reading of RPDR, but it is a position that should also consider the fluidity of queer culture in a society reckoning with LGBTQ rights and visibility in rapidly changing ways. As such, the first section of this collection, “Representation and the Parameters of Drag Identity”, explores these tensions and situates them within a larger framework that considers the expanses and limits of queer identities. How RPDR has consciously and unconsciously changed drag culture is the focus of Yudelman’s chapter. Through a Foucaudian lens of representation and power, Yudelman traces how two RPDR contestants from different seasons embody transformation into subjectification – or, rather, how RPDR’s narrative devices and strategies take contestants from

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contexts of community and cooperation into those of individuation and self-betterment. The transformative nature of RPDR is not limited to the reality/competition genre or the workroom/challenge milieu of its drag queens, however, as Yudelman argues. Through a range of increasingly corporate and cross-promotional devices, RPDR has less to do with representing drag culture in its diverse communities and permutations, and more to do with transforming drag into individuals’ advancement and promotion. Brennan explores contradictions between the subversive and mainstream dimensions of drag culture in RPDR. He accounts for Butler’s framework of gender performativity as it pertains to drag’s articulation of men performing femininity. Brennan also interrogates the idea of authenticity for the ways it contradicts the inauthentic spaces that drag holds on RPDR. Additionally, Brennan analyzes competition and consumption as institutional and narrative aspects of RPDR. While competition and consumption imbue RPDR with purpose and legitimacy, they contradict drag culture’s instability and fantasy. Brennan argues that while RPDR opensup unprecedented avenues of queer representation, it also demands identifying institutional strictures on drag performativity. Ultimately, Brennan interrogates the boundaries between drag as fantasy and the growing presence of queer culture on mainstream reality-TV within season four of RPDR. The fantasy of drag is both consolidated and confounded in RPRD. As such, Brusselaers examines how the competing forces of inclusion and marginalization occur in RPDR. When education and intellect are invoked against the idea that drag queens are illiterate in the “fine arts”, this brings to fore the contention that drag queens are literate in bar/club culture, subversive behavior and little more. Brusselaers ignites these divisions in drag subcultures by suggesting that RPDR and its social media channels effectively curtail the possibility of an “intellectual” drag queen. Audience perception of RPDR contestants’ intelligence and aptitude is, at the same time, linked with their grasp of the English language. McIntyre and Riggs bring our attention to the presence of global south contestants on RPDR; specifically, Puerto Rican drag queens who speak English as a second language. By constructing a conceptual framework of North American universalism, exceptionalism, and English-language linguicism, the authors argue that the “sexy, sassy, crazy” Latina drag queen is represented as poorly equipped to perform “Latinness” in relation to queens who perform “Asianness”, “super-modelness”, or “southern-belleness”,

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for instance. The greatest paradox in constructing Latina stereotypes, the authors argue, is that RPDR establishes a space in which the disparities of race, ethnicity, language and geography are celebrated rather than made useful points of addressing difference. What McIntyre and Riggs also point to, even if left unstated, is that Latinness, like other “-nesses”, is a selfacknowledged area of performativity that has the potential to disrupt the formulas and institutions of reality television. The impossibility of having to be at once connected to and separate from one’s cultural heritage is what Tucker Jenkins explores in her entry. For Puerto Rican drag queens across RPDR’s seasons, this impossibility is consistently evidenced in being “too Puerto Rican” and “not Puerto Rican enough” – an ambiguity equally reflected in Puerto Rico’s relation to the USA. For season one winner, BeBe Zahara Benet, her Cameroonian (and therefore “African”) identity also eclipses all other aspects of her drag persona, as Tucker Jenkins details – or a tendency to equate the exotic other with a performed identity that appears throughout RPDR. However, Tucker Jenkins reminds us (or even better, the producers of culture industries) that reduction, generalization and exoticization can also work as useful models in building a more inclusive and balanced social world, both on and off the television screen. “Race” is one of many discourses that consistently cut across RPDR’s seasons. As Darnell and Tabatabai point out, reality television has long been a cultural space in which topics infrequently discussed within “scripted television” can find a voice. They interrogate the ways in which the RuPaul franchise depicts body size throughout its programs, seasons and episodes. In a televisual space in which the intersectionalities of queerness, “race”, ethnicity and aesthetics are celebrated, body size, and, in particular “fatness”, fall far short of the celebratory. As the authors find, not only are large queens scrutinized and judged according to ideal bodyimage standards, but also recent seasons have rewarded body types that are absurd, even by the most “realistic” standards. Pomerantz also takes an incisive look into the presence of RPDR’s fat drag queens. It should seem sufficient that plus-sized queens appear on every season of the series, but Pomerantz analyzes their presence across several seasons to arrive at some revealing conclusions. There is as much capitulation as there is resistance to hegemonic body regimes among RPDR’s fat contestants. Additionally, fat queens face hurdles that cannot be overcome in the same way as poor diction, uncooperativeness, or inadequate sewing skills. Still, Pomerantz finds that RPDR’s fat queens

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deploy coping and resistance strategies no differently than those used by overweight people outside of the scrutiny of reality television. At the same time, fat queens’ coping and resistance mechanisms, which straddle a divide established in the same way as masculinity and femininity, reveal unconsidered dimensions of drag culture and queer identity. In Part II of this collection, we shift our focus to “Drag Culture, Community and Belonging”. This section provides first-hand, interpretive perspectives taken from viewing, learning from and, in effect, performing drag. The most salient aspect of this section is the paradoxically cohesive and contentious sense of community that arises from various participations in RPDR. Rosiello begins by tracing the unanticipated and explosive growth of early RPDR behind the television screen – in the clubs and other venues promoting the seasons’ first cast and winning queen. If we did not already have an idea, we learn in detailed and revealing ways that drag culture as conveyed through RPDR is not simply about gowns, wigs, heels and runways, but also about merchandise, sponsorships, tour schedules and mishaps aplenty. What Rosiello reveals in his ethnographic account of the untelevised sides of RPDR is not only the unscreened consumption of drag culture, but also how queens, promoters, sponsors and fans come together as a community to inform the way we understand RPDR today. Whitworth approaches RPDR from the perspective of its potential not as a promotional but rather as a queer pedagogical tool. Rather than taking a distanced look at the histories, narratives and references of queer culture woven into the program, however, Whitworth employs a self-ethnographic method. As such, RPDR offers a place in which the author has come to understand both the possibilities and proscriptions of articulating his own queer identity. Most importantly, Whitworth reminds us of RPDR’s responsibility in serving as a queer pedagogical platform – a responsibility that might be recognized and grasped by the author subjectively, but that has also has the potential for greater social acknowledgment and for understanding of queer histories, cultures and identities. In her chapter, Ferrante explores the multiple implications of family and community for drag queens and drag culture as represented in RPDR. With self-acknowledged links to the 1990 documentary Paris Is Burning, RPDR is premised on the film’s portrayals of drag houses, parents and families. In the context of US television and recent political history, however, the subversive notion of family within drag communities is inverted by RPDR to represent a homonormative, consolidated statement

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of patriotism and national inclusion, despite the fact that LGBTQ individuals still find themselves a long way from participating in official exercises of nation building. While RPDR is predicated on the traditions of drag as depicted in Paris is Burning, the program has catalyzed drag culture in Brazil, as traced by Castellano and Leal Machado. From RPDR-inspired web productions to extensive and ardent fan groups, the program has taken Brazil’s LGBTQ communities by storm. More significantly, and due to Brazil’s own, longstanding drag/transvesti traditions, Brazilian drag queens, their fans and followers have made RPDR their “own”. But in a country where homophobia is not only rampant but also institutionalized by politicians and the media, the authors question the extent to which the catalytic force of RPDR on queer culture in Brazil can be legitimately seen. RPDR may not be as explosive in Mexico as it is Brazil, but the program has not gone unnoticed in the former country. Garza Villarreal, Valdez García and Rodriguez Fernandez offer a fascinating look into young, educated Mexicans’ perspectives on the prospect of greater visibility and acceptance of LGBTQ communities in Mexico, vis-à-vis the way their study’s participants have interpreted RPDR. Notably, the authors find that Mexican gay men are skeptical of and resistant to RPDR’s portrayals of drag and queer culture, thereby invoking machismo in ways that surpass the supposedly ingrained biases of Mexican heterosexual society. The authors’ findings lead us to question the idea that RPDR should fortify LGBTQ solidarity both within and beyond the USA, and that all LGBTQ individuals should congregate under a common umbrella of queer understanding and acceptance. In Europe, Chronaki accounts for RPDR’s reception among a selection of Greek viewers, situating the possibility of the program’s “legitimate” dissemination in the historical, political and religious contexts of Greek conservativeness and orthodoxy. Chronaki finds that some of her Greek viewers have a sophisticated understanding of drag culture and other nonnormative gender and sexual identities, in part through RPDR. Equally revealing, however, are Greek viewers’ acceptance of the boundaries placed on gender and sexuality as ingrained in and imposed by Greek public discourse, and therefore of the tenuousness of queer cultures assuming a more prominent place in Greek society. Given the popularity of RPDR within and outside of the USA, it is tempting to think of the series as a vehicle for the unifying force of a global LGBTQ presence. O’Halloran, however, offers sobering perspectives on

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this laudable aim. Far from community building, RPDR creates and frames divisions between contestants that reveal deep disparities in aesthetics, class, “race” and geography. Moreover, in featuring transitioning queens on the program, RPDR has generated off- and online discourses that further disrupt the idea of a cohesive LGBT community. Through a soundly conceptualized and evidenced reading of RPDR’s episodes and extra-episodial commentary, O’Halloran argues for the role of antagonistic dialogue within subcultures and fringe communities as a means of realizing and fortifying, rather than further dividing, the possibility of a common queer vision. Part III of the volume, “RuPaul’s Drag Race, Globalization and Social Media”, considers how the new television environment and social media spaces help in constructing global participation in RPDR. These spaces, as the authors illustrate, also serve to create new forums of audience participation and queer-discourse construction among fan bases that are as wideranging in affiliation as they are in location. Gudelunas looks at how RPDR is, at is core, a television program produced by and for the new media environment. The boundaries of what we consider television content are called into question by virtue of the ways that contestants, producers and fans of RPDR mobilize social media and other digital extensions. Ultimately, Gudelunas argues that the success of RPDR should be judged not by traditional measures of television popularity, but rather by how the program is used, shared and transformed by its fans in new spaces. Part of RPDR’s intrigue, we have discovered, is that it is appreciated far beyond any local, regional or national concept of imagined community. Fans gather in bars, tour locations and conventions around the globe to interact with each other and see their favorite drag queens. Relationships between the televisual, physical and digital locations of drag can, at times, be contentious. As Alexander documents in writing and through photography, the younger profile of the Perth, Australia, drag scene is increasingly disconnected from a traditional family structure, in which mothers serve as mentors and guides to burgeoning queens. Instead, young Perth queens feel that they can become overnight sensations, both professionally and aesthetically, due to the transformational aspects of RPDR. Alexander thus prompts us to ask if believing in a hyper-mediated pathway to drag superstardom is limited to the “remotest capital in the world”, or if the implications of RPDR for a new generation of drag queens are global indeed.

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RPDR may be global in distribution, but the question of global values associated with the program is a far more complicated notion. The infusion of neoliberal values into reality television has been widely explored, but Daggett uncovers the unexpected marriage of a neoliberal agenda and the promotion of family, self-love and community in an analysis of RPDR’s televisual, online and physical spaces. As Daggett finds, representations of drag increasingly adhere to mainstream culture by virtue of RPDR’s espousal of universally shared, normative values. However, Daggett also argues that drag culture has not been entirely engulfed by hegemonic principles, due to the way RPDR and its parallel spaces use mimicry to represent the values US society holds closest. Returning to Brazil, Henn, Viero Kolinski Machado and Gonzatti take a theoretical approach to evaluating the implications of RPDR for Brazil’s online queer spaces. The authors first equip us with the significance of appropriation, remixing and “the spreadable” in the semiosphere that we understand to be the web, then delve into the ways RPDR has given rise to parallel articulations of drag culture in Glitter: Em Busca de um Sonho and “RuPaula”. Moreover, the authors explore how online fan communities in Brazil deploy sophisticated means of hybridizing “official” and “unofficial” representations of drag to create changing spaces of community interaction and emerging interpretations of drag, all of which depart significantly from RPDR as its most recognized forum. It is as much through divisions as a sense of unification, of discrete communities as much as global exchange and common experience, and of commodification as much as human interest that we come to understand drag culture as it is portrayed through RPDR. There is little doubt that drag culture will continue to grow in all the dimensions that we have attempted to capture in this collection – in historic, aesthetic, social, commercial, political and technological senses – due in large part to this influential reality/competition series. We also hope that as drag continues to find forms of expression not only in television but also in other digital and physical spaces, scholarship concerned with this crucial and underacknowledged aspect of social experience will follow. Finally, as many societies currently seem to be shifting politically toward less accepting positions on queer culture – which is clearly the case in the USA, and elsewhere – we hope that this volume provides a basis and inspiration for further exploring the centrality of alternative modes of expressions and identities.

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REFERENCES Butler, J. (1990) Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversions of Identity. New York and London: Routledge. Livingston, J. (1990) Paris Is Burning. Off White Productions. Newton, E. (1972/1979) Mother Camp: Female Impersonators in America. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press. Niall Brennan holds a PhD in Media and Communications from the London School of Economics and Political Science. His research centers on discourses of representation, identity and belonging in Brazilian, USA, British and Australian television programming, and he is Visiting Assistant Professor in the Department of Communication at Fairfield University. David Gudelunas holds a PhD from the University of Pennsylvania and is Dean of the College of Arts and Letters and Professor of Communication at the University of Tampa.

PART I

Representation and the Parameters of Drag Identity

The “RuPaulitics” of Subjectification in RuPaul’s Drag Race Julia Yudelman “START YOUR ENGINES!” “I’m torn about the dress,” Kathy Griffin quips to the other judges. “Remember, it is a first impression.” It is “Gone with the Window” (S2, E1), the first episode of the second season of RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR), and six contestants are standing on stage before the judges, draped elaborately in curtains. Mystique Summers Madison, a twenty-five-year-old drag queen dressed in a strapless pinstripe number, flips her hair and answers, “I may be a big girl, but I can get down with skinny bitches and wear something short if I want to.” RuPaul roars with laughter as a split screen reveals the beige striped drapes before and after Mystique’s alteration, the camera slowly panning upward along Mystique’s exposed legs. The banter continues back and forth for a few more seconds, Mystique’s jokes hitting home with the judges again and again. Finally, judge Merle Ginsberg strikes a serious tone: “All the humor we’re seeing from you now, I would love to have seen in that picture,” pointing to Mystique’s snapshot from the minichallenge. RuPaul nods and declares, “That’s right. Know who you are and deliver at all times.”

J. Yudelman (*) University of Amsterdam, Amsterdam, The Netherlands © The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_2

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Although only twenty-five seconds long, this loaded moment brims with the active relations that makes RPDR so powerful as a series: the process of transforming subjects. Of all people, RuPaul Charles knows that drag emerges in a context where “the notion of subjectivity is challenged, where identity is always perceived as capable of construction, invention, change” (hooks 1992: 145). Thus over seven seasons (and counting) of RPDR, the series shows time and again just how malleable subjectivity can be, as we watch countless queens transform inside and out to become ostensibly improved performers and people. Through an entire apparatus of changing strategies and techniques, some queens emerge victorious and successfully materialize as “America’s Next Drag Superstar,” while others face the peril of Lip Sync For Your Life. Significantly, as seen with Mystique, this lengthy and arduous process entails actively transforming oneself into a subject of drag who, indeed, delivers at all times. It is not surprising, then, that a vast amount of academic critique has surfaced surrounding the RPDR phenomenon. Most of these analyses revolve around political questions of representing drag culture through mainstream media and, more often than not, ultimately argue for either a “yay” or “nay” position toward the reality show’s representational accuracy. In this chapter, I begin by conducting a short discursive analysis of these positions in order to show how they collectively situate RPDR within traditional understandings of representation and power. I then go on to de-construct RPDR through a Foucauldian lens as a conceptual intervention in re-theorizing representation and reality television. Specifically, I focus on the series’ productive and transformative power relations that guide techniques of subjectification—how human beings are made into subjects. For the remainder of the chapter, I trace the subtle yet concrete transformations subjects undergo in RPDR, examining how they shift over the course of the series. The trajectories of Tyra Sanchez (S2) and Pearl (S7) ground this investigation. I show that by the seventh season, entrepreneurial self-betterment and self-individuation emerge as dominant techniques in this transformative process, often replacing earlier emphases on tactics of working together and helping others. Ultimately, by shedding light on the subjectifying power relations of RPDR, I explore how representation and material transformation can be conceptualized as two sides of the same coin in an attempt to open up new avenues for analyzing reality television. Thus, as RuPaul belts out at the beginning of every episode, “Gentlemen, start your engines!”

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RU-PRESENTING DRAG CULTURE As the most commercially successful queen in drag herstory, RuPaul Charles and his TV series have generated critique from scholars, critics, and fans alike. On the one hand, many accounts praise RPDR for its perceived fidelity in representing drag culture, championing the program as a “campy, good-humored ode to cross-dressing, lip-synching and striking an attitude” (Stanley 2009: 1). On the other hand, a plethora of critics have chastised the show for not accurately representing the complexity of drag culture, or not representing drag culture progressively. As Eir-Anne Edgar (2011) argues, queer visibility is not enough: “though many have argued that queer visibility on television and in film is a good thing, I believe that in the case of RuPaul’s Drag Race, that visibility through the limiting scope of the show impedes progress for drag culture” (p. 145). Although both sides address important issues, the critical success of the show hinges on its ability to represent the drag community. For this reason, I turn my attention to what is meant by “representation” in these debates. Many of the discourses currently circulating around RPDR fall into a traditional, reflective approach to representation. As Stuart Hall (1997) has shown, “meaning is thought to lie in the object, person, idea or event in the real world, and language functions like a mirror, to reflect the true meaning as it already exists in the world” (p. 24). Extrapolating from linguistic theory, the reflective approach to representation has proven useful to cultural analysis scholars looking at how “social practices ‘reflect’ reality” (Kontturi and Tiainen 2007: 246). The same approach is clearly present in debates around the politics of representation in RPDR. By phrasing and rephrasing evaluative questions, such as whether RPDR frames economic, racial, and geopolitical differences as “selling points” or “stumbling blocks” (Goldmark 2015: 502), many critics concern themselves with the show’s relationship to the lived reality of drag, or, what is termed the “realness” of drag. Even when the literature moves beyond the “yay or nay” binary, the reflective approach to representation continues to underpin critical analyses of the show. For instance, although Sabrina Strings and Long T. Bui (2014) find that in RPDR “race is naturalized even as the gender is destabilized” (p. 832), they ultimately argue that this “may mirror, to a certain extent, what can be found in other sectors of society. The drag subculture, like the larger gay community, remains largely divided by

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race, gender, and class” (p. 833). Within these fervent debates, analyzing representation often amounts to interrogating whether RPDR reflects an accurate or realistic form of drag culture, and correspondingly, if it acts in the interests of the drag community. Admittedly, the show positions itself in a way that easily lends to this method of decoding. Eir-Anne Edgar (2011) documents how “reinforced notions of legitimacy” run through RPDR, ranging from pervasive references to the seminal drag documentary Paris is Burning to overarching techniques, such as Logo TV billing itself as “the channel for gay America” (p. 135–136). Beyond these instances, we can also look to the way that RPDR frequently shows its contestants addressing the lived reality of the drag community by sharing intimate details of their various histories and experiences. The camera oversees frank discussions of violence, familial disownment, struggles with drug abuse, and living with HIV/AIDS. In this sense, a huge part of RPDR deals with the realities of drag culture. Consequently, it is tempting to judge RPDR’s politics according to how well it represents drag, a situation in which, significantly, representation refers to “reflecting or imitating the truth” of drag, as if it were “already there and fixed in the world” (Hall 1997: 24). While an attractive (albeit ambiguous) notion, the critical value placed on this framework of representation becomes problematic when used as a standard against which to compare RPDR. When we deploy this traditional approach to representation, we overlook one of the key ways that representation functions: as a productive force. In departing from the reflective approach, it is worth considering the past several decades’ unfolding dialogue on how “theories of representation can be understood in terms of primarily material forces, the forces they cohere and the forces they enable to be unleashed in the world” (Kontturi and Tiainen 2007: 247). As documented by Stuart Hall, Michel Foucault’s writings played a formative role in this theoretical re-orientation. By focusing on “relations of power, not relations of meaning,” Foucault shifted representation debates away from models such as the reflective approach, and “towards one based on analysing what he called ‘relations of force, strategic developments and tactics’” (Hall 1997: 43). A new conceptualization of the “positive mechanisms” of power (Foucault 2007: 156)—the productive relations of power, rather than juridical or repressive power—was central to this framework. Moreover, Foucault showed that such productive power relations are intimately tied to the subject, thereby delineating the power relations of subjectification.

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Several years later, Judith Butler took up a similar understanding of power in Gender Trouble. Building on Foucault, Butler honed in precisely on the implications for representation and gender, writing that “power inevitably ‘produces’ what it claims merely to represent; hence, politics must be concerned with this dual function of power: the juridical and the productive” (1990: 5). Butler established that it is not enough to inquire how subjects might become more fully represented in politics; feminist critique must also consider how these very structures of power produce, restrain, and maintain subject categories such as “woman” (1990: 6). In our case, the same critical lens can be applied to the subject category “drag queen.” In recent years, new media forms have emerged that further build upon and challenge how we conceptualize representation. Foremost among them is reality television. Here, it may be useful to consider the contributions made by Jack Bratich (2006), who argues that reality television “is best conceived as a performative phenomenon that captures, modifies, reorganizes, and distributes powers of transformation” (p. 67). Although Bratich is keen to distance his work from discourses on reality TV vis-à-vis representation (2006: 66), his framework is largely indebted to paths paved by Hall, Foucault, and Butler as part of a longstanding history of theorizing representation. Bratich’s conceptualization of reality TV is helpful for several reasons. Firstly, conceiving of reality TV as a performative phenomenon is especially relevant for analyzing RPDR, given the highly performative nature of the series and of drag itself. Secondly, in accounting for the ways reality TV is transformative, Bratich builds on a long history of representation debates within cultural analysis by giving weight to the ways that RPDR, rather than representing the real, is actually a changing force that both produces and is produced by the real. Finally, Bratich’s emphasis on transformation is also an important reminder that power relations are never fixed. In terms of how individuals become subjects in RPDR, this helps account for the complex ways that techniques of subjectification transform over the course of the series, producing different kinds of subjects. Following Bratich’s line of thinking, then, critically analyzing representation in RPDR becomes less a project of evaluating the show as a cultural mirror, and more one of de-constructing its material conditions. Consequently, different questions arise which demand “how” as opposed to “what” and “why” (Foucault 1982: 786). How is RPDR actually constructed, arranged, and managed? And how do these techniques help shape the different subjects represented on the series?

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A FOUCAULDIAN XTRAVAGANZA! As Foucault writes, the power relations of subjectification do not need to work on the level of direct action. In effect, “what defines a relationship of power is that it is a mode of action which does not act directly and immediately on others. Instead, it acts upon their actions: an action upon an action, on existing actions or on those which may arise in the present or the future” (Foucault 1982: 789, italics added). This framework of power and subjectification is especially relevant to the workings of RPDR. In theorizing how an RPDR contestant becomes the exalted subject of “America’s Next Drag Superstar,” it becomes clear that the series’ indirect exercise of power is paramount. That is, the way RPDR guides, shapes, and produces drag superstars may have less to do with the immediate actions of the contestants (such as winning or losing challenges), and more to do with how the series indirectly conducts and frames those actions. As one “mode of actions on the actions of others” (Foucault 1982: 790), the formulaic structure and editing of RPDR play pivotal roles in this process. While borrowed from established competition-based reality shows such as America’s Next Top Model and Project Runway, RPDR’s episodic structure also draws inspiration from Paris is Burning, Jennie Livingston’s seminal documentary on New York drag balls. As an effect of positioning interviews alongside ball footage, bell hooks (1992) notes that in Paris is Burning, “moments of pain and sadness [are] quickly covered up by dramatic scenes from drag balls, as though there [are] two competing cinematic narratives, one displaying the pageantry of the drag ball and the other reflecting on the lives of participants and value of the fantasy” (p. 154). A similar duality is at work in RPDR’s rendering of the dressing room and main stage sequences, two components that define the latter half of every episode. Similar to hooks’ observations of the interview scenes in Paris is Burning, RPDR frames its dressing room sequences as authentic instances of reflection and discussion. In the final moments before they take to the main stage, the queens always line up in front of the mirror. Under the bright studio lights and out of drag, they lay bare their personal histories while they beat their bare faces. Painful topics ranging from abandonment and trauma to violence and illness surface, often provoking words of consolation and encouragement from others and denoting depth and dimensionality in the queens’ subjectivities.

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As their makeup cooks, the queens’ character arcs deepen; the seams of drag are exposed. Yet, as soon as RPDR offers an apparently authentic glimpse into the lives of its contestants, the mood swings rapidly; a flurry of fast cuts and colored lights overtakes the calm of the dressing room, and the opening notes of “Cover Girl” boom overhead. Queens who seconds before appeared vulnerable and sensitive in the dressing room lights emerge as bold visions of dragged-out glamour and charisma on the main stage, strutting confidently toward the judges. In stark contrast to the intense, fleeting intimacy of the dressing room, the main stage delivers climactic displays of fierceness and bravado. As hooks (1992) writes of Paris in Burning, “the sustained focus on elaborate displays at balls diffuse[s] the power of the more serious critical narrative” (p. 154). To an extent, the same can be said of the spectacular of RPDR’s main stage against the solemnity of the dressing room. Pandora Boxx and Jujubee’s dressing room conversation in “Starrbootylicious” (S2, E2) is particularly symbolic. The two queens contour their faces, both take turns opening up about their fathers’ battles with cancer. Eventually, Jujubee counsels, “Just this, Pandora: just tell him you love him. That’s all.” She then sighs, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Pandora agrees, “I don’t either. I just put makeup on, and I don’t want it to smudge.” A few seconds later, Jujubee and Pandora both stand on the main stage, dressed to the nines and poised to compete. Their makeup is smudge-free. As seen here, instances of pain and sadness are often, quite literally, covered up. At the same time, pain and sadness do not disappear. In lieu of one narrative diffusing the power of the other, RPDR emphasizes interplay in articulating a coherent subject. The judges’ feedback crystallizes this articulation. Taking place in the dramatic final moments of the episode, we see the queens stand fully adorned before a panel of industry experts who evaluate their progress. No detail is above scrutiny: judges criticize or applaud the queens’ makeup, hair, outfits, and runway presentations, alongside personal conduct such as work ethic, leadership skills, and authority responsiveness. A queen’s behavior toward the other contestants is no less relevant than her runway performance. Thus, although a queen’s actions in the dressing room versus the main stage may appear contradictory, it is the judges’ panel which draws these disparate threads together and consolidates them in a unified subject. As shown in Ongina and Roxxxy Andrews’ notorious breakdowns before the judges in “Mac Viva-Glam Challenge” (S1, E4) and “RuPaul

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Roast” (S5, E7), respectively, this process is framed as a catharsis that helps contestants move forward in life and the competition. Yet significantly, Ongina and Roxxxy’s progress as evolving subjects is not due to intervention or coercion by the judges. Rather, their breakdowns appear spontaneous and unrehearsed, as if veering off the program’s script. For two consistently performing queens who showed little vulnerability, Ongina and Roxxxy’s personal struggles with HIV and abandonment, respectively, were portrayed powerfully. Through dramatic close ups, reaction shots of other queens crying, and Ru’s words of wisdom, both breakdowns effectively sculpt Ongina and Roxxxy’s subjectivities by consolidating their personal battles and drag personas. The two queens, who previously appeared one-sided, now emerge as convincing, multi-dimensional, and victorious subjects with unique stories to tell. Following their breakdowns, Ongina and Roxxxy move to the next round, coming one step closer to being crowned “America’s Next Drag Superstar.” These performances are emblematic of the way RPDR indirectly works on its queens through “guiding the possibility of conduct and putting in order the possible outcome” (Foucault 1982: 789). Formal aspects, such as how a scene is shot and edited, as well as structural decisions such as the recurring triage of dressing room, main stage and judges panel, all play integral roles in positioning a queen’s behavior as successful or otherwise.

“THE BITCH TURNED IT!”: TRANSFORMING

THE

SUBJECT

Becoming the subject “America’s Next Drag Superstar,” however, is a process which exceeds the boundaries of a single episode. Dressing room conversations and on-stage breakdowns are just two instances in this process. Over the entire arc of a season, turning points such as these form an overall phenomenon of transformation, as we observe the contestants develop into different subjects and queens than they were at the start. By the same token, the process of progressing through a season of RPDR, and the transformations this trajectory entails, are themselves changing forces. The first winners of RPDR are different subjects from the leading queens in most recent seasons. As contestants who make it to the famed position of top three, Tyra Sanchez (S2) and Pearl (S7) illuminate a case study for analyzing shifts in subjectification throughout RPDR. Tyra and Pearl undergo substantial metamorphosis over the course of their seasons. Despite their continuity,

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we can also identify shifts in how RPDR articulates and transforms each queen’s subjectivity. In Foucauldian terms, this formulation concerns the way specific techniques of subjectification form part of a technology of the self: that which “permit[s] individuals to effect by their own means or with the help of others a certain number of operations on their own bodies and souls, thoughts, conduct, and way of being, so as to transform themselves in order to attain a certain state” (Foucault 1988: 18). For RPDR, the subjecthood in question is “America’s Next Drag Superstar.” As part of a technology of the self, however, the path to this state is not fixed; Tyra and Pearl show that different techniques can be deployed in becoming this subject. Chief among them is the distinction between “by their own means” and “with the help of others,” alongside how these means are balanced and how that balance changes from seasons two to seven. In the case of Tyra Sanchez, a young, disadvantaged queen from Gainesville, Florida, her hard work and individualism are immediately emphasized. In “Gone with the Window” (S2, E1), Tyra is the only queen to be greeted with applause upon meeting the other contestants. The scene quickly cuts to Tyra, out of drag, addressing the camera: “I think I’m the prettiest one.” During the mini-challenge, Tyra receives a unique soundtrack of soft orchestral arrangements, in contrast to the beatheavy dance music reserved for the other queens’ efforts. Another cutaway reveals Tyra narrating, “I’m trying my hardest to be perfect.” Later in the episode, Ru makes his initial rounds as the queens prepare for the main challenge. Whereas the other queens discuss their ideas for the runway, Tyra tells Ru about his son Jeremiah, born the first week of his senior year in high school and his “main motivation” for winning. Unsurprisingly, Tyra’s self-enterprising also does well on the main stage, and as the weeks go by she continues to succeed, winning more challenges than any other season two queen. Yet just as Tyra’s self-determination pays off, her ability to work with others becomes problematized. By “Starrbootylicious” (S2, E2) Tyra has earned the nickname “Satan’s Baby” from the other queens. The episode’s group challenge is largely spent developing Tyra’s isolation through dramatic, back-and-forth cuts between the busy workroom and Tyra sleeping on the couch. In place of Ru’s regular rounds to check on the queens’ progress, Tyra’s failure to join the group dominates the scene, soliciting treatment from Ru who pointedly wakes her up. Throughout these early episodes of season two, Tyra’s individual achievements stand in stark contrast to her apparent inability to work with others.

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By the end of the season, however, a substantial shift has taken place. The season reunion constitutes an important occasion for elucidating and renarrating the subjectifying transformations of the season’s winner. “Reunion” (S2, E12), for Tyra, solidifies “the new Tyra,” as she becomes known: balancing her individual determination with the help of others. The queens praise Tyra’s success, noting that a change has taken place: Sahara Davenport acknowledges, “watching the show, you can’t take it from you. Watching the show, I’m like, the bitch turned it.” In response, the camera closes in on Tyra, whose monologue crystallizes that others’ help, along with her own motivations, were key in guiding her transformation: Before I came here, I didn’t have a place to stay. I was sleeping on my drag mother’s floor. I didn’t have a job. When I came here, my goal was to win. If I went home empty handed, that wasn’t an option. But my mom, she always taught me that when you want something, you pray for it. So I stayed and prayed up . . .

Ru endorses Tyra’s story, gushing, “you came here with a drag mother who clearly taught you the rules of drag . . . That kind of behavior that you had clearly learned from another elderly queen such as I, that’s magic.” Smiling with her newly whitened teeth, “the new Tyra” practically glows on set. As framed by Tyra’s transformation (which itself is framed through carefully edited highlights), the balance between being shaped by others and shaping oneself is integral to becoming “America’s Next Drag Superstar.” It is also important to Foucault’s rendering of the subject: “there are two meanings of the word ‘subject’: subject to someone else by control and dependence; and tied to his own identity by a conscience or self-knowledge. Both meanings suggest a form of power which subjugates and makes subject to” (1982: 781). Tyra’s win speaks to the interplay of these two forms of subjectification. To see Tyra taken under the wing of RuPaul and other experienced queens points to control, in which Tyra is transformed as a subject by the influence of others. From this perspective she will always carry on the family name; her roots will always be a part of her identity. In contrast, season two also shows Tyra maintaining who she is because she stays true to her individual goals and work ethic. In this way she also exemplifies the latter form of subjectification, in which possessing self-knowledge and being conscientious facilitate her (improved) subjectivity. Ultimately it is the relations between these different techniques of subjectification that produce season two’s version of “America’s Next Drag Superstar.”

THE “RUPAULITICS” OF SUBJECTIFICATION IN RUPAUL’S DRAG RACE

“LIGHT

A

FIRE

UNDER

AND

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YOUR ASS”: INVENTIONS

INTERVENTIONS

The subjectifying process of RPDR is far from fixed. Over the next five seasons, we see “just how flexible subjectivity can be,” where, “flexibility refers not just to a single subject with many elastic capacities but to versatility in the position itself” (Bratich 2006: 74). As another queen who reaches the final episode, Pearl’s trajectory throughout season seven marks a very different kind of transformation. Like Tyra, other queens identify Pearl as a contestant who needs improvement. Unlike Tyra, however, Pearl’s problems do not revolve around the need to work better with others. Rather, Pearl’s lack of selfmotivation is positioned as the issue. In “Shakesqueer” (S7, E3), Ru lambastes Pearl in front of the other queens, telling her that she is “sleepwalking” and that she “needs to wake up.” Michelle Visage inquires repeatedly if Pearl is stoned. By the next episode, “Spoof! There It Is” (S7, E4), other queens echo the judges’ sentiments. Various cutaways feature other contestants weighing in: Miss Fame complains, “Pearl has really been falling short,” and pushes her, “get outta your shell, girl!”; Trixie Mattel concurs that “she needs to get herself a fresh pair of batteries.” Not surprisingly, Pearl must Lip Sync For Your Life at the episode’s end, after being told again by the judges that she is lazy and needs to come out of her shell. Guest judge Jessica Alba advises Pearl, “Get your head out of your ass. Work it out.” Similar comments are peppered throughout the season’s first half. Collectively, they signal a shifting strategy in RPDR as the series’ emphasis on self-improvement and self-individuation grows increasingly dominant. Not only do contestants work hard in the challenges; there is also mounting pressure for them to work on themselves as subjects. In Foucauldian terminology, we see an increased emphasis on how “a human being turns himself into a subject” (1982: 778, italics added). In the intervention directed at Pearl in “The DESPY Awards” (S7, E5), tensions from the previous episode persist. As the queens prepare for the main challenge, RuPaul makes his rounds to check on their progress. When he comes to Pearl, Ru addresses Pearl’s failure to stand out from the crowd, which has now been established as her weakness. Ru states flatly, “Pearl, you do not have a big personality. How are you going to overcome that for this [challenge]?” A dramatic reaction shot emphasizes Pearl’s defensive stance: “Um, I think that I have a great personality, actually.” Ru reminds Pearl that she was in the bottom two of the previous

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week, and that she needs to “up the ante.” Offended, Pearl protests, “I mean you kind of told me I had no personality. That doesn’t make me feel good or give me confidence.” Ru clarifies, “Well, I’m hoping it will light a fire under your ass.” They stare each other down for what feels like an eternity. Finally Pearl stands up and announces, “I’m just over this bullshit” and exits the workroom. The soundtrack swells ominously. What happens next constructs another layer in Pearl’s subject-trajectory. On competition day Pearl emerges as a strong contestant who performs confidently, hardly recognizable in a Marilyn Monroe-inspired white dress and blonde wig—a departure from her dark, gloomy appearance the previous week. Cuts between Pearl and the judges emphasize Pearl delivering jokes on point. RuPaul and Michelle Visage laugh heartily. When the queens appear before the judges’ panel, Ru wastes no time applauding Pearl and announcing her as winner of the week’s challenge. A shot of Pearl beaming evokes memories of Tyra’s bright smile upon receiving Ru’s praise during the season two reunion. Unlike Tyra’s lengthy monologue, however, Pearl’s response is brief: “RuPaul, you gave me a smack down yesterday and it worked. Thank you. I appreciate it.” The episode closes on a high-note for Pearl, who is now ready to meet the challenges of the following weeks. She continues to compete strongly, as she climbs steadily to the top three. Significantly, Pearl’s one-liner speech reveals a new emphasis on fast turnarounds and immediate results as key techniques in the subjectifying process of RPDR. While both queens’ transformations are guided by a combination of self-improvement and being improved by others, Pearl’s turning point is framed as a hard-lined intervention that incites her to take control of her actions and better manage herself. Tyra’s change, on the other hand, is positioned as a process of growth, learning, and self-discovery. Consequently, Tyra emerges as a product of the drag race family, a caring and transformed subject who makes her drag mother proud. In contrast, Pearl’s newfound subjectivity resembles that of an entrepreneur, for whom “waking up” to her own individuality proved the key to success.

CONCLUSION: RU-FLECTIONS

AND

FURTHER DIRECTIONS

The marked disparity between Tyra and Pearl’s subjective transformations in RPDR speaks to a broader turn toward more overt entrepreneurialism and self-branding in the series. The contestants are younger,

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thinner, and more fashionable, as RPDR ushers in a new generation of queens who are raised by—and packaged for—reality television. As the series reaches new heights of popularity, the RPDR alumnae continue to swell. The pressure mounts for contestants to stand out from their peers in new and increasingly marketable ways. Beyond carrying the torch as ambassadors of RuPaul’s family, queens sign to talent agencies, launch their own careers and media strategies, tour extensively, and cultivate widespread fan bases. As the franchise continues to permeate the mainstream, we see RPDR increasingly impact and alter drag culture itself. Thus, these shifting corporate strategies have less to do with how the series reflects drag culture, and more to do with how RPDR actively transforms drag culture by way of shaping its subjects. As examined here, RPDR works on its contestants through an array of techniques that exercise power, although not necessarily directly. Rather, these tactics are indirect, as they conduct, guide, and enable queens’ actions over the course of a season. They include discussions with Ru, well-placed reactions from other queens, and strategic contrasts of “behind the scenes” dressing room scenes. Collectively these elements incite and arrange the series’ performances in a way that gradually transforms the queens. Disparate plot lines and character traits are established within the queens, which are then drawn together throughout a season. Some queens ultimately transform to become “America’s Next Drag Superstar,” yet this subjectivity is itself not fixed, and in fact transforms over the course of the series. By taking a Foucauldian approach to RPDR, I have taken a step back from evaluative concerns of whether the show accurately reflects drag culture and the drag community, and instead have focused on how it transforms drag via the production of particular drag queen subjectivities. In doing so, I asked “the little question: what happens?” (Foucault 1982: 786). How does the series actually function? Looking at processes of subjectification in RPDR as expressed through reality television ultimately means taking a hard look at contemporary power relations that inform our media and culture. Epistemic conclusions can certainly be drawn, but “maybe the target nowadays is not to discover what we are but to refuse what we are” (Foucault 1982: 785). In the end, this is a political question—one which the RuPaulitics of subjectification provokes us to ask.

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REFERENCES Bratich, J. Z. (2006). “Nothing is left alone for too long”: Reality programming and control society subjects. Journal of Communication Inquiry, 30(1), 65–83. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0196859905281696 Butler, J. (1990). Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion of identity. New York, NY: Routledge. Edgar, E. (2011). “Xtravaganza!”: Drag representation and articulation in “RuPaul’s Drag Race.” Studies in Popular Culture, 34(1), 133–146. http:// www.jstor.org/stable/23416354 Foucault, M. (1982). The subject and power. Critical Inquiry, 8(4), 777–795. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1343197 Foucault, M. (1988). Two technologies of the self. In L. H. Martin et al. (Eds.), Technologies of the self: A seminar with Michel Foucault (pp. 16–49). Amherst, MA: University of Massachusetts Press. Foucault, M. (2007). The meshes of power. In J. Crampton & S. Elden (Eds.), Space, knowledge and power: Foucault and geography (pp. 153–162). Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Goldmark, M. (2015). National drag: The language of inclusion in RuPaul’s Drag Race. GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies, 21(4), 501–520. http://dx. doi.org/10.1215/10642684-3123665 Hall, S. (1997). The work of representation. In S. Hall (Ed.), Representation: Cultural representations and signifying practices (pp. 13–74). London, G.B.: Sage. hooks, b. (1992). Black looks: Race and representation. Boston, MA: South End Press. Kontturi, K., & Tiainen, M. (2007). Feminism, art, Deleuze, and Darwin: An interview with Elizabeth Grosz. Nordic Journal of Feminist and Gender Research, 15(4), 246–256. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/ 08038740701646739 Livingston, J. (Director). (1990). Paris is burning [Motion picture]. United States: Miramax Films. Stanley, A. (2009, February 2). They float like the clouds on air do, they enjoy. . . . The New York Times, pp. 1 Strings, S., & Long, B. (2014). “She is not acting, she is.” Feminist Media Studies, 14(5), 822–836. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14680777.2013.829861 Julia Yudelman recently completed a Research Master’s degree in Media Studies at the University of Amsterdam, where her research focused on conceptualizing new film philosophies.

Contradictions Between the Subversive and the Mainstream: Drag Cultures and RuPaul’s Drag Race Niall Brennan INTRODUCTION “Gentlemen, start your engines. May the best woman (best woman) win!” has been RuPaul’s call to action since the first episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR) aired in 2009. RuPaul’s challenge is presented in the program’s brief introductory sequence. It is about 15 seconds in length, animated, and does not incorporate footage from any of the program’s episodes. Besides the introduction, the rest of RPDR consists of filmed and edited events and exchange, unsurprising since it is a reality/competition program, but which makes the introduction, as brief as it is, distinct. Yet the introduction and RuPaul’s command set the stage for what I believe are the three most prominent, and contestable, discourses to emerge from RPDR: authenticity, competition and consumption. If we parse RuPaul’s call to action, “the best woman” presents a situation in which authenticity is a criterion for judging the qualities of RPDR’s contestants. “Realness” is another way to think about authenticity in drag culture, and I discuss this below. Also present in RuPaul’s

N. Brennan (*) Department of Communication, Fairfield University, Fairfield, CT, USA © The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_3

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challenge is that we start with “gentlemen” and arrive at (the best) ”woman” – a challenge in which the authenticity of that transformation can only be paramount. Because “the best woman” wins, competition is also encoded into RuPaul’s challenge, as it is into reality television. But again, the certainty of competition in reality television needs resituating in the context of RPDR – we know that we are faced with competition, but what are the criteria that will discern “America’s next drag superstar”? Charisma, Uniqueness, Nerve and Talent (CUNT) will not suffice entirely, as cleverly misogynistic as they may be. When we think about consumption, there is no obvious reference in RuPaul’s challenge. At the same time, consumption is entirely present in RuPaul’s command. We know that the winning queen receives a large sum of money, that she is contracted to fulfill tours and other lucrative arrangements, and that as winner, she is equipped to launch her own career in a number of live and online spaces. We also know that RPDR is about consuming the RuPaul brand, whether through RuPaul’s music, accessories, endorsements or the “supermodel of the world” herself. It is the obvious as much as the obscure aspects of authenticity, competition and consumption in RPDR that deserve greater exploration. This chapter sets out to do that, first, by conceptualizing authenticity, competition and consumption both in and outside of the reality television context; second, by applying this framework to season four of RPDR; and third, by arriving at conclusions about how these dimensions of drag culture intersect in RPDR and reality/competition television, and their implications for mediated queer culture in general. Ultimately, I argue that authenticity, competition and consumption not only drive RPDR in obvious directions, but that they are mobilized to complicate the format of and assumptions built into reality television so as to suggest revisiting a balance between the subversive and mainstream qualities of drag culture as depicted in RPDR.

AUTHENTICITY, COMPETITION IN AND OUT OF

AND CONSUMPTION, DRAG

To begin thinking about authenticity in the context of drag culture, and in the singular context where drag and reality television meet, we might be prone to dissect the in- and out-of-drag characters of RPDR’s contestants. For anyone who has followed the program, the workroom

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environment, the challenges (mini and main), the runway shows and the Lip Sync for Your Life elimination all provide the substance of RPDR, as well as the structure to which RPDR’s contestants are subjected during a season. But the one-on-one, confessional-style segments are equally substantial, and they comprise a good portion of RPDR episodes. In parallel to the authenticity of the contestants in drag – the basis of the competition – these are moments in which we come to know the contestants out of drag and how their identities as people conform to, or contrast with, those of their drag personas. In these moments, we get to know how, as gay men, the queens’ identities are informed by experiences of pain, abandonment, rejection and abuse, as well as those of love, partnership, re-connection and support. We are presented with dual portraits of RPDR’s contestants, which fit with the role-playing nature of drag performance itself. Performance, then, is a solid premise for analyzing RPDR in an effort to make our way up the slippery conceptual slope of authenticity. In considering the alignment of authenticity and performance, and before delving into reality television and RPDR, the work of Judith Butler presents itself as a reasonable starting point. Performance intrinsically informs constructions of gender, and vice versa, according to Butler. Gender, rather than an “internal feature of ourselves,” is something that we “anticipate and produce through certain bodily acts”; gender is the “hallucinatory effect of naturalized gestures” (Butler 1990: xv–xvi). Drag further complicates gender performance, for drag brings into play biological sex, gender identity and the gender-performed identity being enacted in drag performance. Drag is therefore a simulation of and a play on the notion of gender – it presents a set of parodies that “effectively displace the meaning of the original” concept of gender and “imitate the myth of originality itself” (Butler 1990: 188). If we conceptualize drag from Butler’s perspective, then we can think of it as a deliberate and conscientious performance of gender on top of the ways in which we perform gender less knowingly, every day. Put into different terms by Newton (1972/1979) in her late-1960’s study of American female impersonators: if [Greta] Garbo playing women is drag, then homosexuals “passing” are playing men; they are in drag . . . In fact, gay people often use the word “drag” in this broader sense, even to include role playing which most people simply take for granted. (p. 108)

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To situate authenticity in the formats and genre of reality television, at the core of reality television is the “deep-seated claim to present social reality, to be the ‘frame’ through which we access the reality that matters to us as social beings” (Couldry 2004: 83). However, reality television is scripted, like any other dramatic and/or fictional form. The authentic quality of the genre is thus revealed when contestants’ artifice breaks down and their “true” selves are revealed (Hill 2002, 2005). In RPDR, while authenticity seems to contradict the nature of drag, successful drag still hinges on authentic performances of femaleness (Edgar 2011), as well as consistently authentic performances of femaleness in consistently different ways. Differently, but in keeping with Hill’s claim, authenticity in RPDR is revealed when fissures appear in contestants’ performances of femaleness, resulting in queens sashaying away. Another way to conceive of authenticity in reality television and in RPDR is through the strength and legitimacy of relationships established between performer and audience, in the way Hall and Whannel (1964) conceived of popular arts to differentiate meaningful popular culture from meaningless mass culture. Given that RPDR is one of few dedicated queer spaces on television (despite its obscure broadcaster and low ratings, as Gudelunas discusses in this volume), its authenticity can be substantiated by considering that while “audience exclusivity may impede gaining new viewership, it also legitimates and authenticates the show through its close proximity to a queer audience” (Edgar 2011: 135). In terms of performer/audience relations, “realness” is another concept we can apply to drag authenticity as conveyed by RPDR. Realness is a criterion on which drag queens in Livingston’s (1990) documentary Paris Is Burning are rated by judges and audiences for their abilities to simulate the straight white world of the country club set, for instance. The transition from authenticity to consumption in the context of reality television and RPDR is facilitated by the notion of performance. “Performance,” as Silverstone (1999) writes, is “mobilized in the service of our participation in economic life” (p. 78). Performing who we are on individual and social levels is shaped by our consumption practices and habits. Consumption is a form of “work,” as Silverstone continues, that helps us navigate our way as “global consumer-citizens” to create “personal meanings” and to “participate in local cultures” (ibid). Even more fitting to discussion of gender performativity, reality television and RPDR is the idea that consumption entails “an acting out,” a “play of fantasy” and a “display of identity” (Silverstone 1999: 80). In effect, consumption

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provides a larger space in which the ephemeral and illusionary nature of drag can be both contained and expressed exponentially. Crucial as well is to consider how the “economic” and “social” contribute to distinct modes of conduct in terms of regulating who participates in a consumer-driven societies and in which ways (Stearns et al. 2011). If we think about the gendered implications of consumption, then drag and its conveyance through RPDR further destabilize this terrain. As widely researched (Marwick 2015; Deery 2015; Hill 2015; Andrejevic 2004), consumption creates a framework for self-promotion specific to reality television – contestants become commodities themselves, outside of the program’s commercial value. However, if we consider consumption as indispensable to reality television, then we must think about how it characterized drag culture before its introduction to reality television. Newton’s (1972/1979) study of drag queens in the late-60s involved immersing herself in gay bar/club circuits across the USA. The professional environs of drag queens are entirely marked by forms of consumption – of audiences consuming drag queens’ acts, of drag queens responding to different kinds of patronage, of alcohol and drugs and of unstable payment and management schemes (Newton 1972/1979). This line of inquiry brings us closer to a key dimension of drag culture and consumption. As Berkowitz and Belgrave (2010) observe in their study of Miami Beach drag queens We cannot say for sure if drugs pervade the drag scene because they serve as a coping mechanism to counter the marginalization and harassment that accrues from internalized homophobia and gender nonconformity or if this is something that simply comes with the territory in the nightclubs in which drag queens spend so much of their time (p. 173).

If anything, the intersections of consumption and drag culture articulate themselves in many ways – from the benign to the destructive. The next task at hand is to consider how competition in its political/historical relationship with drag culture unfolds in RPDR. Competition is inevitably a part of the reality television complex. According to Kavka (2012), the first-generation of reality-TV, Survivor and Big Brother, “repositioned reality television as a high-rating component of prime time programming” (p. 75). Second-generation reality television, in which we can place RPDR, secures its place “in the millennial cultural imaginary by openly combining actuality and artifice in ways that broke rating records and caused wide-scale debate” (Kavka 2012: 76).

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Moreover, competition in second-generation reality television draws on a “knock-out tournament structure familiar from sports,” to which we should add the “principles associated with scientific investigation: isolation, highly controlled conditions and full-scale visibility” (Kavka 2012: 87). There is also reality television’s neoliberal project to consider, in which “individual responsibility” supplants community support, and “the benefits of choice – especially consumer choice” – are equated with “individual fulfillment” (Sender 2006: 135; see also Daggett, Ferrante and O’Halloran in this volume). Clearer, then, are the ways in which competition overlaps with authenticity and consumption not only in reality television but also in RPDR. We must consider competition in the historical context of drag culture, however, and in anticipation of reality television. In framing the scope of her study, Newton (1972) observes that the “homosexual subculture values visual beauty, and beating women at the glamour game is a feat valued by all female impersonators and by many homosexuals in general” (p. 46). Moreover, in the work that drag queens performed in the volatile context of the 1960s gay bar/club circuit, and in conjunction with the marginalized experience of gay men in general, Newton notes that the “greatest source of tension was inherent in the life-situation of most female impersonators. Cut-throat motives of gain and competition were allowed free play and even encouraged in a very loosely structured situation whose only certainties were uncertainties” (p. 115). Much has been written about competition in reality television, but in a predictable format, little has been said about the conjunction of competition and reality television as they define participating in and understanding queer cultures. I turn to RPDR to get a sense of its discursive uses of authenticity, competition and consumption in portraying one part of queer cultures.

METHODOLOGICAL NOTE For this study, I analyzed season four (S4) of RPDR. My decision to select S4 was based entirely on the season landing in the middle of RPDR’s sequence (to date, nine seasons), and not for qualities of particular contestants, challenges, judges or the overall narrative. I argue that my analysis could be conducted of any other season of RPDR. Clearly, other season’s contestants, challenges, judges and storylines are different, but the discursive nature of authenticity, competition and consumption in RPDR, I

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argue, and the ways in which they attempt to strike a balance between the subversive and mainstream dimension of drag culture, do not seem to change.

THE LIBRARY IS OPEN: READING AUTHENTICITY, CONSUMPTION AND COMPETITION IN RPDR Authenticity, consumption and competition overlap in S4 in ways that suggest the difficulty in attempting to consider their discrete presence. Nevertheless, one moment in which authenticity is articulated is when Willam enters the workroom (E1) to announce that she is a “successful drag queen, not some bitch who has to show for a dollar.” Willam invokes a sense of authenticity (and competition) as outlined by Newton (1972) – the established boundaries between “street” and “professional” queens. Willam’s authenticity parallels that of Latrice Royale, “Large and in charge, chunky yet funky. Bold and beautiful, baby.” The two queen’s self-articulated singularity stands in contrast to DiDa Ritz, who sees herself as if “Carrie Bradshaw, Beyoncé and Kimora Simmons somehow got together and had a baby.” Willam’s authenticity rests on her looks, acting career, and clever sensibilities. At the same time, Latrice Royale evokes a different sense of authenticity through her life experience. Latrice spent time in prison, and when her mother died she was not allowed to attend the funeral, which we learn in a confessional. Equally evocative, Jiggly Caliente’s mother died in 2007 and she had only three months to spend with her, also revealed in a confessional. Paradoxically, Jiggly’s authenticity appears to be relegated to life experience and does not translate easily into drag performance. Barely scraping through the first runway challenges, Jiggly is critiqued for needing “to put her privates away,” and for her body in general. According to a judge, “I thought it was her outfit, until I realized it was really her belly.” E5, particularly “Snatch Game” and the runway challenge, evince some revealing aspects of authenticity in the season. Phi Phi O’Hara is genuine in her ruthless competitiveness, and in her antipathy for Sharon Needles. In a mini-challenge, however, Phi Phi wins a phone call to a loved one, which she gives to Chad Michaels, whose anniversary with his partner is the following day. To this altruistic act Latrice exclaims, “Phi Phi, you’re not a complete bitch!” It would appear, then, that ruthlessness and hostility do not sufficiently complete the authenticity of Phi Phi’s persona;

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also required are moments of compassion, however real those may be. The objective of “Snatch Game,” a spoof of The Match Game, is to imitate a celebrity while drawing on CUNT, humor and spontaneity. The idea of performing authentic imitativeness, however, not only heightens tensions between the contestants, but it also throws into question the criteria for judging drag performance. Phi Phi considers Sharon’s idea to impersonate judge Michelle Visage a bad one, although this can be read as a drag queen imitating a woman who emulates drag queens, and most queens see Chad channeling Cher as predictable (Cher impersonations are Chad’s breadand-butter routine, but they are real). RuPaul criticizes Kenya Michael’s choice to imitate Beyoncé because of Kenya’s language barriers (her native language is Spanish), as well as Milan’s decision to impersonate Diana Ross, which, it seems, will lack humor and spontaneity. In essence, “Snatch Game” unleashes the dichotomy between lampoon and legitimacy that appears inherent to drag, but which few of the season’s queens seem able to master. In fact, following the challenge, Latrice lambastes her compatriots for their “shenanigans and fuckery” – that is, for too much lampoon and not enough legitimacy. E4’s runway challenge is equally revealing of the discursive nature of drag authenticity. DiDa Ritz, according to RuPaul, appears as a “Black Barbie Doll,” suggesting both the unimaginativeness and impossibility of this combination. Kenya Michaels, on the other hand, creatively dressed in a Puerto Rican flag-inspired outfit, receives the uninspired “Puerto Rico!” as commentary. Milan’s Janelle Monae-inspired look, according to judge Santino Rice, “comes across as a man: the pants, the saddle shoes. It all reads as boy.” For Michelle Visage, “You’re giving us drag king.” Moreover, Michelle tells Milan, “I felt like I was seeing Sammy Davis, Jr. That is not what I want to see in my drag queens.” In the final judging, Kenya is seen to have evaded a credible impersonation of Beyoncé. According to RuPaul, “That’s what drag is about. You have to have a knowledge of pop culture.” However, assuming that Kenya does know her popular culture icons, we have to wonder the extent to which her inauthenticity has to with other perceived shortcomings. Kenya is eliminated (only to be brought back later), but she leaves with the proclamation: “All the Puerto Rican people [can] be proud of my work. I’m a sensation!” In all of S4, the judges pose the greatest problem in terms of attempting to contain the elusive nature of drag authenticity. There is little agreement among the judges about what constitutes authentic drag in the first place. In E6, guest judge Billy B criticizes Milan for making her Pride boat about

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herself. Meanwhile, Willam has plastered her boat with images of herself, which Billy B overlooks in favor of its “professionally done” quality, as well as the Dolce & Gabbana coat and Jean Paul Gaultier swimsuit that Willam sports on the runway. A snide comment from Billy B on Jiggly’s size – “she could barely fit in the boat” – evokes a heated response from co-guest judge Kelly Osbourne: “How dare you! Big is beautiful!” It is also hard to escape the judges’ contradictions in praising Sharon’s messiness and Chad’s perfection, yet wanting to see the same qualities in the other queen. Moreover, Billy B is cut down by Michelle Visage for saying that Milan’s body language emulates a “dude in a dress”: “Stop it already!” By way of further contradiction, DiDa is chastised for wearing a t-shirt on the runway. “But she was the only one up there with a cameltoe,” retorts Kelly Osbourne, in reference to a “genuine” concern of female dress. In E11, when we are closer to knowing America’s next drag superstar, the contradictions of drag authenticity as determined by the judges appear at their greatest. RuPaul asks the four finalists, “Which one of these bitches does not deserve to be in the top three?” For Sharon, this is Phi Phi. “Phi Phi has a cutthroat attitude. To be America’s next superstar, we need a sweetheart . . . we need to show enough heart and family morals among sisters.” For Phi Phi, Sharon should be eliminated. “For him to stand on this stage and [say] that I don’t value family is bullshit. If I’m . . . cutthroat, then so be it. I’m a fierce competitor and I deserve to be here.” For Chad, Phi Phi should go home. “She’s made no qualms about wanting to win this, hands-down, whatever it is that she needs to do.” For Latrice, Sharon should be eliminated. “She’s gotten through this competition being imperfect. On this runway, we strive for perfection. If I was to come out here with unfinished seams and a ripped up this and a ripped up that, my ass would be handed to me.” Yet the judges critique Latrice for her unfinished hemline, and the verdict on Phi Phi is, “The blessing is she’s fierce, the burden is she’s fierce.” Ultimately, Latrice is eliminated. She exits the competition with the advice, “Dream and dream big. It doesn’t matter where you come from, what color you are, what shape you are. Be the best that you can be,” perhaps the most authentic statement offered during the season. As such, we can derive from Latrice’s advice that authenticity is not about dictating a certain type of drag queen. But as RPDR establishes a climate in which different articulations of drag are judged against each other in what is, admittedly, the nature of reality TV, we are taken away from the possibility of multiple, authentic drag cultures existing simultaneously.

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As only one queen prevails in any season of RPDR, this brings us to the discursive role of competition. Like authenticity, however, there are both explicit and contradictory layers of competition in RPDR that warrant exploration – the latter, particularly. Clearly, RPDR is a competition, further structured by challenges within the overall competition, which range from playing children’s games (E5) to creating television sitcoms (E4) and staging wrestling matches (E2). Competition becomes contradictory, however, when Kenya is forced to have Madame LaQueer join her team in a challenge to promote RuPaul’s tracks “Champion” and “Glamazon” (E3). Madame is the last queen to be picked, and Kenya snubs her high-five gesture of solidarity. In a confessional, Madame LaQueer expresses rejection and disappointment: “Puerto Rican girls do not help each other. That is very sad.” For Kenya, however, the challenge is not about Puerto Rican solidarity; rather, “I didn’t choose her [for] my team because I didn’t want her.” Here, the implications of competition are about more than being chosen last (Madame LaQueer is chosen last in E2 as well), or about winning teams. They are about establishing and compelling intra-group tensions and rivalries that may not exist in other settings. In the same episode, Sharon expresses concern with being pigeonholed into a “Goth-spooky” look. In other words, the trademark characteristics of her performance become a liability in the context of RPDR. However, in an aside with Chad, Sharon worries that she is “working with a bunch of amateurs” who have not yet matured enough to develop their own signature aesthetic. Meanwhile, Phi Phi becomes even more ruthless and territorial, shouting at Sharon, “Bitch, shut the fuck up! This is my team!” Following the runway challenge, Madame LaQueer is critiqued for using too much Spanish previously; DiDa is critiqued for playing a character out of her comfort zone; and Sharon is critiqued for the lower half of her outfit, which looks like “a store-bought thing.” Competition in these instances reaches to a different level than we might normally expect of reality television. Competition becomes a matter of second-guessing the foundations upon which the drag queens have constructed their very performative selves. As suggested above, competition in RPDR is discursively constructed through aesthetic differences – differences that reside on a deeper and, at times, more passionate level than at one of simple competition. Following the prison sitcom challenge (E4), in which Sharon’s team wins and Phi Phi’s loses, Phi Phi claims that she “let” Sharon win by further corralling her into her Gothic look. In other words, Phi Phi did Sharon a favor by

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allowing her to perform her authentic drag self. As such, their exchange escalates: Phi Phi:

Sharon: Phi Phi: Sharon:

“Sharon, you are not even at the same level as me, so get the fuck out of my face! Go back and do your only one look that you got!” “Oh, I have one look? Tired-ass showgirl.” “Show girl? At least I am a showgirl, bitch! “I’m the fucking future of drag! You look fucking twenty years ago! [Applying make-up in front of her work station mirror] Future. The future.”

In a moment of foreshadowing, we are given a glimpse of Sharon indeed assuming the mantle of the future of drag, and the ultimate rejection of Phi Phi’s showgirl aesthetic. Similarly, in the “All-American Wet T-shirt Contest” mini-challenge (E6), Sharon laments that “Playing something really girlish and bouncy and sexy is really foreign to me . . . I’m not one of those fishy queens. I’d never want to create a character that someone would want to fuck. I like to mock sexiness.” In stark contrast, Willam, who wins the mini-challenge and who RuPaul describes as “a dirty, dirty girl,” proclaims, “I won. You know, it’s kind of a hobby of mine. Thank you, God, for all this bod.” Willam, however, is soon disqualified from RPDR for transgressing its rules of engagement. Competition is a premise of reality television – someone must win, and in this respect RPDR is no different. Within RPDR, however, contradictions lie beneath the surface of competition that result in queens questioning the very foundations of their performative selves. As such, a dilemma of RPDR’s competitiveness lies in the way drag performance is limited by the reality television format. Alternately, we might question if drag and its bases in camp – or “the perception or creation of incongruous juxtapositions” (Newton 1972/1979: 106; original emphasis) – could ever be realized within the structures (and strictures) of the reality television complex. My final focus is on discourses of consumption in RPDR – specifically, the way in which consumption alternates between the obvious demands and expectations of reality TV, and the contradictory and subversive qualities of drag culture, at least as they are conveyed through the former (which, if we have not yet realized, presents a contradiction in itself). It practically goes without saying that RPDR is about consuming the RuPaul

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brand and its franchises. Apart from RPDR, Untucked nearly assumes the qualities of a stand-alone program, not only in content but also in style of production. The RuPaul franchise has also born Drag U (2010–2012) and All Stars (2012–present), not to mention countless on- and offline spaces for RPDR alumna to establish and develop their own drag brands. Doubtless, RPDR is also about consuming RuPaul: first, as the supportive and caring host who frequents the workroom to ask questions of and offer guidance to queens preparing for an upcoming challenge; second, as co-producer/director of RPDR’s many challenges, alongside well-known creative professionals; and third, as the incisive and scintillating commander of the main challenge, the runway show, as well as of a bevvy of regular and guest judges. Consuming RuPaul in her various guises is entirely different from other reality television productions, whose hosts, when present, often take a back seat to the contestants and challenges, or who preside in teams over the program’s proceedings. RPDR is also, unabashedly, about plugging and promoting RuPaul’s own merchandise, as well as drag- and queer-friendly products. In S4, dozens of products and services are plugged, from wigs, gowns, shoes and silicon breastplates to an LGBTQ-oriented travel agency. The main challenge of E3 is to promote RuPaul’s latest tracks and, secondarily, to provide a backdrop for the contestants’ inner struggles and relations with each other. Kenya’s English-language limitations lead Milan to co-opt her team captain role, which results in confusion and resentment. The E3 main challenge also provides a forum for furthering Phi Phi and Sharon’s vitriolic relationship. Ultimately, however, the main challenge is about RuPaul and her brand. In a group gathering, she reminds the queens: “Remember, you need to connect with the TV audience, make them laugh, sell some product.” In E7, the main challenge of which involves designing and producing a glossy magazine, Jiggly takes the uncertain route of addressing a serious issue – overeating and obesity. Nevertheless, during the photo shoot for the cover of Jiggly’s magazine, RuPaul-branded Iron Fist shoes are prominently featured. In E8, the mini-challenge has RuPaul asking the queens a series of questions through a polygraph test. The objective of the challenge is not to determine a winner, but to promote the features of RPDR and RuPaul merchandise, again, in irreverent ways. Latrice, DiDa and Chad are asked, “Have you ever looked at the Pit Crew with lust in your heart?” Chad, Sharon and Willam are asked, “Do you like my line of Iron Fist shoes?” And to all of the remaining queens (with the camera resting on Sharon), RuPaul asks: “Are you the future of drag?” We can

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look at this challenge as a detour from the drama that characterizes the rest of the season. Instead, it revels in humor and satire, not to mention RuPaul’s keen commercial sensibilities. In terms of commercialism and consumption in RPDR, it is worth concluding by looking at E9 and RPDR’s relationship with Absolut Vodka (which Rosiello addresses in his piece). The mini-challenge is to decorate a pair of unadorned platform shoes inspired by Absolut cocktails, and the results are co-judged by Jeffrey Moran, an Absolut marketing executive. Moran announces that “Great classic cocktails are the inspiration for today’s challenge,” and we see various flavors of Absolut arranged behind signposted cocktails. Moran continues, “At Absolut, we’ve been celebrating the gay and lesbian community for 30-plus years. So you can imagine we’ve thrown some really great parties.” Queens are each assigned a cocktail, which is to inspire their platform transformation. Following the runway competition, which Moran also co-judges, Sharon irreverently addresses the executive: “I love vodka. And I have enjoyed your company responsibly many a night.” The insertion of Absolut’s corporate interests into RPDR, as obvious as they are, reflects a different kind of relationship than that of the place of alcohol brands in the gay bar/club circuit. It reflects the discursive “naturalness” of certain kinds of consumption in LGBTQ cultures. The point here is not to excoriate connections between brands and consumption habits – far from it. We only have to wonder if RPDR, and the growing acceptance and appreciation of drag culture as an art and a profession, would have gained their current footing without corporate interests. However, like any other naturalized relation between cultures, brands and consumption practices, we need to look beyond the surface and ask whose interests are truly being represented, and for what and whose purposes.

CONCLUSION Gender performativity is not a flawless concept, nor did Butler see drag as “the paradigm of subversive action or, indeed, as a model for political agency” (1990: xxiii). Butler (2004) in fact revisits her ideas to accept that “received notions of reality . . . determine what kinds of bodies and sexualities will be considered real . . . and which kind will not” (p. 214). This presents further issues in seeking the “reality” of drag performativity in reality TV, as certain performativities are validated and others are eliminated. The question left to consider is whether drag is denuded of political

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agency in the context of reality TV, or if the latter is indeed a productive platform for drag to gain greater political visibility. If we consider the appeal and popularity of RPDR alone, we can agree on drag culture’s greater visibility. The verdict is out, however, as to whether drag has gained political traction as a facet of LGBTQ experience and by virtue of RPDR, or if drag has been diluted to another form of “fact-based” entertainment within the reality-television industry. As such, RPDR should be critiqued on many levels, as my fellow contributors and I have done. What I have found in my analysis is that the multiple articulations of authentic drag performance in RPDR, and therefore the possibility of envisioning multiple drag cultures outside of reality television, are reduced to one or two (highly contentious) possibilities. Likewise, in analyzing discursive aspects of competition in RPDR, I found that the drag queens often end up questioning the foundations of their performative identities, thereby bringing into question the relationship between drag and camp as reliant on unexpected juxtapositions – an unexpectedness, in other words, that is incompatible with the structure and strictures of reality TV. Finally, I found that consumption in RPDR is ultimately not as much a reflection of drag culture, to the extent that this is possible, as it a showcase for RPDR and the RuPaul brand’s commercial prowess and capabilities. As critical as my findings may be, however, it is worth thinking about how marginalized cultures have consistently straddled a divide between the subversive and the mainstream. Without their subversive aspects, subcultures would have no ultimate mainstream appeal, we would never be able to locate them on a cultural map, and so in this respect, the way in which RPDR represents drag cultures is not very different from histories of subculture that are now part of cultural acceptability. We are still a long way from drag culture becoming part of the cultural mainstream, but to the extent that RPDR plays with types of hegemony, we can consider ourselves that much closer.

REFERENCES Andrejevic, M. (2004) Reality TV: The Work of Being Watched. Lanham and Oxford: Rowman and Littlefield. Berkowitz, D., & Belgrave, L. L. (2010) “She Works Hard for the Money: Drag Queens and the Management of Their Contradictory Status of Celebrity and Marginality”. In Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 39(2): 159–186.

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Butler, J. (1990) Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversions of Identity. New York and London: Routledge. Butler, J. (2004) Undoing Gender. New York and Abingdon: Routledge. Couldry, N. (2004) “Teaching Us To Fake It: The Ritualized Norms of Television’s ‘Reality’ Games”. In S. Murray & L. Ouellette (eds.) Reality TV: Remaking Television Culture. New York: New York University Press, pp. 82–99. Deer, J. (2015) Reality TV. Cambridge and Malden: Polity Press. Edgar, E. (2011) “Xtravaganza!’: Drag representation and articulation in ‘RuPaul’s Drag Race”. In Studies in Popular Culture, 34(1): 133–146. Hall, S., & Whannell, P. (1964) The Popular Arts. London: Hutchinson Educational. Hill, A. (2002) “Big Brother: The Real Audience”. In Television & New Media, 3(3): 323–340. Hill, A. (2005) Reality TV: Audiences and Popular Factual Television. New York and London: Routledge. Hill, A. (2009) “Perceptions of the Authenticity of Reality Programs and Their Relationships to Audience Involvement, Enjoyment and Perceived Learning”. In Journal of Broadcasting & Electronic Media, (53)4: 515–531. Hill, A. (2015) Reality TV. New York and London: Routledge. Kavka, M. (2012) Reality TV. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Livingston, J. (1990) Paris Is Burning. Off White Productions. Marwick, A.E. (2015) “You May Know Me from YouTube: (Micro-)Celebrity in Social Media”. In P.D. Marshall and S. Redmond (eds.) A Companion to Celebrity. Malden, Mass.: John Wiley and Sons. pp. 333–350. Newton, E. (1972/1979) Mother Camp: Female Impersonators in America. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press. Sender, K. (2006) “Queens for a Day: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and the Neoliberal Project”. In Critical Studies in Media Communication, 23(2): 131–151. Silverstone, R. (1999) Why Study the Media?. London, Thousand Oaks, New Delhi: SAGE Publications. Stearns, J., Sandlin, J. A., & Burdick, J. (2011) “Resistance on Aisle Three?: Exploring the Big Curriculum of Consumption and the (Im)possibility of Resistance in John Updike’s ‘A&P’”. In Curriculum Inquiry, 41(3): 394–415. Niall Brennan holds a PhD in Media and Communications from the London School of Economics and Political Science. His research centers on discourses of representation, identity and belonging in Brazilian, USA, British and Australian television programming, and he is Visiting Assistant Professor in the Department of Communication at Fairfield University.

“Pick up a book and go read”: Art and Legitimacy in RuPaul’s Drag Race Dieter Brusselaers The user-edited online encyclopedia about RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR) on Wikia, a web hosting service home to a variety of (mostly) popularculture-related wikis, displays a telling message above the fan-written entry for S5 contestant Serena ChaCha: WARNING: Vandalism, bullying, insults, trash talking, and inappropriate edits or deleting will NOT be tolerated. Pages on this site for [sic] designated for constructive and factual contributions. Please reserve all personal opinions to the “comments” section found at the bottom of each page.

Serena, the alter ego of Myron Morgan, competed in the fifth season of the Logo TV reality series. The drag queen from Panama, twenty-one at the time of her participation, had just graduated from art school and professed an interest in “fine art drag” and performance art. She would be eliminated after merely two episodes, but somehow managed to annoy the show’s fanbase vehemently enough to court “[v]andalism, bullying, insults, trash talking” on a webpage edited by devoted audience members. A more recent thread on the social network reddit about the first edition of RuPaul’s DragCon, a 2015 convention on drag performance held in Los

D. Brusselaers (*) Independent Researcher, Antwerp, Belgium © The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_4

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Angeles, tells a similar story about audience appreciation of Serena. “For me, the saddest part of DragCon was walking by Serena Chacha’s [sic] autograph table and seeing the line completely empty”, reddit user whereismyblog (2015) writes, specifying how, apparently embarrassed by the lack of fan interest, Serena was “standing on the front side of the table, walking around and keeping herself occupied”. Serena ChaCha is not the only unpopular queen ever to “sashay away”. Season six’s Magnolia Crawford’s wiki page bears a similar anti-bullying warning, and social media attacks on season seven’s Jasmine Masters were so aggressive that RuPaul herself felt compelled to address them on the show in S7, E14: “Grand Finale” (Gelfland 2015). However, I will suggest that Serena’s unpopularity is rooted in something more profoundly tied up with a subcultural aesthetic, and that Serena’s castigation and subsequent exit could be read as carefully coded narrative elements of iconic significance. More concretely, this chapter will read the dislike Serena inspired in RDPR contexts as a specifically gay male response to her persona, insofar as that dislike originates in elements alien to gay male aesthetics, surfacing in contexts heavily determined by gay male culture. This does not mean that I consider the viewership or the cast of RDPR to be made up completely of individuals that identify as gay men. In fact, RDPR’s place in Logo TV’s selfconscious employment of a “gaystreaming” strategy is “designed to draw in a larger audience, particularly heterosexual women” (Ng 2013, p. 259). Furthermore, the dramatic reveal of contestant Monica Beverly Hillz’s identity as a transgender woman within the same episode that saw Serena’s exit (Murray 2013b, S5, E2: “Lip Synch Extravaganza Eleganza” (LSEE)) contradicts the assumption that the cast consists entirely of gay men. What it does mean is that, following Halperin’s (2012) provocative study on the subject, I accept the existence of a set of cultural and aesthetic practices that are somehow socially coded as gay male and associated with (though not exclusively performed by) gay men. What it also means is that I – like Halperin himself – consider RDPR to be an effective, high-visibility incarnation of those traditionally marginalized subcultural aesthetics within a more mainstreamed context. Investigating how a particular element invites friction and hostility within the format of RDPR is therefore helpful to appreciate the show’s uncompromising aesthetic entanglement in gay male culture, as well as to gain better understanding of its negotiations of reality in a markedly gray zone between gay male culture and mainstream media. Taking Serena as a case study of an irritant’s presence on the show, I first set out to out to identify how her ill-savored persona is coded by both

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her own performance and RDPR’s construction of her as a character of reality TV. Much of that persona is related to an association with certain aesthetic aspirations. In order to understand better why these issues arise within the microcosm of the series, I elucidate some of the aesthetics that inform the RDPR universe, and how they play into the quarrel scene in RuPaul’s Drag Race Untucked! S5, E2: LSEE. Ultimately, I propose that what is played out between Serena ChaCha and the other drag queens in the backstage lounges of RDPR may crystallize in a clash between gay male and non-gay attitudes towards art and artistry.

SERENA’S PERSONA

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RDPR

To start grasping the significance of the allergic reaction provoked by Serena’s appearance on RDPR, we must first answer the deceptively simple question: who exactly is Serena ChaCha – or rather, who does the narrative of RDPR tell us she is? Wilson (2014) develops a concept of celebrity consumption in reality television that proves helpful in formulating an answer. She writes that “talent competitions, gamedocs, and dating shows […] not only focus on individual performances in ‘challenges’ but also dedicate much representational space to participant ‘confessions’ and their reflections on fellow castmates and happenings” (p. 428). This observation is certainly accurate for RDPR. Moore (2013) notes a number of structuring elements modifying its competitive framework, most notably the intercutting of commentary interviews throughout the episodes, in which the contestants appear out of drag and voice “internal motivations, post facto criticisms, and/or humorous reads of various competitors or situations” (p. 20). In addition to these strategies, the onscreen interviews by RuPaul (in the finale and in the last regular episode of each season) and the backstage footage from Untucked! cater to an audience appetite for more personal knowledge of the contestants. The spin-off RuPaul’s Drag Race: RuVealed, which revives entire seasons and merely provides them with new commentaries and personal trivia, could even be argued to exist solely by grace of that appetite for confessional representation – the competitive excitement of the challenges having been played out long before the RuVealed episodes air. For Wilson (2014), this structural variation between competitive and confessional space correlates with an interplay between “performed self” and “true self”, leaving the resulting “performance of identity” up for

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evaluation to an audience engaging in “star testing”, a process in which “audiences use stars to test and regulate themselves, bouncing their gaze between star images and their own attitudes towards and feelings about these images” (pp. 428–429). Whereas star testing might have audiences sympathizing with a certain reality star, “they are more often positioned to experience relationships with reality celebrities marked by feelings such as pity, judgment, and hate” (p. 428). Serena falls squarely in the category of those reality celebrities towards whom audiences are unfavorably “positioned” while “star testing”, meaning that (1) to some extent, Serena is “cast” as the source of animosity through the way RDPR codes her performance and (2) that what is resented in Serena is only rejected after a process in which audiences “test and regulate themselves” in the mirror of her vices and virtues. The combination of these two aspects allow for a re-identification of Serena’s persona as one primed for general dislike: it highlights the qualities of Serena’s performance most likely to clash with the subjective values of the star testing audience. RDPR’s Serena ChaCha, then, is not so much a dislikeable person as she represents and embodies something socially valued as repugnant by the envisaged community of RDPR viewers. Choices made by the show’s production team – whether deliberate or not – alter Serena’s emergent persona. Given the fact that reality TV, by principle, shows something that has occurred in pre-camera reality, this is a tricky observation. Although neither Serena’s out-of-drag counterpart Myron Morgan nor the production team of RDPR could claim sole authorship of the reality TV character Serena ChaCha, it would be remiss not to acknowledge that this character is assembled from her performances as a real-life person. Fortunately, Serena makes it easy to distinguish the seams of the series’ tailoring of her performance, for there are clues that she was aiming for a quite different representational persona than the one she ended up with. The aforementioned reddit-thread by whereismyblog gives an indication of how Serena’s persona eventually turned out. One sardonic reply to her scant success at the 2015 DragCon scathes: “I hope she brought a book to keep herself occupied”. The reply, posted by a user called meatytuck, links to a GIF that displays a close-up of Serena (taken from Untucked! S5, E2: LSEE) and bears the subtitle: “I read books”. This is a good summary of the most memorable aspect of Serena’s presence on RDPR: she was the drag queen who claimed to be more educated than her fellow contestants. Not only did RDPR audiences witness Serena bringing

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up her literacy as an argument to defend and distinguish herself, they also saw her leave the competition with the disdainful last words: “To the other queens: pick up a book and go read” (Murray 2013b, S5, E2: LSEE). These crystallized moments of elitist snobbery were completely in line with the way Serena had been represented before. For instance, S5, E1: “RuPaullywood or Bust” (ROB) (Murray 2013a) showed her babbling away relentlessly about coming from “an art school environment”, resorting to terminology such as “fine art drag”, “performance art”, “soft sculpture”, and her quest for the “performative aspect” of her dress – words borrowed from the intellectualist lexicon of contemporary fine art. As an audience, we have no way of knowing how much she might have talked about other subjects (or in different registers), but the series’ editors need these snippets to consolidate Serena’s persona as a drag queen with a taste for high-brow culture in order to foreshadow the climactic argument from the next Untucked! episode. As much as Serena appears to be hell-bent on a poorly chosen selfpresentation, upon closer inspection she, at least partially, makes an attempt at another drag persona than that of elitist art school kid – one that, strategically speaking, is more likely to be effective on the screen. However, the representation of events in the show overrules that and sets her up as something else. Edgar (2011) has argued that RDPR propagates a limited number of “successful” incarnations of drag, and a number of critics have specified how racial stereotypes are often a part of such drag performance. As Goldmark (2015) has put it punningly, RDPR has an especially troubled relationship with “the program’s second term: race” (p. 507). Moreover, Strings and Bui (2014) have identified RDPR as participating in a “stereotypical deployment and objectification of race”, pointing out how “black and brown cast members were more often required to perform stereotypical racial identities” (p. 824; Strings and Bui’s emphasis). If we look carefully at Serena’s words and actions on the show, it becomes clear that she is aware of this requirement and more than willing to comply. Serena emphasizes her Latin American ethnicity – as we might expect from a performer whose drag name, ChaCha, invokes the exotic rhythms of Cuban dance music. Some of her attempts are impossible to miss; for instance, in S5, E2: LSEE (Murray 2013b) she appears on the runway in a “carnival costume from the Republic of Panama”, bearing a miniature flag of her home country in hand. Perhaps even more explicitly, following her elimination, she leaves a lipstick message on the workroom mirror that reads: “God bless America /Viva Panamá /Keep hearing light /QUEENS /xoxo Serena ChaCha”.

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Other stereotypical performances of Latin American identity more subtly connect her to what Strings and Bui (2014) propose as the category “Latino realness” (p. 823). In the season’s finale (Kerber 2013, S05, E14: “Reunited!”), she plays up her Latinness by professing her love for the telenovela and even acting out a part in Spanish. She can also be seen crossing herself at various moments of her screen-time – and whether this gesture is inspired by a genuine religious impulse or by a calculated performance of identity, it reinforces the image of an intensely personal connection to Christianity stereotypically associated with individuals of Hispanic and Latin American descent. However, in spite of this of these demonstrations of “Latino realness”, Serena fails to be strongly identified by her Latin heritage. Partially, her conquest of the star spot in that category might have been foiled by the presence of the Puerto Rican Lineysha Sparx, who, due to her greater difficulties with English, may have come to represent a more successful incarnation of the Latina stereotype. Yet, even more important in this respect is how Serena’s willing performance of “Latino realness” is left largely intact by the show’s editing choices – it appears uncensored on air – only to be overwritten by associations with a high-brow artistic milieu. Consider Serena’s entrance in S5, E1: ROB (Murray 2013a). In RDPR conventions, a drag queen’s first entrance into the workroom is of dramatic importance. As a moment of reality TV, the queen’s entrance functions as a rite of passage, simultaneously marking a contestant’s transition from private person to reality TV character and providing a benchmark of character identification. It is also a moment of enormous emotive potential that, in a gay male frame of reference, harks back to the grand entrances of operatic divas. Serena mobilizes this instant for her performance of “Latino realness”. A shot-by-shot analysis of Serena’s entrance illustrates the way her performance of Latin American identity is compromised. In the first two shots, Serena enters wearing a debutante-like dress and looks around the workroom. Then, we cross-cut to Serena out of drag, introducing herself: “My name is Serena ChaCha and I’m twenty-one years old”. In the next two shots, she finishes her survey of the room and says excitedly: “This is the best quinceañera present ever!”, referring to the traditional Latin American celebration of a girl’s fifteenth birthday. In the next shot, Detox, another contestant, picks up on Serena’s mention of quinceañera, and we see Serena walk towards Detox to start a conversation in the following two shots. A sound reel accompanies this sequence and segues into the next cross-cut of an out-of-drag Serena: “I come from an art

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school environment, and I am interested in fine art drag”. This short segment – about 15 seconds long – combines three elements of Serena’s persona that recur throughout the episodes in which she is present: she is young, she is a Latina queen, and she has had an education in the fine arts. However, of those three elements, the last one stands out the most. In fact, its insertion as the last bit of information in a rapid sequence successfully reinscribes Serena’s entrance with an identity related to her artistic pretenses. This way, Serena’s storyline arc starts with a reference to her artistic education – and through her last words, “To the other queens: pick up a book and go read”, it also ends with the reference. This quote is such an overall identifier for Serena that the series’ recap episode, S5, E13: “Countdown to the Crown” (CTTC) (Murray 2013d), incorporates a visual joke about it. The episode represents the competition’s progress on a scoreboard, with a stylized baseball chipping away at portraits of eliminated contenders. Serena’s portrait is the only one that is not chipped away in the visual language of sports competitions, but instead smashed by a book after reprising the infamous “pick up a book and go read” quote.

ELEVATING DRAG AND ELEVATED LANGUAGE What is so offensive about “pick up a book and go read”? Overridingly, the phrase’s tone is arrogant, and its condescension suggests that the other queens are literary paupers who had better start self-educating, because obviously their current intellectual skills are below the speaker’s standards. However, arrogant, pointed comments were already an integral part of drag performances when Esther Newton conducted her landmark anthropological research on female impersonators in the late sixties, and they have not disappeared since. In her seminal study Mother Camp, Newton (1979) notes how many drag queens engage in a form of camp that is “extremely hostile”, “almost always sarcastic” and “bitchy”. Nevertheless, they tend to get away with it because the ability “to ‘read’ (put down) all challengers and cut everyone down to size is admired” (p. 111; emphasis added). Reading, in this sense of the word, has not gone out of practice since Newton’s study – in fact, one highly ritualized mini-challenge recurring across RDPR’s seasons involves the queens reading each other. Typically, RuPaul introduces the mini-challenge “in the great tradition of Paris Is Burning” and asks the contestants the ceremonial question: “Because reading is what?”, only to get the unanimous response “Fundamental!”

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(Murray 2013c, S5, E7: “RuPaul Roast”). This kind of “reading” is mentioned twice in relation to Serena – once in the finale, when she is read by fellow contender Penny Tration (Kerber 2013, S05, E14: “Reunited!”), and once in an Untucked quarrel scene when a voiceover reports how “[i]n the lounge, the ladies were reading Miss Serena to filth” (S05, E02: LSEE). Serena herself is never explicitly spoken of as “reading her fellow queens” – and the one time she tries her hand at it, she appears completely unaware of the irony that her (metaphorical) read is a reference to literal reading. When Serena reads, she unambiguously reads books. Missing out on that potential wordplay points to her slippage on the RPDR runway: Serena, in more than one sense, doesn’t read like a proper drag queen – first, because her attempt at reading doesn’t land as witty, but instead comes across as just plain offensive; and second, because almost nothing about her communicates the subcultural vocabulary of drag. She is ill-versed in its language (which, as exemplified in RuPaul’s ritualized punning while announcing the reading challenge, often includes wordplay), and instead uses a differently coded kind of speech. This becomes obvious in the quarrel scene from Untucked S5, E2: LSEE, the pinnacle of which revolves around language. The offensive of the other queens towards Serena is set off by Roxxxy Andrews. In a moment of solidarity in the backstage lounge, Detox tries to reassure the insecure Monica Beverly Hillz of her qualities as a drag performer: “We’re all in the same caliber”. Roxxxy, not shying away from a chance to read her fellow performers, quickly adds: “Except for Serena”. Hilarity ensues as most of the other queens burst out in uncontrollable laughter, and Serena adopts a defensive stance. Officiously, she shouts, “I request the floor”, only to be told off by Alyssa Edwards, “Bitch! Sit your ass down and shut the hell up, bitch!” Serena then attracts attention by screaming, and arguments ensue (mostly) between Serena, Coco Montrese and Detox. In an intercut commentary, Serena then reports how her use of language separates her from the other contestants: “Let’s sit down and have an educated and civilized argument at some point. Don’t sit here like: ‘Bitch, because I’m sickening, […]’ What is that? Like, speak English. Speak English”. Indeed, Serena’s “educated” English remains within one relatively elevated register of speech (think of the pompous “I request the floor”), and it is alien speech in comparison to that of her fellow queens. Serena may know about a drag speech code and be able to quote it, but she does not speak drag herself. When she tries to make speech an argument in her favor,

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hell breaks loose – and the editing of the Untucked episode ensures that no single viewer could miss the dramatic importance of that event. At a given point, Serena interrupts the attacks of the other drag queens with the words: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, at this point the ghetto lexic in language [sic] is gone”. Against the backdrop of a dramatic sound effect, the camera cuts to three slow-motion reaction shots of, respectively, Monica Beverly Hillz, Alyssa Edwards, and Coco Montrese. Next, the editing breaks the formal code of Untucked! episodes and takes us out of the backstage lounge, showing RuPaul out of drag in front of a screen on which the Untucked! episode is playing. RuPaul comments: “Oooh, no she better don’t!”, and to drive the point home, an onscreen graphic appears when we cut back to the events in the backstage lounge, reading “#NoSheBetterDont”. In what follows, Serena is attacked for her usage of the word “ghetto” – which she qualifies as “a language” that contrasts to her English. In an intercut commentary, she remarks: “I learned a new language while I’ve been here. That’s good. I am now trilingual. I can speak Spanish, English and ghetto”. From a narrative point of view, Serena’s subsequent exit was inevitable after the quarrel scene: by her reference to a ghetto language, she had othered the colloquial standard of RPDR in respect to her own language – an “educated” language derived from “books”. In S5, E2: LSEE (Murray 2013b), Serena says: “I believe that drag is performing gender through various skills, like make-up as a form of painting, fashion as a form of soft sculpture, and showmanship through performance”, leaving, by her choice of language, no doubt about which books she has been reading: this girl knows her Butler, and has happily dabbled in queer theory. The imperative to “pick up a book and go read” therefore turns conceptualizing drag as “performing gender” into a prerequisite for successful drag – unfortunately enough, one that was taken from outside the world of drag. Rather, it harks back to queer theory as an academic discipline that has been criticized for its “often esoteric” language and distance to the grassroots practices of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) individuals (Weeks 2011, p. 145). Serena’s linguistic differentiation, then, ties into an emancipatory project: her vocabulary, as a foil for which she proposes the “ghetto” language of the drag scene, demands recognition and legitimacy from judges outside the world of drag performance. On her website, she explicitly expresses her desire “to elevate [drag] into a fine art environment” (Talented Beauty LCC n.d.), betraying a hierarchical view of artistry: if drag can be “elevated”

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into fine art drag or performance, it ranks, by default, lower than those highbrow art forms. Pursuing this kind of upward mobility, Serena would end up destroying the autocracy of drag as an exponent of gay male subculture, offering it up for arbitration to a non-gay institution of legitimate art criticism. Similar efforts have been made by scholars legitimizing drag by grace of its “subversive” or “transgressive” articulation of gender (e.g. Schacht and Underwood 2004). However, the more these efforts focus on an abstract form of complexity, the more they tend to erase the gay men who perform these acts of subversion and transgression. An originating example of this kind of erasure can be found in debates sparked by Susan Sontag’s “Notes on ‘Camp’” (1999). In this essay, originally published in 1964, Sontag tentatively paints an impression of the titular concept camp – later to be defined by Newton (1979) as “specifically homosexual humor”, of which the drag queen is the “natural exponent” (n.p.). However, neither drag queens nor gay men feature prominently in Sontag’s conceptualization of camp – and Sontag has been criticized for having “killed off the binding referent of Camp – the Homosexual” (Meyer 1994, p. 7). Newton (1979) confronted one of her informants with Sontag’s early representation of camp, and found it was met with resistance, “[b] ecause if it becomes the squares, it doesn’t belong to them any more [sic]. And what will be ‘camp art,’ [sic] no queen will own” (p. 106). The parallels with Serena’s elevation of drag to a fine art are clear: just like the linguistic label “camp art” would take camp away from gay men, so would “performing gender” take drag away from the drag queens. Using queer vocabulary in the context of RPDR is as much an intrusion into the gay male world of drag as is using Sontag’s “sanitized” definition of camp “[w]ith its homosexual connotations downplayed” (Meyer 1994, p. 7). This is a salient observation because it reveals that the vocabulary of queer theory is ultimately inapt to describing drag; drag is fundamentally not queer practice. The queer vocabulary is external to drag, and while this does not imply that drag queens might not inadvertently perform in manners that match their descriptions, the conceptual approaches of queer theory do not correspond to the subjective structures that actual performers and audiences experience. This explains why RPDR comes across poorly in the face of queer critique, such that of Edgar (2011) or LeMaster (2015), who would recoil in horror before the idea of an aestheticized, normative representation of drag that forfeits complexity or extreme transgression, and that makes use of stereotypes. These scholars’ sets of queer standards are not the same as those professed in RPDR,

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which makes their interpretation of the program and its spin-off RuPaul’s Drag U read like an unconscious colonization: like Serena ChaCha, they are imposing an alien set of rules onto gay male cultural practice, denying drag self-government of its own territory.

ARTISTIC LEGITIMACY, REALITY, AND EXTRA DRAMATIC SOUND EFFECTS If queer perspectives are alien to RPDR, the question is, of course, which perspective could be adopted in a critical assessment of its drag practices. Horowitz (2013) uses the differences between the subcultural practices of drag queens and drag kings to make an argument against the unspecific, inclusive language of queer theory. The problem with the “everythingand-the-kitchen-sink approach to queer theorizing” might indeed be that “there are many distinct, frictional, and even oppositional cultural practices that constitute the various identity categories subsumed under (and often eclipsed by) the queer banner” (Horowitz 2013, p. 304). Rallying a wide variety of groups to a single, unified banner is not just conceptually ineffective, but could even prove a hindrance in social and political activism. From Horowitz’ observation, we could argue the need for specificity in approaching elements of LGBTQ subcultures, which brings us back to my initial suggestion that the alien qualities of Serena only make sense if we see RPDR as part of gay male culture. The concept of gay male culture as developed by Halperin (2012) is potentially controversial: suggesting a connection between sexual orientation and adherence to certain cultural practices conjures up the silhouette of essentialism, “the stubborn but ultimately untenable belief that social identities are grounded in some inherent property or nature or quality common to all the members of an identity-based group” (Halperin 2012, p. 63). Steering clear of this pitfall, Halperin externalizes constructionism, and focuses on existent artifacts that, through an understanding of shared social codes, are considered to be exponents of a gay male practice (especially by gay men themselves), without engaging in an attempt to refer them to the realm of myths or stereotypes. Interestingly, Halperin’s understanding of the principles of gay male culture largely correlates with Newton’s (1979) definition if camp as “a relationship between things, people, and activities or qualities, and homosexuality” that is largely reliant on “incongruity, theatricality, and humor”

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(pp. 105–106; Newton’s emphasis). As such, camp serves in the function of what Meyer (1994) calls “queer parody” (p. 9): it “debunks seriousness” (Cleto 1999, p. 28) in a privileged and prized manner. If drag is an exponent of camp, then RPDR is a space that basks in camp aesthetic – as Halferty (2008) writes in relation to gay bars, a space “carved out of the straight world” (p. 18). That is why RPDR intrinsically deflects the demands of queer and activist criticism whose primary concerns reside in a contestation of the existent heteronormative power structures. Even though such criticism engages with LGBTQ rights and identities, its representational strategies are non-gay on an aesthetic level when compared to camp, which functions according to a different set of codes altogether. Camp “sees everything in quotation marks” and understands “Being-asPlaying-a-Role” (Sontag 1999, p. 56). When RPDR mobilizes a wide spectrum of “references to historically situated drag icons and practices” (Edgar 2011, pp. 135–136), this serves to present the portrayed concept of reality as text: it invites its audiences not to view the show as reality TV but as “reality” TV. The clearest example can be found in RPDR’s behind-thescenes feature, Untucked! Heavily edited in terms of audiovisual effects and montage, Untucked! reproduces a microcosm of camp. It allows us to glance into what Moore (2013) terms the “technologies of drag” (p. 23), and we would expect it to play primarily into the representational space of real selves. Surprisingly, the opposite appears to be true: RPDR itself contradicts the “reality” of Untucked! In S5, E13: CTTC (Murray 2013d), RuPaul reports that a supposedly “lost” episode of Untucked! has been “restored, filled with extra dramatic sound effects and brought to you by its host”. When we take this self-conscious skit to convey the degree of reality expected of Untucked!, we should not be surprised that the seriousness of Serena cannot flourish within such an environment. Furthermore, RuPaul poking fun at Untucked! conveys the level of seriousness she attaches to her work – rather than consecrated works of art, drag queens work within a vast referential network of unreality – ripe for parody and re-appropriation. Symbolically, the main challenge preceding Serena’s exit (Murray 2013b, S5, E2: LSEE) requires the contestants to lip-synch to earlier episodes of Untucked! – conveying that the events happening in the backstage lounge are not about civilized or educated conversation, but about acting out incongruous situations that can be parodied and re-enacted. The quarrel scene in Untucked! S05, E02: LSEE comes from an environmental reaction to Serena’s lack of contextual adaptation. Having repeatedly tried to elevate and legitimize herself, Serena has

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unsettled the fabric of the camp environment she finds herself in. The only possible reaction for the space’s system is to excise her – and as a result, she is swept away by a wave of camp reactions. This explains why, in terms of montage, the scene is not so much a structured argument, but rather a kaleidoscopic proliferation of what Serena has branded as “ghetto”. I propose that such an outburst is drag’s last resort against dominant societal imperatives tacitly accepted in fine art forms with a more highbrow profile. There is compulsion to conform in the selfeducation propagated by Serena. Her version of literacy does not require performers to be well-versed in the language of drag, but rather in the language and agenda of another set of practices. Therein lies the importance of this quarrel scene: more than just a disagreement between individuals, it depicts drag’s backlash against accepted arts, and therefore against their respectability and legitimacy.

REFERENCES Bailey, F., Barbato, R., Campbell, T., Charles, R., Corfe, S., Mace, D.,... Zacky, B. (Executive producers of original series). (2015–2016). RuPaul’s Drag Race: RuVealed. [Television series]. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Cleto, F. (1999). Introduction: Queering the camp. In F. Cleto (Ed.), Camp: Queer aesthetics and the performing subject – A reader (pp. 1–42). Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Edgar, E.-A. (2011). Xtravanganza! Drag representation and articulation in RuPaul’s Drag Race. Studies in Popular Culture, 34(1), 133–146. doi: 10.2307/23416354 Gelfland, G. (Director). (2015, June 1). Grand finale. [Television series episode]. In F. Bailey, R. Barbato, T. Campbell, R. Charles, S. Corfe, T. Palazzola,... C. McCarthy (Executive producers), RuPaul’s Drag Race. (S7, E14). Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Goldmark, M. (2015). National drag: The language of inclusion in RuPaul’s Drag Race. GLQ, 21(4), 501–520. doi: 10.1215/10642684-3123665 Halferty, J. P. (2008). Performing the construction of queer spaces. Canadian Theatre Review, 134, 18–26. Halperin, D. M. (2012). How to be gay, Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Horowitz, K. R. (2013). The trouble with “queerness”: Drag and the making of two cultures. Signs, 38(2), 303–326. doi: 10.1086/667199 Kerber, M. J. (Director of photography). (2013, May 6). Reunited!”. [Television series episode]. In F. Bailey, R. Barbato, T. Campbell, R. Charles, P. Post, & B. Zacky

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(Executive producers), RuPaul’s Drag Race (S5, E14). Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. LeMaster, B. (2015). Discontents of being and becoming fabulous on RuPaul’s drag U: Queer criticism in neoliberal times. Women’s Studies in Communications, 38, 167–186. doi: 10.1080/07491409.2014.988776 Lip synch extravaganza eleganza. [Television series episode]. (2013, February 4). In F. Bailey, R. Barbato, T. Campbell, R. Charles, P. Post & B. Zacky (Executive producers), RuPaul’s Drag Race: Untucked! (S5, E2). Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Magnolia Crawford. (n.d.). Retrieved January 4, 2016 from RuPaul’s Drag Race. Wiki: http://logosrupaulsdragrace.wikia.com/wiki/Magnolia_Crawford Meyer, M. (1994). Introduction: Reclaiming the discourse of Camp. In M. Meyer (Ed.), The politics and the poetics of camp (pp. 1–22). London: Routledge. Moore, R. (2013). Everything else is drag: Linguistic drag and gender parody on RuPaul’s Drag Race. Journal of Research in Gender Studies, 3(2), 15–26. Murray, N. (Director) (2013a, January 28). Rupaullywood or bust. [Television series episode] In F. Bailey, R. Barbato, T. Campbell, R. Charles, P. Post, & B. Zacky (Executive producers), RuPaul’s Drag Race (S5, E1). Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Murray, N. (Director) (2013b, February 4). Lip synch extravaganza eleganza. [Television series episode] In F. Bailey, R. Barbato, T. Campbell, R. Charles, P. Post, & B. Zacky (Executive producers), RuPaul’s Drag Race (S5, E2). Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Murray, N. (Director) (2013c, March 11). RuPaul roast. [Television series episode] In F. Bailey, R. Barbato, T. Campbell, R. Charles, P. Post, & B. Zacky (Executive producers), RuPaul’s Drag Race (S5, E7). Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Murray, N. (Director) (2013d, March 9). Countdown to the crown. [Television series episode] In F. Bailey, R. Barbato, T. Campbell, R. Charles, P. Post, & B. Zacky (Executive producers), RuPaul’s Drag Race (S5, E13). Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Newton, E. (1979). Mother Camp: Female impersonators in America (1979 ed.). Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Ng, E. (2013). A “post-gay” era? Media gaystreaming, homonormativity, and the politics of LGBT integration. Communication, Culture and Critique, 6, 258– 283. doi: 10.1111/cccr.12013 Schacht, S. P., & Underwood, L. (2004). The absolutely fabulous but flawlessly customary world of female impersonators. Journal of Homosexuality, 46(3–4), 1–17. doi: 10.1300/J082v46n03_01 Serena ChaCha (n.d.). Retrieved January 3, 2016 from RuPaul’s Drag Race. Wiki: http://logosrupaulsdragrace.wikia.com/wiki/Serena_ChaCha

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Sontag, S. (1999). Notes on “Camp”. In F. Cleto (Ed.), Camp: Queer aesthetics and the performing subject – A reader (pp. 53–65). Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Strings, S., & Bui, L. T. (2014). “She is not acting, she is”: The conflict between gender and racial realness on in RuPaul’s Drag Race. Feminist Media Studies, 14 (5), 822–836. doi: 10.1080/14680777.2013.829861. Talented Beauty LCC. (n.d.). Talented beauty. Retrieved from http://www.beau tyistalented.com/ Weeks, J. (2011) The languages of sexuality. London: Routledge. whereismyblog. (2015, May). For me, the saddest part of DragCon…Discussion thread archived at https://www.reddit.com/r/rupaulsdragrace/comments/ 368y4r/for_me_the_saddest_part_of_dragcon_was_walking_by Wilson, J. A. (2014). Reality television celebrity: Star consumption and selfproduction in media culture In L. Ouellette (Ed.), A companion to reality television (pp. 421–436). Chichester: John Wiley & Sons. Dieter Brusselaers studied Theatre and Film Studies and Literature of Modernity at the University of Antwerp, and obtained an MA Acting (International) from East 15 Acting School (University of Essex). He has been a scientific collaborator at workspacebrussels, a project curator at the Flemish Service for Film Culture (now CINEA), and works as an actor and playwright.

North American Universalism in RuPaul’s Drag Race: Stereotypes, Linguicism, and the Construction of “Puerto Rican Queens” Joanna McIntyre and Damien W. Riggs Without question, RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR) has included a diverse range of contestants. Those most commonly deployed as signifiers of diversity within the show, however, are contestants typically referred to as “Puerto Rican queens”. Each season of the show has featured at least one such queen. Yet while RPDR may be seen as commendable for including a culturally diverse group of queens in each season, an intersectional analysis of the show suggests that significant issues arise in the way RPDR positions Puerto Rican drag queens. Notable in regard to drag queens situated within this category is a consistent emphasis on their English language capabilities and, more broadly, a focus on their knowledge of North American popular culture. This chapter takes up the topic of North American universalism and investigates how RPDR and some of its North American queens become complicit in “border control” in relation to queens from

J. McIntyre (*) University of the Sunshine Coast, Queensland, Australia D.W. Riggs Flinders University, Adelaide, South Australia, Australia © The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_5

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“south of the border”. Taking season three of RPDR as a case study, we argue that the show’s evocations of both linguistic imperialism and stereotypes based on assumptions about Puerto Rican culture perpetuate the exclusion of those from the Global South, thus echoing wider narratives of nation, borders, and belonging. As such, in this chapter we suggest that challenging the operations of stereotypes of those from the Global South is important in and beyond the context of RPDR, with the latter serving as but one iteration of a wider cultural phenomenon.

RACE

AND THE

UNIVERSAL SUBJECT

Representations of Puerto Rican drag queens on RPDR do not arise in a vacuum; these depictions are interwoven elements of a complex tapestry of particular political, geographical, social, and media histories. To explore portrayals of drag queens from Puerto Rico in the context of RPDR, we must first consider the position of “Latin America” and “Latinidad” identities in relation to these histories, particularly as they intersect with the hegemony of North American cultural values over those of the Global South (Demuro 2012). Central to the ongoing positioning of Latin American cultures and identities as inferior is the pervasive understanding that Western European politics, economics, and ideologies provide a universal benchmark against which all other cultures are compared. Our investigation here is particularly interested in the mechanisms of this universalism and how it is enacted to locate the “proper” US citizen as the universal subject. Sara Ahmed (2015) states that “the universal takes form around some bodies that do not have to transform themselves to enter the room kept open by the universal” (n.p.). As Ahmed goes on to explain, “some have to find voices because others are given voices . . . the universal is distributed. Some embody its promise; others embody the failure to live up to the promise” (n.p., italics in original). Gloria E. Anzaldúa (1999), too, examined borders and social divisions – particularly those between the US and Central American cultures – and how they work in the service of some while oppressing others. Following Ahmed’s and Anzaldúa’s arguments, we posit that continued references to North America as the universal underpins the asymmetric power relations apparent between Latin American and North American contestants on RPDR. Certainly at stake in our analysis is how certain

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groups are marginalized and how this is legitimated through the perpetuation of racialized stereotypes.

LATINADAD MEDIA REPRESENTATION

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STEREOTYPING

The ways in which North American universalism manifests in RPDR entwine with the evolution of Latinadad media representation. Mainstream media are key sites where popular understandings of Latinadad subjectivities are produced and explored (Beltrán 2002; Molina Guzmán 2007; Aparicio 2003). Such productions and explorations encompass the ways in which Latinadad subjectivities are framed through a relationship with Western, and specifically North American, subjectivities. For example, Elena Dell’agnese (2005) identifies and examines North American cinema’s longstanding fascination with politically charged Mexico-US border spaces and stories. Dell’Agnese finds that across many decades of filmic renderings, the Mexico-US border is presented “as a closed boundary for the Mexicans and an open frontier for the Americans”, which “highlights the United States’ double standard in its relations with the rest of the world, in which the United States does not see itself as an equal among equals” (p. 218). In stark contrast to the leading role of white North American males in constructions of the borderlands stands the marginalized figure of the Latina. A number of scholars have analyzed the construction of Latinas in North American popular culture suggesting, for example, that “Leading renditions of ‘Latin beauty’ are performed in harmony with prevailing commercial, political, and cultural repertoires” (Mendible 2007, p. 2). Despite their marginalization, however, Latinas are potent symbols of Latin America. Indeed, “Women continue to function as a very powerful sign for identity and nation” (Valdivia 2007, p. 130). Angharad Valdivia asserts that although the US is a nation “increasingly composed both of other ethnic groups and of hybridities within these”, it “continues to see itself in terms of a dominant white identity and a black minority” (p. 131). As such, Latinas are seen to pose a sexual and racial “double threat” to “the dominant popular culture and social and political order” (ibid). Similarly, Isabel Molina Guzmán (2007) argues that North American popular culture tends to offer racialized, hypersexualized representations of Latinas, who are thus deemed to transgress, and therefore sit outside of, hegemonic boundaries.

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A key way in which media representations serve to marginalize Latinas is by reinvoking existing stereotypes and emphasizing particular racial and sexual signifiers. In this framework, stereotypes of “the sexy Latin beauty” and/or “the sassy, crazy Latin” are prominent. Arguably, the prototype for these stereotypes was Carmen Miranda. Known as “The Brazilian Bombshell”, she was famous for what was treated as her exoticism, signaled by a trademark fruit hat, and what was perceived as a nearly incomprehensible accent. It is now well understood that Carmen Miranda could not escape the “hyperlatinadad” stereotype (Fregoso 2007, p. 58) her stardom helped create, even when she deliberately attempted to do so later in her career. Stereotypes of the sexy, sassy, crazy Latin beauty were advanced further when Charo came to fame in the US in the 1970s. Such is Charo’s (US) influence, her “shadow looms so large over Latin performers that she seems almost mythical; certainly, the type of loud, dancing, hypersexual Latin femininity she cements is a myth” (Mayora 2014, p. 118). Charo, a Spanish-born musician and entertainer, is best known for her flamboyant stage persona, busty outfits, and signature phrase, “cuchi-cuchi”. In media representations of Latinas such as Charo, their language and accent are positioned as deficient in relation to the universal North American subject. Issues of linguistic imperialism similarly arise in representations of Puerto Rican contestants on RPDR. Among its other aesthetic and cultural functions, RPDR parodies popular reality/competition TV shows, particularly America’s Next Top Model (2003–2015). RPDR searches for “America’s Next Drag Superstar” with veteran drag superstar RuPaul at the helm, tongue firmly in cheek. At the same time, however, the show actively pursues what it parodies, as it is a popular reality TV show that grants fame and mobility to its successful contestants. In a similar way, the Latinx drag performed on RPDR may parody gender norms, yet it also actively participates in and thus potentially reinforces hierarchies of gender and ethnicity. The forum of reality TV, in general, lends itself to perpetuating such hierarchies. Reality TV is widely acknowledged as having democratic outcomes, but so too is it widely recognized as a genre ultimately beholden to capitalist, commercial forces. Grace Wang (2010) asserts that reality TV relies on a limited selection of “stock characters” as a form of shorthand communication with a broad audience base (p. 405), as do many fictional television shows and films. However, as Wang points out, reality TV shows “adhere to, and authenticate, racialized narratives and stereotypes by

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embodying them in the characters of ‘real’ people” (ibid). As such, reality TV’s inclusions of stereotypes can be particularly persuasive. Audiences are not invited to understand reality TV contestants as manipulated characters, but rather as “real” and “authentic” people. In the case of RPDR’s Puerto Rican drag queen contestants, they tend to come to embody the same sexy, sassy, crazy Latin as discussed above, yet these stereotypes are cast within the queer context of the show. On the show, North American drag queens are, for the most part, “simply” drag queens, whereas Latinx drag is largely restricted to performances of “Latina-ness” that encourage their interpretation as such. The following analysis considers these elements in relation to how other contestants, including those from North American minority groups, as well as the show’s framework, patrol and protect a border between the universal North American subject and Global South outsiders with specific reference to season three.

RACIALIZED HUMOR

AND

LINGUICISM

From the first moments in the workroom, contestants Alexis Mateo and Yara Sofia are pinpointed as “the Puerto Ricans” when fellow contestant Manila Luzon remarks of the newly formed group of queens, “We got two big girls, two Puerto Ricans”. Mayora (2014) argues that in identifying herself as separate from the “big girls” and the “Puerto Ricans”, Manila, “an ethnic queen herself”, distances herself from the group’s minority subject positions so as to align herself with the majority (p. 117). Mayora writes: “Manila’s own privilege throughout the season comes at the expense of the oppressed groups, something that becomes even more obvious through the challenges in which she personifies a series of negative Asian stereotypes” (ibid). The stage is thus set from the beginning for culture and ethnicity to play a central role in many of the season’s story arcs. The story arcs of most interest to us here focus on the construction of both Yara and Alexis (though particularly the former) through a Latinadad lens. For example, during the “workout video” challenge of “Totally Leotarded” (E4), both Yara and Alexis succeed by emphasizing their Latinx identities. As part of this challenge, Yara introduces the Spanish expression that will become her catchphrase: “echa pa’lante”, which she explains means “move forward”. Wearing a red and black leotard and a large red flower in her long dark hair, Yara exclaims to imagined and real at-home viewers, “‘cause you like Latin guy, you want to work your body,

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darling!” Mocking her own English abilities and beating others to the punchline, she addresses the camera and comically implores, “Don’t worry if you don’t understand me, I will include a translation at the end of the video”. The show rewards this statement with a cut to RuPaul laughing heartily with approval, thus setting up Yara’s accent as an “acceptable” source of humor. The combination of Yara’s sexuality, accent, and language of origin continues to be the centerpiece of her routine as she initiates her catchphrase “echa pa’lante!” in combination with an emphatic “cha, cha” and sensual hip gyrations. The last word on Yara’s efforts in this challenge comes from the show’s gatekeepers, who commend her “hyperlatinidad” performance. In the episode’s final judging, RuPaul declares Yara’s accent to be a “potential liability” but one she, in this particular situation, exaggerated to her advantage. Guest judge Susan Powter applauds the way Yara implemented “that whole Latin thing and that sexy swish”. As such, RPDR binds Yara’s über Latinx drag performance to her real Latinx body and speech and to “real” Latina gender norms. In doing so, the show draws a marked distinction between the presumed universality of North American drag and the apparent specificity of Latinx drag and Latina femininity. As mentioned above, language and accent is key to the ways in which Latinadad stereotypes are manufactured, and these stereotypes are loud and clear in RPDR’s representations of Latinx drag queens. Certainly we are not the first to suggest this, with Mayora (2014) observing that in RPDR, Puerto Rican queens’ accents become signifiers of “otherness” that set them apart from the rest of the contestants. Mayora finds that the inequalities between Puerto Rican queens and North American queens are most evident “in the show’s focus on the Puerto Rican queens’ struggles with the language” (p. 112). Similarly, Matthew Goldmark (2015) asserts that RPDR overlooks issues of language that might disadvantage some contestants and sidesteps “the colonial contours of Puerto Rican citizenship” (p. 502). Goldmark discerns that “language not only generates the program’s humor and conflict; the show’s implicit English proficiency requirement also determines success on the set” (ibid). Building on the work of Mayora and Goldmark, we argue here that the dynamics of language, accent, and marginalization in RPDR are most comprehensively understood in terms of North American universalism and its linguistic enactment. The English language is seen as an attribute of the universal, while provincialism defines all other languages. Robert Phillipson (1992) connects the concept of linguistic imperialism with a

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number of other “isms”, including racism, sexism, capitalism, and imperialism. He proposes the term “linguicism” to convey and summarize how varying “isms” are reflected and used in the English language when it is employed, and thus the way English functions as a tool of imperialism: “linguicism refers exclusively to ideologies and structures where language is the means for affecting or maintaining an unequal allocation of power and resources” (p. 514). Clarifying the relationship between linguistic imperialism and linguicism, Phillipson writes: “for linguicism also to constitute linguistic imperialism presupposes that the actors in question are supported by an imperialist structure of exploitation of one society or collectivity by another” (ibid, italics in original). As established earlier, many US media representations of Latinadad – including those in RPDR – are imbued with colonial and imperialist connotations; as such, linguistic imperialism and linguicism are valuable concepts for unpacking how language implicates representations of Puerto Rican queens on the show. In RPDR, Latinadad stereotypes are fused with occurrences of linguicism, a potent combination that serves to fortify the show’s representations of North American universalism. For example, in “Totally Leotarded”, similarly to Yara’s performance, the success of Alexis Mateo’s workout video is born primarily of the language she uses, her accent, and the ways she invokes “the sexy Latina beauty” stereotype. Performing a hypersexual Latina femininity, Alexis wears a leotard that barely conceals bulging breasts teamed with sparkling, gaudy “bling” on her neck, ears, and wrist. While the guest judge advises Manila to give more “over the top drag queen sexy” and Delta Work to go “over the top” in shaking the arm weight she uses as part of her performance, when Alexis is instructed to go “over the top” the reference is to her “Latina-ness”, especially her accent and language of origin. The instruction quickly results in a close-up of her comically introducing herself using an exaggeratedly long Puerto Rican name pronounced so quickly it is near incomprehensible to non-Spanish speakers. This closeup then cuts to RuPaul laughing enthusiastically in appreciation of what is treated as a “joke”. Also making use of “sexy” stereotyping and her accent, Alexis goes on to sensually pronounce her exercise prop to be a “stretchy thingy-majingy”. Highlighting the apparently comic nature of Alexis’s accent and reiterating its import to her performance in the challenge, RuPaul imitates her pronunciation of “thingy-majingy” when he announces her as the winner of the challenge. It would, of course, be erroneous to completely discount Yara’s and Alexis’s agency in these performances. Indeed, Puerto Rican contestants,

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like all the contestants on the show, are inculcated in and characterize broader ideals of neo-liberal capitalism, choosing to participate in the competition in hope of realizing an individualized quest to prosper socially and economically. However, for reality TV contestants, broader sociopolitical systems, as well as the media giants who produce and control the shows, tend to be overriding forces, with individual contestants swept up in doing “the work of being watched” (Andrejevic 2004).

REFUTATIONS

OF

LATINX CULTURAL CAPITAL

We suggested in the previous section that linguicism is apparent in the judges’ responses to Yara’s and Alexis’s performances, and that their success on RPDR hinges on their expression of particular Latinx identities that reinforce stereotypes of what it means to come from “south of the border”. To an extent, then, we would affirm that Yara and Alexis achieve success on the show via the execution of particular intelligible Latinx identities that accrue to them a certain degree of cultural capital. While this cultural capital is premised on a narrow form of inclusion, it arguably translated into brand recognition for them and relative longevity following each of the seasons. Nevertheless, within the context of the show, their cultural capital remains unstable. In contrast to the cultural capital RuPaul (and to a lesser extent some of the guest judges) accords Yara and Alexis as Puerto Rican queens, we continue by focusing on how two of the North American queens challenge it. Specifically, we focus on how the queens Delta, who grew up in Mexico, and Raja, who has Indonesian and Dutch heritage and ultimately won the season, are shown to speak about Yara and her embodiment of Latinadad identity. The comments we analyze here come from an episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race: Untucked, the after-show that includes “behind the scenes” footage. The episode of Untucked we focus on, which aired after “QNN News” (S3, E5), includes Delta and Yara referencing events that transpired both in “Totally Leotarded” and “QNN News”. In “QNN News” the queens are split into two teams, each forming a group of news presenters who are tasked with presenting either a news bulletin, a gossip report, a one-on-one interview with a celebrity (Kristin Cavallari) or the weather report. Along with two other queens, Yara, Raja, and Delta form one team, with Yara providing the weather report and Raja and Delta playing the news anchors. In the episode, Yara is directed to “go ahead for Spanglish” in her weather report, again relying upon humor

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derived from her English pronunciation and comedy treatment in general. This Spanglish instruction comes from both RuPaul and guest assistant “director” Debbie Matenopoulos. In the Untucked episode that followed “QNN News”, Delta questions Yara as to what Delta sees as a repeated use of Spanglish: Delta:

Alexis: Yara: Delta:

Delta [to camera]:

Do you think there’s a chance, like if we have to make another video, or we have to be characters, that if you create something funny, like with the accent and songs and that, that they’ll say “Oh, you do that every time”? Like, do you think they would say that? Well she don’t create her accent. She’s not being Manila. That is my accent, that is my accent. Well no, she’s not creating the accent, but, okay, let me repeat myself. You haven’t created your accent, you’re from Puerto Rico and your first language is Spanish, and I’m aware of that. But do you think, because there’s not a clear and obvious attempt to slowly pronounce the words: there’s an attempt to speed it up and include Spanish as part of what you’re doing – I’m not saying it’s wrong – but do you think they will say, “Well, you’re doing that every time?” The judges really love Yara, and I’m not happy about that. You know Yara’s great, but is she going to be pigeonholed as the “sassy, crazy Latin?”

In response to Delta’s suggestion that Yara’s identity as Puerto Rican is a “character”, Yara and Alexis refute the claim by referring to the fact that Yara’s accent is not artificial. In a sense, neither Yara nor Alexis consider valid the implied meaning of Delta’s question, namely that Yara was imitating Latinadad. Instead, they assert the veracity of Yara’s performance, and indeed contrast it with Manila’s performance (in which Manila used a stereotyped “Asian” accent in her interview with Kristin Cavallari). In responding to Yara and Alexis, however, Delta reframes her original question without taking up the comparison to Manila. In doing so, Delta utilizes two particular rhetorical strategies. First, she says, “let me repeat myself”. In fact, she does not repeat herself. Rather, she asks her question

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again in a way that sidesteps Yara’s and Alexis’s responses that attest Yara is not impersonating a Puerto Rican. Second, and in order to further shift focus away from the implied accusation that she saw Yara’s performance as a “character” (which carries with it the implication of cultural bias or even racism), Delta engages in what has been termed “raceplaining”. Raceplaining refers to instances where a majority (typically white) group individual explains race, racism, or racial categories to someone who may be marginalized on the basis of racial categories, as though that person were unaware of how racism works. In this case, Delta states, “you’re from Puerto Rico and your first language is Spanish”, a redundant statement given that Yara knows this already. What this statement achieves is to inoculate Delta from any further accusations of bias or implication of racism. Having established her right to ask questions and limit any challenge to them, Delta then reasserts her right to interrogate Yara. While in the Untucked Lounge, Delta does this in a way that appears deferential (“I’m not saying it’s wrong”), in her confessional it becomes clear that Delta’s concern is not that Yara might be “pigeonholed as the ‘sassy, crazy Latin’” (that is, a concern for Yara), but that such “pigeonholing” might equip Yara with capital that would put her in a favorable position in the competition. While it is possible that our claim about Delta’s comments to Yara could be read as cultural bias, racism or indeed linguicism itself, a second exchange renders even clearer our concerns. Following the exchange between Delta, Yara and Alexis, Delta and Raja leave the Untucked Lounge to sit alone in the Gold Lounge where the subsequent conversation takes place: Delta:

Raja: Delta:

Raja:

I know it’s the “character” [uses fingers to denote inverted commas] of Yara to do that, but it’s essentially the same thing from the video, the last video we did. [Cut to clips showing Yara speaking Spanglish in the “Totally Leotarded” and “QNN News” episodes] [Does bad impression of Spanglish] But it’s kind of like all kinds of things. Like, it’s like a soccer player from Paraguay, mixed with Afghanistan, and Charo, like, in heat. I don’t know. I would almost think that she would think in her mind, “they’re going to expect me to be like Charo on the news, so I’m not going to give them that. I’m going to give them something else.” But you know what? She knows what they want, and they loved it. Afghani Charo is ruling [AYEEYAYAYAYAYAYA]

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In this exchange, and despite Delta having withdrawn her comment that Yara is playing a character, she reasserts that Yara is playing a “character” that is “essentially the same thing”. In so doing, Puerto Rican culture, and specifically Yara’s iteration of it, becomes thingified, depicted as a caricature rather than as a potentially legitimate self-presentation. What falls to the wayside, however, is that Raja and Delta, and indeed all of the queens, play characters in each episode – Raja is always a self-defined runway model and Delta consistently plays the haughty, huffy, grand dame. Certainly, these depictions of Raja and Delta could be used to define them as “characters”, yet it appears that Raja and Delta (amongst others) simply view these traits as their own personalities and not as characters they are playing. By contrast, Yara’s North American peers view her representation of a Latinidad self as a “character”. This again highlights the effects of North American universalism and exceptionalism: North Americans occupy the place of the universal, hence their personalities simply are. Those located outside North America, however, are primarily perceived as stereotypes or caricatures; hence they are “characters” rather than people being whatever version of themselves they choose to be. A notable comparison arises in Manila’s multiple performances of stereotyped “Asian-ness”, as Delta does not similarly see these as Manila playing a “character”. Rather, as a North American, Manila (like Delta and Raja) is able to put on and take off whatever roles she sees fit, given that her decisions are underpinned by a claim to the universal.

CONCLUSIONS In this chapter we have argued that on RPDR, North American universalism is the foundation for disparities between the representations and treatment of Latin American queens and North American queens. While the terms Latin America and Latinidad are often used reductively, we have taken up these terms to interrogate the ways they can be used to homogenize diverse ethnicities and individuals, and to reconfirm the geographical and cultural supremacy of the US. We have also suggested that recurring Latinadad stereotypes in RPDR are anchored to aspects of language and accent. By analyzing the enactment of linguicism and its ties to North American universalism, we have highlighted the conditional nature of Yara’s and Alexis’s access to cultural

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capital within the context of the show. Ironically, or perhaps paradoxically, the same evocations of Latinidad stereotypes that grant them standing within the competition – via endorsements by RuPaul and guest judges – also open them up to diminishment and exposure as “other” to the universal North American subject. We also explored the way Delta and Raja – ethnic queens, too, but ultimately beholden to their North American belonging – “pigeonholed” Yara as a Latinidad stereotype and “character”. Indeed, this instance was neither the first nor last time that Yara was classified as a stereotyped “character” (Delta also reads Yara as being “über Charo” following the workout video challenge). Of course, it could be argued that accusations of character-playing indicate self-reflexive insight into the tendency of reality TV to maneuver contestants into presenting “stock characters”. However, reality TV contestants tend to flow with the currents of bigger forces, and while RPDR is not short of extraverted, flamboyant contestants, seldom are they repeatedly identified as a character; that is, unless the “character” is Latinx. Though the influence of dominating forces is significant, this is not to say that Puerto Rican queens, or any other queens, have no selfdetermination within the show. Choosing to self-present as Latinidad and/or play to Latina types is the prerogative of Latinx queens who are often rewarded in the competition for doing so. Nevertheless, this success can come at the price of provoking racialized laughter and linguicism. Moreover, when Yara and Alexis did bank on the (limited, conditional) cultural capital they could access through Latinidad performance, they were open to criticism and ridicule by North American competitors who not only attempted to deplete the cultural capital these queens had accrued, but did so in order to reassert their own upper hand as North American universal subjects. In offering this analysis, we do not mean to aggravate tensions between Latinx queens and North American queens, on RPDR or anywhere else. We acknowledge wholeheartedly and stand with North American drag queens who fight for due recognition within society. Furthermore, we understand that the representation of contestants on RPDR is influenced by the powers of the show’s producers, and that, as Phillipson (1992) notes, linguicism is not necessarily intentional. It is an apt metaphor for the pernicious nature of linguicism and North American universalism that Yara and Alexis accumulated what cultural capital they could during RPDR, but during the Untucked “after-show” refutations of this cultural capital were made apparent. Identifying and questioning such universalism, including in queer

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spaces, remains an important task. As Ahmed (2015) appeals, “We have to keep up the challenge as the critiques of universalism do not seem to get through” (n.p.). Given the salience of Ahmed’s (2015) argument, we conclude with further extrapolation from her work as it applies to RPDR. Ahmed contends that “Universalism becomes melancholic when you are required to identify with the very promise that you fail to embody” (n.p., italics in original); that is, “To be rejected by the universal whose promise is not extended to you” (n.p.). Ahmed expands on the experience of melancholic universalism: You try and demonstrate that you are normal even when your desires take you away from the normal . . . You assume that this approximation might be rewarded with recognition: oh, you too, you are just like us; after all, you are just like us. You mime in the hope that those you mimic become approving of you; that they might register your becoming with approval. (n.p.)

At the beginning of the season, Manila’s declaration that “We got two big girls, two Puerto Ricans” is followed by a poignant confessional address in which Alexis states, “What I hate the most is that people label you the Latin queen. I’m not just the Latin queen – when I’m in drag, I’m a star”. With this statement, Alexis orientates herself in relation to her minority positioning but also to the universal subject. In a show that seeks to find a “drag superstar”, Alexis articulates that as a “Latin queen” she finds herself outside the universal; she does not want to be (stereotyped as) a “Latin queen”, but rather wants to be the universal “drag superstar”. Yet, entering the realm of the universal for those located outside its borders requires giving something up. Importantly, throughout the season, neither Alexis nor Yara “give up” their Latinidad identities. In fact, both reiterate their affiliations with their culture and country of origin at significant moments. Perhaps most notably, late in the season when Alexis and Yara must Lip Sync for Your Life against each other (E 13), Yara breaks down in a devastating emotional display, after which Alexis whispers to her, “I love you like I love Puerto Rico . . . let it go”. After losing, Yara reflects on her time on the show, saying, “this is for Puerto Rico, so I’m going to echa pa’lante, darling”. While these moments of pride and agency highlight how Yara and Alexis reassert their cultural identity, they also demonstrate how a refusal to “give up” one’s heritage can equate to a refusal of entry into the universal. Our

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argument here is not that Yara or Alexis should have given up their cultural identity to secure a place within the universal and thus potentially win RPDR. Rather, our objective has been to highlight the costs accrued to queens located outside the universal and the decisions they must make about what they are willing to “give up” in order to proceed. The questions we raise in this chapter are not limited to the context of RPDR. Rather, they speak to wider concerns about Latinadad representations and the ways in which North American universalism exerts itself at the expense of those located outside its borders. While RPDR provides an example of this, it is but one within a much wider cultural phenomenon. To challenge North American universalism in its perhaps less obvious locations (a television show about drag queens, for instance) is to highlight both its pervasive nature and to suggest that it must be challenged in all its forms, not only those that manifest in more culturally sanctioned spaces and broader political contexts.

REFERENCES Ahmed, S. (2015). Melancholic universalism. Retrieved January 20 2016, from, http://feministkilljoys.com/2015/12/15/melancholic-universalism/ Andrejevic, M. (2004). Reality TV: The work of being watched. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield. Anzaldúa, G. E. (1999). Borderlands/La Frontera: The new mestizo (3rd ed.). San Francisco: Aunt Lute Book. Aparicio, F. R. (2003). Jennifer as Selena: Rethinking Latinidad in media and popular culture. Latino Studies, 1, 90–105. Bailey, F., Barbato, R., Campbell, R., Corfe, S., Charles, R., Post, P., & Salangsang, M. (Producers). (2009). RuPaul’s Drag Race [Television series] Los Angeles: World of Wonder Productions. Beltrán, M. (2002). The Hollywood Latina body as a sit of social struggle: Media constructions of stardom and Jennifer Lopez’s “cross-over butt”. Quarterly Review of Film and Video, 19, 71–86. Dell’agnese, E. (2005). The US-Mexico border in American movies: A political geography perspective. Geopolitics, 10, 204–221. Demuro, E. (2012). Examining “Latinidad” in Latin America: Race, “Latinidad” and the decolonial option. Critical Race and Whiteness Studies, 8, 2, 1–11. Fregoso, R. L. (2007). Lupe Vélez: Queen of the B’s. In M. Mendible (Ed.), From bananas to buttocks: The Latina body in popular film and culture (pp. 51–68). Austin: University of Texas Press.

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Fregoso, R. L. (2005). Lupe Vélez: Queen of the B’s. In M. Mendible (Ed.), From bananas to buttocsk: The Latina body in popular film and culture (pp. 51–68). Austin: University of Texas Press. Goldmark, M. (2015). National drag: The language of inclusion in RuPaul’s Drag Race. GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies, 21, 4, 501–520. Mayora, R. G. (2014). Cover, girl: Branding Puerto Rican drag in 21st-Century US popular culture. In J. Daems (Ed.), The makeup of RuPaul’s Drag Race: Essays on the queen of reality shows (pp. 106–123). Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company. Mendible, M. (2007). Embodying Latinidad: An overview. In M. Mendible (Ed.), From bananas to buttocks: The Latina body in popular film and culture (pp. 1–28). Austin: University of Texas Press. Mok, K., & Dominic, A. (2003). America’s next top model [Television Series]. Los Angeles: Bankable Productions. Molina Guzmán, I. (2007). Salma Hayek’s Frida: Transnational Latina bodies in popular culture. In M. Mendible (Ed.), From bananas to buttocks: The Latina body in popular film and culture (pp. 117–128). Austin: University of Texas Press. Phillipson, R. (1992). Linguistic imperialism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Valdivia, A. (2007). Is Penelope to J.Lo as culture is to nature? Eurocentric approaches to “Latin” beauties. In M. Mendible (Ed.), From bananas to buttocks: The Latina body in popular film and culture (pp. 129–148). Austin: University of Texas Press. Valdivia, A. (1998). Stereotype or transgression? Rosie Perez in Hollywood film. The Sociological Quarterly, 39, 3, 393–408. Wang, G. (2010). A shot at half-exposure: Asian Americans in reality TV shows. Television and New Media, 11, 5, 404–427. Joanna McIntyre is a Lecturer in Screen and Media Studies at University of the Sunshine Coast, Australia. McIntyre’s research interests include cinema and television, queer and transgender representation, celebrity, and Australian culture. Damien Riggs is an Associate Professor in Social Work at Flinders University and an Australian Research Council Future Fellow. Riggs’s work focuses on reality television and more broadly engaged analyses of media representations. Riggs has also significantly explored the lives of transgender people.

Spicy. Exotic. Creature. Representations of Racial and Ethnic Minorities on RuPaul’s Drag Race Sarah Tucker Jenkins RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR) is one of the few reality television shows focusing on lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) identified individuals that has made it into mainstream consciousness. The show provides a unique perspective on the ways that contestants’ various identities intersect and interact in their lives. RPDR has a number of aspects that make it one of the more diverse shows in reality television, including contestants of various sizes, races, and geographic backgrounds. However, in spite of the show’s diverse cast and messages of self-love, it also appears to reinforce and perpetuate some problematic racial and ethnic stereotypes. This chapter performs an intersectional, feminist textual analysis of the first four seasons (2009–2012) of RPDR and its spinoff, Untucked!, to answer the question: How does RPDR reinforce or subvert racial and ethnic stereotypes? The chapter employs theory from a number of disciplines, including critical race theory and multiple feminist theories. In order to answer the above question, this chapter relies on textual analysis to examine visual imagery, narrative, and dialogue in the episodes. Each S.T. Jenkins (*) University of Virginia, Charlottesville, Virginia, USA

© The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_6

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episode of seasons one through four was watched twice, with detailed notes taken during the second viewing. This chapter employs observations of RPDR’s use of language, challenges given to contestants, judges’ feedback, and fellow contestants’ interactions.

FEMINIST THEORY, INTERSECTIONALITY, AND DOMAINS OF POWER Using the concept of intersectionality, this chapter explores the ways that individual lives and experiences differ, even within certain groups. Although the basic premise of feminism began with the belief that women deserve treatment equal to that of men, feminism has been expanded to examine gender justice in relation to other types of oppression and ways to fight various oppressions simultaneously. Judith Lorber (2012) organizes different theories of feminism based on “their theory or theories of gender inequality” (p. 9). Applying Lorber’s categories, this chapter relies on “gender rebellion feminisms” which include “social construction, multiracial/multiethnic, feminist studies of men, postmodern, and third wave” feminisms (p. 12). According to Lorber (2012), “[t]hese feminisms continue to focus on multiple sources of inequality—racial, ethnic, and social class in particular—that are also reproduced through individual actions and social interactions, but the main target is the binary gendered social order” (p. 12). My analyses of RPDR and Untucked! will employ social construction feminism, multiracial/multiethnic feminism, and postmodern feminism to examine the shows’ representations of ethnic and racial minorities. This chapter also utilizes Hill Collins’ (2009) definitions of intersectionality, the matrix of domination, and domains of power in order to analyze RPDR contributions to, or breaks from, racial and ethnic stereotypes. Hill Collins (2009) describes the importance of intersectionality: “Intersectional paradigms remind us that oppression cannot be reduced to one fundamental type, and that oppressions work together in producing injustice” (p. 21). While intersectionality refers to the types of oppressions a person faces, the matrix of domination refers to “how these intersecting oppressions are actually organized” (ibid). Within a patriarchal society, domination uses differences that are ascribed social meaning to reinforce the power structure of one identity over another. Hill Collins (2009) explains that “viewing domination itself as encompassing intersecting oppressions of race, class, gender, sexuality, and nation points to the significance of these oppressions in shaping the overall organization of a particular matrix of domination” (p. 293). This chapter

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focuses largely on the hegemonic domain of power to explain the ways that RPDR may reinforce oppressive stereotypes and beliefs. Hill Collins (2009) explains this domain: “By manipulating ideology and culture, the hegemonic domain acts as a link between social institutions (structural domain), their organizational practices (disciplinary domain), and the level of everyday social interaction (interpersonal domain)” (p. 302). In this way, oppressed groups also reinforce the hegemonic domain of power by acting on and believing in these stereotypes. I use Hill Collins’ (2009) understanding of this domain of power to analyze whether RPDR reinforces hegemonic beliefs and to explain why such reinforcement could be damaging. Finally, this chapter examines whether or not RPDR propagates or questions various racial stereotypes. Not all of the stereotypes in my analysis are gender specific; many of the stereotypes of African and Puerto Rican individuals apply to all genders. I analyze stereotypes of the monolithic, “exotic” African and representations of Puerto Rican contestants, as well as the ways they must navigate being both a part of, and separate from, the USA.

“CREATURE”: BEBE ZAHARA BENET

AS THE

“EXOTIC” OTHER

Because RPDR contestants perform feminine gender expressions, stereotypes that are specifically related to women of color become apparent. These stereotypes serve to reinforce hegemonic beliefs about women and other marginalized groups. Specifically, stereotypes about exotic and sexualized cultural Others are emphasized in the representations of various contestants. BeBe Zahara Benet, the winner of season one, was born in Cameroon, a fact the audience was never allowed to forget. During BeBe’s time on the show, RuPaul would consistently introduce her by yelling out, “Cameroon!” every time she appeared on the runway. No other contestant has been more associated with her place of birth than BeBe. The audience was always reminded of the fact that she was the “cultural Other” (Mohanty 1991: 55). In “Queens of All Media” (S1, E3), RuPaul says, “Not only is BeBe carrying all of Africa on her shoulders, she’s also carrying all of Rene of Paris wigs on her head!” His casual joke reveals the truth that he views BeBe as an ambassador for the entire continent of Africa. This statement generalizes and obscures BeBe’s actual heritage, and puts her in the impossible position of speaking for an entire continent. In “M.A.C. Viva-Glam Challenge” (S1, E4), BeBe wears a traditional Cameroonian woman’s dress during her video challenge which is also in support of the fight against AIDS. In her

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video BeBe says, “I come from a faraway place, a place where HIV/AIDS is very rampant. That place, my home, is called Africa.” Although it is true that HIV/AIDS does have high rates of infection in certain parts of the African continent, it is also true that this fact is one of the main things Americans associate with Africa. BeBe’s choice to speak about HIV/AIDS as an “African” reinforces this one-dimensional stereotype. Although in one way we could view BeBe’s choice of Cameroonian dress as subversive, she is also making it easy for the audience to focus only on the exotic aspects of her performance, rather than encouraging a multidimensional view of Africa. BeBe’s choice to identify herself as only “African” also solidifies the concept of the monolithic third world and furthers the stereotype of Africa as homogenous and stagnant. Although BeBe does not identify as a woman, she presents herself as one in her performances and feeds into stereotypes of African women that hold strong in Western knowledge. In “Queens of All Media” (S1, E3), while BeBe is walking the runway, we hear her voice-over saying, “Africa isn’t only about the leopards and the lions and the tigers and all that stuff. You know, it’s also about dignity.” As she finishes this sentence, BeBe pulls off her jacket to reveal a skintight, leopard-print cat suit. The statement contradicts her performance; her discussion of dignity is disjointed from her costume. After leaving RPDR, BeBe opened a theatrical show of her own creation in New York City, titled “Creature.” As described in The Village Voice: “Against pulsing visuals of African tribes people and pouncing wildlife, BeBe emerged in a shaman (or maybe sha-woman) costume as six hot male Alvin Ailey types danced around in grass skirts” (Musto 2012). Daniel Mengara (2001) tells us that popular culture characterizes Africans as “the embodiment of primitivism, chaos, and sexual lust, among other negative characterizations” (p. 1). From the above description, “Creature” successfully perpetuates those stereotypes. BeBe’s portrayal of a dehumanized African is an example of “the successful infusion of dominant ideologies into the everyday cultural context” (Hill Collins 2009: 305), and of the far-reaching effects of hegemonic domains of power.

“ESCANDALO!”: RPDR’S PUERTO RICAN CONTESTANTS Racial and ethnic stereotypes are also visible in representations of Puerto Rican contestants on RPDR. Puerto Rican contestants experience a cultural Othering and exoticization similar to—but still different from—BeBe

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Zahara Benet. The USA has a long and complicated history with Puerto Rico (Briggs 2002), which includes Americans’ ignorance about the fact that Puerto Rico is a territory of the USA: [N]ot an accident. This ignorance is produced and maintained through silences in the media, in popular culture, and in the teaching of U.S. history, which exist alongside a prominent public narrative in which the U.S. is a major anti-imperialist force in the world. (p. 2)

It is important to consider the Puerto Rican contestants on RPDR within the context of Puerto Rican history and US cultural consciousness of it. Pérez (1997) states that Puerto Ricans experience three forms of discrimination in the media, “exclusion, dehumanization, and [job] discrimination” (p. 142). RPDR includes at least one Puerto Rican contestant every season; however, the show’s representations of Puerto Rican contestants can be problematic. Moreman and McIntosh’s (2010) description of Latina drag queens aptly describes Puerto Rican contestants on RPDR. The authors state, “Moving between Spanish and English, across differing racialities [ . . . ] the Latina drag queens’ social locations are complicated because the political and material realities of one location (e.g., gender or race) cannot be separated from the other (e.g., sexuality or nationality)” (2010: 116). However, RPDR Puerto Rican contestants’ identities are often simplified to those of a Latina Queen, without taking into account other Latino and Latina identities. In “The Queen Who Mopped Xmas” (S3, E2), queen Alexis Mateo laments, “What I hate the most is that people label you as the Latin queen [ . . . ] I’m not just the Latin queen, I’m a star.” The “Latin queen” label seems to follow Puerto Rican contestants, including the ways other contestants describe them and editing portrays them. Alexis Mateo voices frustration about being confined by Latina stereotypes, and finds herself segregated from the other queens. Although RPDR promotes acceptance and inclusion, Alexis Mateo, and other Puerto Rican contestants, are grouped together by their ethnicity, sometimes against their will. Tatianna De La Tierra (2002) describes a similar experience, “I, along with the other Others, were strangely alienated in a place that promised just the opposite. I developed an Us-against-Them mentality” (p. 363). RPDR’s Puerto Rican contestants also constitute an Other. Carmen Carrera (S3) is of Puerto Rican ancestry and was born and raised in the continental United States. In “Life, Liberty & the Pursuit of

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Style” (S3, E9), Carmen states that she does not think the other Puerto Rican contestants think she is “Puerto Rican enough” because she does not speak Spanish fluently. Alexis Mateo mentions that she does not think Carmen should be considered Puerto Rican because she was not born there. Although many people maintain origins of ancestry in different ways, here Alexis decides that being born in Puerto Rico is required for Carmen to identify as such. Gloria Anzaldúa (2002) writes, “most people self-define by what they exclude” (p. 3). A policing of borders around Puerto Rican identity points to a need for Puerto Rican contestants to create their own types of identity, ones they can manage and feel comfortable with. However, this type of identity policing ultimately hinders growth and involvement in the work of social justice. Jody Norton (2002) implores, “Let us all, then, avoid becoming Border Patrolmen of identity” (p. 154). Although Alexis may feel comforted by solidifying Carmen’s identity as not Puerto Rican, she is also alienating Carmen and invalidating Carmen’s experience as a person of Puerto Rican heritage. In season four, politics of identity appear again between Kenya Michaels and Madame LaQueer. In “Glamazons vs. Champions” (S4, E3), Madame laments that Kenya is not supporting her as the only other Puerto Rican. Additionally, the other contestants have consistently ostracized Madame. However, Kenya is privileged by her petite size and beauty, and feels no solidarity with Madame. Kenya’s beauty is mentioned multiple times during her time on the show; her looks become an important part of her representation. In “Glamazons vs. Champions” (S4, E3), Kenya dresses in a tight, animal-print outfit for a commercial she is shooting. She speaks very little during her part in the video and even licks a bone to mime fellatio. Her few spoken lines are jokes about her isolation on the show, due to her strong accent and lack of English fluency. Similarly to the treatment of BeBe, Kenya is represented as sexual and exotic and also dresses in animal prints. Other Puerto Rican contestants have similar experiences. Jessica Wild is the only Puerto Rican contestant in season two. In “Gone with the Window” (S2, E1), Jessica expresses concern about her mastery of the English language, and she is similarly exoticized. During “Country Queens” (S2, E3), Jessica is complimented for her Country outfit in an unusual way. Judge Santino Rice states, “Yeah, I wanna mount her [Jessica]. You are giving thoroughbred realness today.” In a few short sentences, Santino sexualizes and animalizes Jessica. A few minutes later, RuPaul says of Jessica, “I find her charming and a

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great spicy addition to this line up.” Similar to this, in “Grand Finale” (S1, E8), Nina Flowers’ (the only Puerto Rican contestant of that season) accent is called “spicy” when she is having trouble pronouncing some words. Here, the term “spicy” becomes code for “a problem,” because her accent is hindering her. For many Puerto Rican contestants, it appears the only condition to be considered “spicy” is to have a strong accent. Puerto Rican contestants are frequently confined to the realm of Other by the (real or imagined) language barrier between them and other contestants. The Puerto Rican contestants’ accents are often cited as a challenge to overcome, either by themselves or by other contestants. These accents are sometimes mocked or laughed at, even as we see the contestants’ frustration that they are not being understood. The bilingual capabilities of Puerto Rican contestants are never discussed as a strength that might help them, but always as a hindrance. Madame LaQueer and Kenya Michaels both have negative experiences because of their Spanish language background. In “Glamazons vs. Champions” (S4, E3), Kenya Michaels is team captain of a group challenge; however, Milan quickly displaces her. Milan cites Kenya’s “language barrier” as the reason for her taking control of the team, although it is unclear why Kenya’s accent would prevent her from delegating tasks to her team. Milan does not discuss this with Kenya. She simply starts interrupting her and talking over her. Because of her accent, Milan assumes that Kenya is incapable of running the team. In the same episode, the judges criticize Madame LaQueer for including too much Spanish language in the commercial she shot for a challenge. Guest judge Amber Riley says that Madame is being “true to herself” by using Spanish in her video, but then encourages Madame to step outside of her comfort zone. Essentially, the judges view Madame’s ethnicity and her language of origin as bad habits, as things she needs to get over if she wants to be successful. Madame’s fat body and her Spanish accent keep her from being heard as a talented performer. The other contestants cannot look past these traits. In “Queens Behind Bars” (S4, E4), Madame’s last episode, she appears aloof and unable to take direction while filming a skit. During her eliminating Lip Sync for Your Life challenge, Jiggly calls her a “pointer sister,” implying that her lip sync performances are unoriginal and boring. Rosina Lippi-Green (2012) writes about the experiences of Spanishspeaking individuals within the USA. She believes the “ultimate goal” of encouraging Spanish speakers to learn English is, “to devalue and suppress everything Spanish” (p. 261). She cites a survey in which 48% of Spanish speakers cited “language” as their primary source of discrimination

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(Lippi-Green 2012: 262). Lippi-Green’s findings reinforce the understanding that Spanish speakers in America are marginalized for their linguistic differences. The presence of an accent, or the use of Spanish, is unacceptable in American culture and is barely tolerated, especially within the mass media. Kenya and Madame both learn the hard way that being native Spanish speakers will work against them. Puerto Rican contestants on RPDR are forced to manage their accents, language, physical representations, and interactions with one another on the show in an attempt to decrease their linguistic and ethnic identities.

“DOESN’T MEAN YOU’RE RACIST. YOU HATE EVERYBODY, INCLUDING YOUR OWN RACE”: CULTURAL APPROPRIATION AND (ACCEPTABLE?) RACIST STEREOTYPES Contestants’ representations of their own cultures are only some of the limiting ways that races and ethnicities are represented on RPDR. There are also a number of disconcerting appropriations of racial and ethnic stereotypes adopted by contestants outside of their own cultural backgrounds. Manila Luzon, a Filipino contestant, portrays multiple Asian stereotypes in her performances on the show. During “QNN News” (S3, E5), in which Manila conducts a celebrity interview, she affects a strong stereotyped Asian accent. Later, RuPaul asks her what she would say to viewers who thought her portrayal was racist. Manila’s response is convoluted. She cites the lack of Asian visibility on television, although it is unclear how this is related to her performance. Even though her performance is questioned, she is ultimately rewarded for it; RuPaul states, “You broke all the rules . . . and you perpetuated stereotypes,” before declaring that Manila has won the challenge. Guest judge Debbie Matenopoulos teases, “Doesn’t mean you’re racist, you hate everybody, including your own race.” During “Reunited!” (S3, E16), Manila addresses audience responses she has received about her racist performance. She argues that respondents on her Facebook page who thought her performance was racist were all non-Asian, whereas Asian respondents thought it was funny. Also worth noting is that some of the other contestants, especially Shangela, state that Manila’s performance is offensive because she is, supposedly, not part of the culture she mocks. Assumedly, Shangela thinks Manila’s performance characterized a different Asian culture than Manila’s own, although she never clarifies her comments. After Manila’s controversial

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performance, she chooses Imelda Marcos as her celebrity impersonation in “Snatch Game” (S3, E6). Once again, she feigns a stereotyped Asian accent and portrays Marcos as obsessed with shoes. Although Manila does not win this challenge, she also receives no criticism for this performance. However, Shangela states that this performance is less offensive because Manila is parodying someone from her own culture. The idea that racist stereotypes are acceptable when performed by members of that race is problematic at best. This belief ignores the fact that marginalized groups are also susceptible to internal prejudice. As Chrystos (2002) explains, “Embracing racist doggerel does not give us the last bite” (p. 286); racist images are always racist, regardless of who is portraying them. In fact, images perpetuated by members of the marginalized group may be more dangerous, because the public considers them more acceptable. Hill Collins (2009) points out that knowledge can be coopted, and we cannot assume that something is not demeaning or dehumanizing simply because of the source. Hegemony works because people at every level of the hierarchical society believe in it. Response to Manila’s racist caricatures is curious, especially when compared to other racist appropriations on the show. Raja appropriates Native American and African stereotypes in two runway outfits, and is praised both times. In “Life, Liberty & the Pursuit of Style” (S3, E9), the judges discuss Raja’s Native American outfit during her runway walk. Michelle Visage teases, “Dances with drag queens,” and Santino Rice exclaims, “Take me to your teepee!” When Raja, who identifies as Indonesian, introduces herself on stage, she says, “How,” while raising her hand in imitation of a stereotypic Native American greeting. In “Snatch Game” (S3, E6), Raja describes her second appropriating runway look as “National Geographic drag” and is again praised for it. Santino Rice responds to her outfit by clicking his tongue in parody of the language spoken by people in Africa’s Kalahari Desert (National Science Foundation 2009). In the corresponding Untucked! episode, Raja repeats the imitation, stating, “Or as they say in the language of my people [clicks tongue].” Those present meet both imitations with laughter. Although Raja’s cultural appropriations take place during the same season as Manila’s, Raja receives no criticism from the judges, and, although audience criticism likely exists, there is no mention of it on the show. In “Glamazons vs. Champions” (S4, E3), Phi Phi O’Hara imitates the stereotype of a chonga, a Latina figure Jillian Hernandez (2009) describes as a “low-class, slutty, tough, and crass young woman” (p. 64). During her imitation, Phi Phi plays with a piñata, but her

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performance receives no criticism. In the same episode, Jiggly Caliente dresses up as a geisha and makes crude sexual jokes. Again, Jiggly’s performance is completely overlooked for its stereotypes. Why do some racist stereotypes go unnoticed, while others are singled out for criticism? A hierarchy of racial stereotypes appears to be at work here. Sexualized Native American, African, and Japanese stereotypes are common images in American popular culture. Each of these stereotypes is available for purchase as a Halloween costume, for instance, suggesting that Euro-American popular culture keeps these stereotypes frozen in time. Lucy Ganje (2003) explains this problem in relation to Native American images: “When all the media give us are images of Native peoples and cultures taken during annual wacipis (powwows), it feeds the notion that Native peoples do not exist in the present and are not part of a continuum” (p. 116–117). Similarly, stereotypical images of Africans in “tribal” outfits and Japanese women dressed in traditional robes are common in our popular culture. Because audiences view these images as part of past cultures, or as cultures sufficiently separate from their own, these stereotypes do not incur consistent criticism. Regardless of whether or not they are criticized on RPDR, the racist fantasies that contestants perpetuate for entertainment are dangerous; they allow people to dehumanize and silence groups. Deborah A. Miranda (2002) explains how these types of fantasies can lead to violence. She states, “I don’t know how to argue that whose fantasy is what’s wrong; that your fantasy backed by power is my reality.” (Miranda, 2002, p. 196). These fantasies impose a false reality on marginalized groups, and in the media these realities are mass-marketed as truth. Pérez (1997) explains that media portrayals of stereotypical figures often serve as people’s only exposure to those that are different from them. “Given these developments in the mass media, today negative stereotypes are given ‘eternal life’ and are distributed internationally” (Pérez 1997: 161). Considering this, we cannot ignore media images that exoticize, sexualize, or stigmatize entire groups of people.

IMPLICATIONS

OF

RACIAL AND ETHNIC STEREOTYPES EXOTICIZATION

AND

To date, no Puerto Rican contestant has won RPDR, and when we examine portrayals of Puerto Rican contestants, it is no surprise. In order for Puerto Rican contestants to be successful, they are expected to

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occupy an impossible position of being separate from their culture, and connected to it. The judges constantly use the terms “spicy” and “escandalo” (“scandal”) to describe Puerto Rican contestants. However, if the contestants are too Puerto Rican (if they speak too much Spanish, or have too strong of an accent), then they receive criticism or are pushed aside. Anzaldúa’s (2006) analysis of mestiza identity applies to the experiences of Puerto Rican contestants: “Like others having or living in more than one culture, we get multiple, often opposing messages” (p. 422). These contestants exist in a state of “ambiguity” (Anzaldúa 2006: 423), given that Puerto Rico is not an independent country, nor is it a US state. Briggs (2002) describes Puerto Rico’s status as “none of the above,” writing, “Commonwealth is an unsatisfying compromise, a stopgap that makes no one truly happy” (p. 10). Using the description of liminality posited by Anzaldúa (2002), Puerto Ricans exist in a “liminal (threshold) space between worlds [ . . . ]. Transformations occur in this in-between space, an unstable, unpredictable, precarious, always-in-transition space lacking clear boundaries” (p. 1). Puerto Rican contestants exist between the boundaries of sexuality, nationality, race, and language. As Anzaldúa (2002) argues, spaces of liminality can also be sites of transformation, and provide opportunity to re-conceptualize the ways we represent Puerto Ricans, and, more broadly, Latina/os. De La Tierra (2002) asks, “Will Latinos ever be perceived as anything more than spicy and ridiculous ‘yo quiero Taco Bell’ hot tamales?” (p. 360). Similar to these caricatures is the exoticization of BeBe, whose identity is eclipsed by her association with Africa. Minh-Ha (1989) explains how reinforcing a label of Other is an attempt to separate and exclude non Euro-American individuals. She writes, “We no longer wish to erase your difference. We demand, on the contrary, that you remember and assert it. At least, to a certain extent” (Minh-Ha 1989: 89). Excluding people of color and people of the global south from the “general” population keeps non Euro-Americans segregated and constantly reminded of their own Otherness. However, Signe Arnfred (2004) reminds us that we can use this knowledge to change the ways we conceptualize non Euro-Americans. Arnfred (2004) comments, “rethinking necessitates a double move of de-construction and re-construction, developing an analysis whereby, through critique of previous conceptualizations, attempts are made to approach materials in new ways, coming up with fresh or alternative lines of thinking” (p. 7). Thus, stereotypes can be used to analyze and deconstruct race-based

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characterizations, allowing us to consider new and inclusive ways of thinking. Simplistic caricatures of entire groups of people reinforce hegemonic domains of power and hinder us from thinking critically about the subjective experiences of human beings. However, recognizing these distortions for what they are gives us the opportunity to start thinking about new ways to foster inclusivity and cultural growth in the USA and elsewhere. Whether or not that growth occurs on reality television is another question entirely.

REFERENCES Anzaldúa, G. (2002). Preface: (Un)natural bridges, (un)safe spaces. In G. E. Anzaldúa & A. Keating (Eds.), This bridge we call home: Radical visions for transformation (pp. 1–5). New York: Routledge. Anzaldúa, G. (2006). La Conciencia de la Mestiza: Towards a new consciousness. In E. Hackett & S. Haslanger (Eds.), Theorizing feminisms: A reader (pp. 422–430). New York: Oxford University Press. Arnfred, S. (2004). Re-thinking sexualities in Africa: Introduction. In S. Arnfred (Ed.), Re-thinking sexualities in Africa (pp. 7–34). Uppsala, Sweden: The Nordic Africa Institute. Briggs, L. (2002). Reproducing empire: Race, sex, science, and U.S. imperialism in Puerto Rico. Berkeley: University of California Press. Chrystos (2002). Vanish is a toilet bowl cleaner. In G. E. Anzaldúa & A. Keating (Eds.), This bridge we call home: Radical visions for transformation (p. 286). New York: Routledge. De La Tierra, T. (2002). Aliens and others in search of the tribe in academe. In G. E. Anzaldúa & A. Keating (Eds.), This bridge we call home: Radical visions for transformation (pp. 358–368). New York: Routledge. Ganje, L. (2003). Native American stereotypes. In P. M. Lester & S. D. Ross (Eds.), Images that injure: Pictorial stereotypes in the media (pp. 114–120). Westport: Praeger. Hernandez, J. (2009). “Miss, you look like a Bratz doll”: On chonga girls and sexual-aesthetic excess. NWSA Journal, 21(3), 63–90. Hill Collins, P. (2009). Black feminist thought. New York: Routledge. Lippi-Green, R. (2012). English with an accent: Language, ideology and discrimination in the United States (2nd ed.). Florence: Routledge. Lorber, J. (2012). Gender inequality: Feminist theories and politics (5th ed.). New York: Oxford University Press. McKinnon, B. (Director). (2010a). Country queens [Television series episode]. In F. Bailey (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder.

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McKinnon, B. (Director). (2010b). Gone with the window [Television series episode]. In F. Bailey (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Mengara, D. M. (2001). Introduction: White eyes, dark reflections. In D. M. Mengara (Ed.), Images of Africa: Stereotypes and Realities (pp. 1–20). Trenton: Africa World Press. Minh-Ha, T. T. (1989). Women native other. Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Miranda, D. A. (2002). What’s wrong with a little fantasy?” Storytelling from the (still) ivory tower. In G. E. Anzaldúa & A. Keating (Eds.), This bridge we call home: Radical visions for transformation (pp. 192–202). New York: Routledge. Mohanty, C. T. (1991). Under western eyes: Feminist scholarship and colonial discourses. In C. T. Mohanty, A. Russo, & L. Torres (Eds.), Third world women and the politics of feminism (pp. 51–80). Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Moreman, S. T., & McIntosh, D. M. (2010). Brown scriptings and rescriptings: A critical performance ethnography of Latina drag queens. Communication and Critical/Cultural Studies, 7(2), 115–135. Murray, N. (Director). (2011a). Life, liberty & the pursuit of style [Television series episode]. In C. Valdes (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Murray, N. (Director). (2011b). QNN news [Television series episode]. In C. Valdes (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Murray, N. (Director). (2011d). Reunited! [Television series episode]. In J. Hawkes (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Murray, N. (Director). (2011e). The snatch game [Television series episode]. In C. Valdes (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Murray, N. (Director). (2012a). Glamazons vs. champions [Television series episode]. In J. Wilson (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Murray, N. (Director). (2012b). Queens behind bars [Television series episode]. In J. Wilson (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Musto, M. (2012, May 25). BeBe Zahara Benet is quite a creature. The Village Voice. Retrieved from http://www.villagevoice.com/blogs/bebe-zaharabenet-is-quite-a-creature-6376461 National Science Foundation. (2009, July 16). Classifying “clicks” in African languages to clear up 100-year-old mystery. ScienceDaily. Retrieved from http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/07/090715131551.htm Norton, J. (2002). Transchildren, changelings, and fairies: Living the dream and surviving the nightmare in contemporary America. In G. E. Anzaldúa & A. Keating (Eds.), This bridge we call home: Radical visions for transformation (pp. 145–154). New York: Routledge.

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Pérez, R. (1997). From assimilation to annihilation: Puerto Rican images in U.S. films. In C. Rodríguez (Ed.), Latin looks: Images of Latinas and Latinos in the U.S. media (pp. 142–163). Boulder: Westview Press. Stevenson, I. (Director). (2009b). Grand finale [Television series episode]. In F. Bailey (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Stevenson, I. (Director). (2009c). M.A.C. viva-glam challenge [Television series episode]. In F. Bailey (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Stevenson, I. (Director). (2009d). Queens of all media [Television series episode]. In F. Bailey (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Sarah Tucker Jenkins currently works at the Maxine Platzer Lynn Women’s Center at the University of Virginia. She holds an MEd in Critical Studies in Educational Foundations from Ohio University and an MA in Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies from Florida Atlantic University.

The Werk That Remains: Drag and the Mining of the Idealized Female Form Amy L. Darnell and Ahoo Tabatabai

TELEVISION REALNESS Sociologist Josh Gamson (2011) argues for the merit of studying popular culture, explaining that it is what he calls “common currency” (p. 27). In a society where entertainment is more fragmented than ever, cultural currency makes up a collection of representations that many consume and share. As Gamson argues, American society is so diverse that common frames of reference are few. Certain sets of representations become shared across populations, allowing exchanges of ideas. Though representations in popular culture are fleeting, at times they have the power to challenge conceptions of various populations, and at other times they merely (re) present common stereotypical images of those groups. Reality television has played an important role in creating a space where traditional representations, particularly sexual representations, can be, and have been, challenged. Since the US broadcaster PBS aired An American Family in 1971, media scholars have dedicated much attention to the analysis of reality television. A large segment of reality television consists A.L. Darnell (*)
A. Tabatabai Columbia College, Columbia, Missouri, USA

© The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_7

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of the competition format. One such competition reality show, RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR), has been praised for bringing drag out of underground gay subculture and into mainstream reality TV. RPDR challenges not only heteronormativity but gender normativity as well. According to Gamson, “restrictive gender norms and stigma are overcome by beauty and power, as RuPaul regularly repeats, of ‘Charisma, Uniqueness, Nerve and Talent’ (or C.U.N.T. for short)” (Gamson 2013: 54). The show has made a specific kind of drag available to new audiences. However, in some ways, RPDR reinforces cultural norms associated not only with race and ethnicity, but also with the body. During the show, and despite statements by RuPaul, cultural norms of body size remain largely unchallenged, although queering of gender and sexuality is celebrated. Using an analysis that spans seven seasons of RPDR, and certain episodes of its spin-off, RuPaul’s Drag U, we highlight the heteronormativity implied in the sizism that is at times unproblematically presented. We show that even in a space dedicated to queering gender norms, the idealized female form is still the aspirational goal for judges and contestants alike. We pay particular attention to how bodies of color negotiate sizism in RPDR. Drag as an art form has not gone without criticism. Most recently, in 2015, Free Pride Glasgow banned drag queens from gay pride under the pretense that their performance amounted to “Doing Girlface.” The organizers’ argument was that some drag performance might be insulting to transgender women. While it may be shortsighted to argue that drag can be offensive to all trans women, one can also argue that some drag promotes the worst stereotypes of femininity (as embodied by numerous drag queens). We see, as other scholars have, that drag can be both transgressive and non-transgressive. Judith Butler (1999), for example, argues that drag has the power to disrupt the gender order, while Hobson (2013) has been more critical, by highlighting the ever presence of white femininity as the privileged and universal form of femininity. Our goal is not to provide a critique of drag, but to focus on RPDR as a component of cultural currency that through its popularity manages to make certain bodies visible and contribute to the invisibility of others. Though both audiences and scholars of popular culture dealing with gender and sexuality have for the most part received RPDR positively, it has not escaped criticism. Magubane (2002) likened the show to modernday blackface minstrelsy. While RPDR creates some space for queering the reality TV landscape, its treatment of race is not always untroubled

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(Strings and Bui 2013). The show has also been cited for its unquestioned, uncritical support of the neoliberal framework, which is based on competition and individual liberation (LeMaster 2015). In this chapter we use the lens of intersectionality to examine the ways in which bodies reinforce and at times challenge normative gender presentation. Using content analysis, we examined episodes of the show that aired from 2010 to 2015. As other scholars have acknowledged (Taylor and Rupp 2005), we recognize our position of outsiders to drag culture. Our analysis rests not on our intimate knowledge of drag culture, but rather as outsiders, and, in some ways, as consumers of drag culture.

BODIES Bodies carry with them social significance, including into spaces that are meant for resistance. The body, in other words, is never a blank canvas. As such, bodies carry social messages that are embedded into them. White bodies and bodies of color do not carry similar social messages, despite being in spaces where boundaries of gender are challenged. This is true for bodies considered standard size and bodies that are considered large. We use the term “fat” to describe bodies that are considered large. We do so deliberately. Evoking Mark Graham’s lipoliteracy, our use of the word fat equates with a particular way of reading bodies, “ . . . that is, the way we see fat or the absence of fat as conveying a message, as telling us something good or bad about food, bodies, and people” (Kulick and Meneley 2005: 7). We recognize the stigma associated with the word fat, but we also acknowledge that alternate language such as “plus size” does little to remove stigmatizations. In addition, the word fat represents for many an empowering word that acknowledges the hierarchy of bodies but still aims to give people back their agency (Saguy and Ward 2011). There is good reason to call particular attention to fat bodies as represented on RPDR. Goffman (1968) calls the fat body “discredited,” meaning that stigma is associated with it. Although attention has been paid to how female bodies are discredited by social ideals of thinness, male bodies are increasingly being seen as targets of body normalizing discourse. Monaghan states that fatness possesses the ability to lead to “spoiled masculinities” (2008: 58). However, spoiled masculinities do not necessarily translate into desirable femininities. Fat stigmatization remains an important propeller of humor in mainstream TV shows and films (Himes and Thompson 2007). Many continue to argue that larger bodies remain

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“fair game” for public ridicule. As Burmeister and Carels (2014) show, positive reactions to fat humor are correlated with negative attitudes toward fat bodies, an idea, they argue, that supports the disparagement theory of humor. On RPDR, fat performers are consistently present every season. Their body size becomes as much a part of their persona and character as a number of other features. For example, in the online profile of season seven performer Jaidynn Diore Fierce, the following description accompanies her photo: Infectiously sassy, Jaidynn Diore Fierce lives up to her last name. And don’t be fooled by this big girl’s size – a polished performer, this bubbly dance queen can MOVE – and dance circles around the rest of the competition.

Fierce, a black performer, is described as both “sassy” and “bubbly.” The reader is invited in this short description to first think of her body size as a hindrance and then is assured that her body is actually a feature that will enhance her performance rather than deter from it. Bodies of men of color are given space for parody, but not necessarily the bodies of women of color, and in this context, femininities of color. Bodies of color are never without size, and size is not lived outside of race. Patricia Hill-Collins (2000) and Kimberle Crenshaw (1991) have proposed that identities are never lived in isolation. We argue that queer performances never cease to be about race, body size, class, or ethnicity, even when the performers do not openly acknowledge these constructs. Transgressing is never limited to one identity component. However, gender transgression is not necessarily racial transgression.

THE “LARGE” DRAG QUEEN The premise of RPDR’s competition is to find “America’s next drag superstar.” As RuPaul walks down the show’s runway, she introduces each episode’s final competition with the mantra, “Gentlemen start your engines and may the best woman win!” The show purports to follow the criteria of charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent, yet the vast majority of winners and finalists have followed the norm of traditional female body shapes and beauty. Of the seven seasons analyzed, only the seventh season saw a plus-sized finalist in Ginger Minj. Although some fans argue that other finalists have been plus-sized, queens like Roxxxy Andrews are in fact in the “normal” range of US women’s dress sizes, compared to Ginger’s

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size of 22 (S7, E14). Season seven of RPDR was the “most fashionable” according to season six finalist Adore Delano (S7, E13), and the “most snatched season” according to RuPaul, meaning it was the best looking season. Although the show claims empowerment and embracing of nontraditional bodies and aesthetics, each season’s winner has been a beauty of normal to smaller size. In season seven, the extremes of body type, modification, and acceptance are most significantly on display. Season seven features three large queens who end up competing against two contestants, Miss Fame and Violet Chachki. These latter two contestants often use corsets to highlight the smallness of their waists and their dissimilarities to the larger contestants. In episode 13 of season seven, entitled “Countdown to the Crown,” size and beauty become some of the most significant issues the show highlights. Starting off with the category of “How To Be a Lean, Mean Queen,” past contestants comment on the physical perfection the current season’s queens. The first queen to receive compliments is Jasmine Masters for her well-defined abdominal muscles. Although her muscles belie the feminine form she attempts to achieve, her crop-top outfits reinforce the idea that traditionally slim bodies are the preferred body, for both the male performer and his female alter ego. Described as “sleek and slim” by Adore Delano, Miss Fame elicits a cry of despair from season four winner Sharon Needles. A tall, thin queen herself, Needles exclaims, “The girls are making me feel fat!” (S7: E13). The third contestant, Pearl, highlights tensions within the drag community as to what the aspirational female drag body should look like. When discussing Pearl’s body, season three third-place finalist Jujubee asks, “Okay, was padding out this season or something? What’s going on?” Jujubee is referring to the common practice of drag queens padding their bodies with foam to create the illusion of hips and a round derriere in order to look more feminine. In an episode of Drag U (S1, E8) in which Jujubee was a frequent professor (or a former contestant who coaches biological females), Jujubee uses an electronic meat carving knife to cut foam thigh and butt pads for the biological woman with whom she is working. The use of padding is not only a common occurrence amongst drag queens, but it is also used to achieve a “normal” female body. Season two runner-up Raven echoes Jujubee’s comment, asking, “Is [Pearl] allergic to foam? I don’t get it!” referring to Pearl’s tall, thin, angular body. Season five winner Jinkx Monsoon positions Pearl’s lack of padding most clearly when she trumpets, “If you are not wearing pads, you are not doing drag!” (S7, E13).

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Although Pearl’s lack of padding is a problem for those expecting and/ or preferring the more recognizable female form, it is season seven’s champion that highlights the extreme measures of reinforcing idealized female gender performance. Violet Chachki describes herself as a “collectible” in the season’s opening episode, adding “My biggest strength is probably aesthetics. I’m very visually appealing. Is that conceited?” Her tiny figure is something she prides herself in and is open to laying bare on stage. For the first episode, the queens are required to walk the runway in a nude illusion outfit. Although all of the other contestants use skin-tight leotards, Chachki actually walks down the runway nude, wearing only tape over her tucked penis and testes. Chachki is critiqued by the judges, and judge Michelle Visage is unhappy because going naked breaks the drag illusion. With no curves, Violet reads as “boy” to Visage. Judge Ross Matthews explains that he believes Chachki evokes the androgynous fashion model that walks the professional runways of New York, Paris, and Milan. In the next episode, Chachki brags that her waist is the smallest in RPDR history. Even if, for either judges or audience members, Chachki’s physique is reminiscent of a supermodel, her body still reinforces societal norms of female gendered performance. Within the series as a whole, queens are labeled by the veracity of their performance of gender. To be a “fishy” queen is to be passable as a woman. Beyond this label, queens that aren’t appropriately female are compartmentalized as other and are ultimately labeled as comedy queens, fashion queens, Goth, old fashioned, camp, or pageant queens, all of which highlight the fact that they don’t perform female appropriately. Drag’s subversive nature isn’t nearly subversive enough in this instance. After praising the slim physiques of several contestants in the “How To Be a Lean, Mean Queen” segment, RuPaul continues, “Thin may be in, but don’t get it twisted. . . . ”. “Fat is where it’s at,” finishes former contestant Latrice Royale, which leads into a segment entitled “Large Is Still in Charge.” Although this segment’s introduction appears to be praising the large body, the segment itself reverts to the norm of othering the bodies of contestants Ginger Minj and Jaidynn Diore Fierce in particular. These mixed messages of body affirmation are a result of the presence of humor within the drag community. In episode six of season seven, Violet Chachki cinches her waist with a corset to the point of losing feeling and becoming light-headed. Former contestant Alyssa Edwards describes Chachki’s cinched, corseted waist as “Iconic. Legendary. . . . Epic.” (S7, E13), while Jujubee reacts to the same

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runway look with, “I never wanna meet you. I hate you. Skinny bitch.” (S7, E13). The humor confutes the contradictory self-affirmation messages for which RPDR is known. The most famous of these messages comes from season four queen Latrice Royale. As she both enters and leaves the competition, she utters her catch phrase that she is “large and in charge; chunky yet funky; the bold and beautiful . . . Latrice Royale” (S4, E10). In episode one of season seven, although Ginger Minj tries to reclaim potential insults against her large body by declaring that she is “neat, petite, and ready to eat,” her body is constantly the butt of jokes. Jokes range from Ginger being described as an “elephant” in episode five, to having former winner Raja say, “I am very envious of the girls that got the curves and the cheeseburgers and ham hocks all around her” (E13). Even Jaidynn Diore Fierce, who says she “is giving the judges curves and swerves and plumpaliciousness” (E13), makes fun of herself when she pushes on her fatty pectorals, describing them as “fried chicken, cornbread, green beans” as a way to diffuse the shade that is thrown at her from other contestants and judges.

DRAG U The clearest reinforcement of and default preference for the traditional female form among RuPaul’s reality programs comes through the 2010 spin-off Drag U. As described on the Logo TV website: RuPaul and your favorite queens are back! The Dean of Drag has finally opened her “school for girls!” at RuPaul’s Drag U, where biological women (the kind who don’t have to tuck) undergo extreme transformations . . . drag queen style.

Drag U’s purpose is to correct the wayward, commonly heteronormative, female body and hyper-feminize it so that the contestants can be sexy once more. Although many contestants say that they are in a rut of sorts, the underlying premise of Drag U is that the contestants need to be “fixed.” As President and Headmaster of Drag U, RuPaul says to her “Professors,” “You lady-boys need to show these boy-ladies how it’s done” (S1, E1). Despite these fixes, it is Drag U that ultimately becomes the more positive, body-affirming show than RPDR. In the introduction to each episode, RuPaul Charles explains, “Deep in the Lake Titicaca Valley, a school was formed by drag queens to help

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biological women unleash their inner diva and let the world have it. We here at Drag U are in the business of putting drag queen heads on women’s shoulders. Welcome to Drag U!” Drag U is a revealing example of the learned process of doing gender. The show separates gender performance from the body, so much so that male-bodied individuals show female-bodied individuals how to do femininity. Femininity is a show. It is a performance and in the case of Drag U, the professors are male-bodied people; those who have failed at femininity in their lives happen to be female-bodied people. There is nothing about femininity here that is tied to any natural essence. But the transgressive moves of Drag U are often overshadowed by the privileged position given to a particular performance of femininity and by extension, a particular kind of body ideal: a slender (or at least slender-aspiring) traditional feminine presentation. As a professor explains to her pupil while covering her waist and belly in plastic wrap, “We don’t breathe. Why do you need to breathe?!” All concerns in the lives of the Drag U “students” are somehow tied to their inability to perform femininity appropriately. From feeling distant from one’s partner to no longer dating at all are explained as the result of failing to do femininity appropriately. As one of the contestants in the opening sequence of episode one of season one explains, “The last time I went on a date was about six years ago.” The feel-good part of this story is that it is hoped that through the guidance of the professors, students will in fact learn how to do feminine and, by extension, overcome barriers in their personal lives. Appropriate femininity is the only way to restore heteronormativity. This premise is in fact the part of the RuPaul franchise that is most contrary to what one might assume a drag-centered show may convey.

CONCLUSION Although RPDR has done much to bring visibility to drag as a culture, as our analysis shows, in many ways the show fails to challenge some assumptions that are mainly centered on race and size of bodies. Performers of a variety of races and ethnicities have participated in the show. Performers of a variety of body sizes have participated in the show. However, the representations of bodies of color and fat bodies remain fairly stereotypical. Fat bodies become props in the performance. At times, contestants directly confront fat-shaming as part of their

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performance, but the standard of what a beautiful body looks like is seldom challenged. Like many other mainstream reality competition shows, few fat contestants are ever in the position to win. RPDR is also an important show for making drag visible to a mainstream, non-queer, audience. The show is part of our cultural currency. Watching the show is a shared experience. But even as a show known for its transgressive nature, it ultimately helps to maintain the idea that the normal body is the only body worth having. If drag is to be considered transgressive because of its play with bodies and performances of gender, then the choice of performance matters greatly. Some forms of drag are more transgressive than others.

REFERENCES About RuPaul’s Drag U. Retrieved from http://www.logotv.com/shows/ rupauls_drag_u/. Burmeister, J. M. A., & Carels, R. A. (2014) “Weight-related humor in the media: Appreciation, distaste, and anti-fat attitudes.” Psychology of Popular Media Culture, 3(4), 223–238. Butler, J. (1999). Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. New York: Routledge. Crenshaw, K. (1991). “Mapping the Margins.” Stanford Law Review, 43, 1241–1299. Gamson, J. (2011). “Popular Culture Constructs Sexuality.” In S. Seidman, N. Fischer, & C. Meeks (Eds.), Introducing the New Sexuality Studies (pp. 27–31). London and New York: Routledge. Gamson, J. (2013). “Reality Queens.” Contexts, 12(2), 52–54. Goffman, E. (1968). Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity. Middlesex: Penguin Books. Hill-Collins, P. (2000). Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness and the Politics of Empowerment. London: Routledge. Himes, S., & Thompson, K. (2007). “Fat Stigmatization in television Shows and Movies: A Content Analysis.” Obesity, 15(3), 712–718. Hobson, K. (2013).“Performative Tensions in Female Drag Performances.” Kaleidoscope, 12, 35–51. hooks, b. (1992). Black Looks: Race and Representation. Boston, MA: South End Press Kulick, D., & Meneley, A. (2005). Introduction Fat: The Anthropology of an Obsession. New York: Jeremy P. Tarcher/Penguin. LeMaster, B. (2015). “Discontents of Being and Becoming Fabulous on RuPaul’s Drag U: Queer Criticism in Neoliberal Times.” Women’s Studies in Communication, 38, 167–186.

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Magubane, Z. (2002). “Black Skins, Black Masks or ‘The Return of the White Negro’ Race, Masculinity, and the Public Personas of Dennis Rodman and RuPaul.” Men and Masculinities, 4(3), 233–257. Merskin, D. (2011) “Three Faces of Eva: Perpetuation of the Hot-Latina Stereotype in Desperate Housewives.” In G. Dines & J. M. Humez (Eds.), Gender, Race, and Class in Media: A Critical Reader (pp. 327–334). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Monaghan, L. F. (2008). “Big Handsome Men, Bears, and Others: Virtual Constructions of ‘Fat Male Embodiment’.” In C. Malacrida & J. Low (Eds.), Sociology of the Body: A Reader (pp. 57–64). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Murray, N. (Director). (2012a). The final three. [Television series episode]. In J. Wilson (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Murray, N. (Director). (2012b). DILFS: dads I’d like to frock. [Television series episode]. In J. Wilson (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Murray, N. (Director). (2015a). Grand finale. [Television series episode]. In S. Corfe (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Murray, N. (Director). (2015b). Countdown to the crown. [Television series episode]. In S. Corfe (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Murray, N. (Director). (2015c). Ru hollywood stories. [Television series episode]. In S. Corfe (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Saguy, A. A., & Ward, A. (2011). “Coming Out As Fat: Rethinking Stigma.” Social Psychology Quarterly, 74(1), 53–75. Spirko, C. (Director). (2010a). A star is Born again [Television series episode]. In R. Giuliani (Producer), RuPaul’s drag u. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Spirko, C. (Director). (2010b). Tomboy meets girl [Television series episode] In R. Giuliani (Producer), RuPaul’s drag u. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Strings, S., & Bui, L. T. (2013). “She Is Not Acting, She Is: The Conflict between Gender and Racial Realness in RuPauls’ Drag Race.” Feminist Media Studies, 14(5), 822–836. Taylor, V., Rupp, L. J., & Gamson, J. (2004). “Performing Protest: Drag Shows as Tactical Repertoire of the Gay and Lesbian Movement.” In D. Myers & D. Cress (eds.) Authority in Contention: Research in Social Movements, Conflicts and Change, Volume 25 (pp. 105–137). Bingley, UK: Emerald Group Publishing Limited. Taylor, V., & Rupp, L. J. (2005). “When the Girls Are Men: Negotiating Gender and Sexual Dynamics in a Study of Drag Queens.” Signs, 30, 2115–2139. Amy L. Darnell is Associate Professor of Communication Studies at Columbia College, where her teaching focuses on visual communication and performance.

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Darnell is working on a solo performance about the intersections of performances of femininity and masculinity through cooking, manners, and football. Ahoo Tabatabai is Assistant Professor of Sociology at Columbia College, Missouri. Tabatabai’s teaching and research expertise includes gender and narratives of identity, and her current work examines motherhood narratives of women who have children with disabilities.

Big-Girls Don’t Cry: Portrayals of the Fat Body in RuPaul’s Drag Race Ami Pomerantz Through a cluster of unfurled umbrellas, light projectors illuminate a pile of black sponges, resembling coal lumps or trash bags, gathered into a post-apocalyptic rubbish dump. In the center of the picture are two men standing on a small rotating black stage. The camera slowly caresses the almost naked masculine bodies from their legs up, lingering on their bulging muscles and their white, also bulging, underwear. It continues to focus on the two men, one black and the other white, hovering over their six-pack torsos and onward to the white spray masks covering their faces. A slow zoom-out reveals a doomsday-like set, in which RuPaul Charles and Mike Ruiz, RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR) house photographer, are seated. One by one, the RPDR contestants enter the set for their photo-shoot, the two pit-crew members spraying them with bright orange and toxic green paint. The camera focuses on Jiggly Caliente, standing in her heels on the round stage in the center of the make-believe dump, her ample body covered by a simple, sack-like, white dress. The stage begins to rotate and Jiggly quickly loses her balance. The camera follows her in slow motion as she falls slowly into the black spongy “trash” scattered around, while a look of shock plays across RuPaul’s face. A noise, similar to a cow’s moo or a slow-motioned cry, accompanies the fall. The camera captures A. Pomerantz (*) Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, Beersheba, Israel

© The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_8

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Jiggly, lying on the floor and staring upward, her dress undone, from no less than three different angles. As RuPaul declares “Queen down,” Jiggly rises awkwardly and resumes her position on the revolving stage. She poses for Mike Ruiz, until he confirms, “We got it.” Next, Willam Belli enters the set, accompanied by a member of the pit crew; she too is dressed in a white dress. Seeing the color stains on the floor, Willam gloats over the falls of the queens who preceded her. She too stands on the rotating stage and starts to pose for the photographer. Suddenly, she loses her balance and nearly falls; but after a long, drawn-out moment, RuPaul and Mike screaming frenziedly, she successfully rebalances herself and continues posing. RuPaul compliments Willam on the “good save,” and her picture is finally taken. This scene from “Rupocalypse Now!” (S4, E1) vividly demonstrates the discriminating attitude fat queens endure on RPDR. Watching the episode, it’s clear that filming lasted several minutes, yet the edited result shows almost only the moments in which Jiggly falls. Furthermore, the fall is emphasized by the use of slow motion and multiple-angles capturing the fallen Jiggly. On the other hand, when slender-bodied Willam loses balance, emphasis is placed on the fact that ultimately, she doesn’t fall. Willam’s representation makes no use of slow motion effects, or of accentuated picture or sound. Another technical aspect illustrating the difference between the two contestants is that of the viewers’ viewpoint. Willam’s (near) fall is fragmented, filmed from three different angles, the camera zooming out with two of these. The camera, and the viewers, lose their balance alongside Willam, and therefore empathize with her plight. As viewers, we get the feeling that we too would lose our balance if we stood on that rotating stage. Jiggly’s fall, on the other hand, is presented from the stable point of view of the judges – who witness the fall in slow motion. RuPaul’s voice, rather than reflecting concern and suspense, is perceived as mocking due to the slow-motion images and the sound effects. These techniques alienate the viewers from Jiggly and create a judgmental perspective.

“READING IS FUNDAMENTAL” In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, medicine was not concerned with obesity but rather with thinness, which was associated with malnourishment and diseases such as tuberculosis. Only the wealthiest classes, who could afford diverse and nutritious foods and avoid physical work, were fat, resulting in the perception of plump bodies as attractive. This changed

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by the late nineteenth century, primarily due to urbanization and the rise of the middle class. Fewer people were engaged in outdoor physical work, and many could afford cheap fattening foods. By the beginning of the twentieth century, slim and tanned bodies began to be associated with the wealthy, educated, and leisure-seeking aristocrats who could carelessly seek the sun. Slender bodies suggested well-balanced nutrition, while fatness was identified with greed or the ignorant gluttony of the working classes (Farrell 2011). But the dieting craze that accompanied these social changes was considered by the medical establishment as unhealthy and unnecessary and was referred to in the 1950s as “a national neurosis” by the American Medical Association (Berrett 1997). During the 1930s and 1940s, physicians began to investigate weight-loss treatment and research, regarding it at first as a moral problem and then as a psychological problem. These physicians, most of them psychiatrists, introduced these concerns into the medical discourse. By the 1960s, a consensus was forming within this field that saw being overweight as a condition demanding medical intervention, and so a new disease was introduced into medical parlance – obesity (Pool 2001). Weight and being overweight are no longer perceived as a natural aspect of diversity between people (such as height, for instance) but as a disease requiring treatment. Thus, fat people are perceived as ill, and solutions involving weight loss are constantly researched and proposed (Wann 2009). This medical stigma intensifies the social construct of fat bodies as unaesthetic, ugly, and undesirable – as an obstacle to finding mates. Individuals who do not wish to lose weight are considered stupid and strange; those who do wish to lose weight but can’t are lazy, weak, and lacking in willpower (Ferrall, 2011). The social perception of thinness as desirable generates a view of fatness as failure, as defiance against the capitalistic ethos of success (Braziel and LeBesco 2001). This ensemble of notions that constructs a negative stigma of fat people is called fatphobia. On the basis of this stigma comes sizeism – discrimination against fat people. A review conducted this decade revealed that sizeism can be found in almost every site of western society (Puhl and Heuer 2009). Sizeism is especially prominent in the cultural and media representations of overweight people. Fat bodies, of all genders, undergo symbolic annihilation in mass media. Although fat men are represented on television more than fat women, they are commonly portrayed as asexual, comic, or dieting (as in weight-loss reality television programs) (Mosher 2001). These representations comply with the longstanding cinematic characterization of fat

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men by their failed masculinity (unsuccessful with women), as effeminate, introverted, or villainous (Forth 2013). Recent research examining the influence of reality shows on body-image among US young adult men found that although labeled “reality,” the shows did not reflect the range of body types prevalent in US society, rather almost only the male-body ideal of the muscular-slender body (Dallesasse and Kluck 2013). Fatphobia and sizeism directed toward Western men tends to be easier than that directed toward women. For instance, obese men are considered better spouses than obese women. Nonetheless, fatness is culturally associated with feminine characteristics, such as softness, curves and indulgence – thus damaging the masculinity of fat men. The constant exposure to fatphobic cultural representations and social constructs causes overweight people to suffer from negative body image. That same research found that the consumption of reality TV increased viewers’ dissatisfaction with their bodies and encouraged body-change behaviors, such as altering eating habits or engaging in sports, in order to comply with bodies represented on the screen (Dallesasse and Kluck 2013). This chapter looks into the particulars of representations of fat gay men who are also drag queens. Since fatphobia and sizeism are highly gendered issues, it seems plausible that a show devoted to queer representations will approach issues of sizeism and fatphobia in complex ways. Here, I make greater sense of RPDR’s conflicting standpoints on fatphobia, and I draw attention to the special tactics that the contestants deploy in order to resist sizeism in this context.

“BIG GIRL IS

IN THE

HOUSE”

Being identified as fat is the consequence of social negotiation as much as it is a result of body weight. This negotiation is carried out between the subject – who may or may not identify as fat – and various social agents, who accept the subjects’ self-definition or reject it. Sometimes social norms do not allow the subject a broad range of self-definitions, steering her or him instead into a certain definition. Delta Work, one RPDR contestant, is a good example of such a case, as it is clear that she is reluctant to assume the “Big Girl” label, but nonetheless carries it under certain circumstances. On the other hand, there are queens such as Latrice Royale or Jaidynn Diore Fierce who do not miss the chance to identify as big girls. Particularly interesting is the case of Roxxxy Andrews, a queen who lost a lot of weight prior to competing on RPDR, and who presents a

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complex relationship with her fat identity. In the episode “RuPaullywood or Bust” (S5, E1), RuPaul speaks with Roxxxy about her fat past and her self-definition: RuPaul: Roxxxy: RuPaul: Roxxxy: RuPaul: Roxxxy:

Have you recently lost a lot of weight? I did lose, I’ve lost like 70 pounds. 70 pounds? 70 pounds. And how has that affected the way you dress and the way you feel? Well girl, now I show a little more body than I used to be able. I used to be 8 corsets, 10 girdles, and not being able to breath.

(Cut to interview with Roxxxy) Roxxxy:

I used to be a bigg-er girl . . .

(Photos of Roxxxy before the weight loss) Roxxxy:

. . . but I still consider myself a girl who’s got some meat on her bones. And whether you’re juicy, fat, whatever, embrace what you’ve got – and work with it.

RuPaul: Roxxxy: RuPaul:

You’re, you’re not a big girl – you’re a thick girl. I’m thick . . . I’m juicy! Oh, OK. Alright. I’m down with that.

(Back to dialogue with RuPaul)

It is crystal clear, by the dialog and intervention of editing, that RuPaul and Roxxxy are negotiating Roxxxy’s definition. Roxxxy wishes to connect to her former identity as a Big Girl by using the adjective “juicy,” which helps her deflect RuPaul’s less attractive identity of “thick girl” (which is also associated with stupidity). This negotiation concludes in RuPaul’s approval and acceptance of Roxxxy self-identifying as “juicy.” Usually a self-identification as a “Big-Girl” on behalf of a contestant will be accepted by RuPaul, RPDR’s production and the program’s fans. The case of Roxxxy is less clear and is included in this analysis as well as more defined incidents. The show as a whole present us with an unclear cut as well: at times we see overwhelming support for fat pride, while in other times we may encounter humiliation and bias. An example for this ambivalence is the end of Jiggly’s photoshoot incident, when Jiggly recovers from her fall only to discover that she has won this minichallenge. If first, this scene left the impression that RPDR is fatphobic, then Jiggly’s win undermines classification of the program as such. Nonetheless, even in this shining moment, RuPaul, typically sarcastic, announces the win

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with, “One of you was truly drop-dead gorgeous” – reminding the viewers of Jiggly’s fall and sending us back to the realm of fatphobia. RPDR exhibits a polyphony regarding fat bodies. The main assumption behind sizeism is that fat people are capable of correcting their situation, but that they lack the will power or are too lazy to do so. This fatphobic assumption is hidden within the social association of fatness with food, which implies that people become or remain fat because they eat too much and are too indolent to change. This misconception has been proven to be inaccurate (Wann 2009). RPDR, however, contains abundant scenes in which fatness is associated with food. In “Lip Synch Extravaganza Eleganza” (S5, E2), the thinner queens Jade Jolie and Honey Mahogany are required to impersonate Delta Work and Mystique Summers Madison respectively. Both choose to carry out their impersonation with a piece of fried chicken in their hand, even though neither Delta nor Mystique holds any kind of food in the original scenes. In “Shade: The Rusical” (S6, E4), RuPaul berates April Carrión in a typical insinuation: “In your role as a Big Girl, you may have bitten off more than you could chew,” thus re-associating fatness with food. On a brighter note, RPDR does include moments of rejecting fatphobia. In “Snatch Game” (S6, E5), guest judge Gillian Jacobs says to RuPaul, “I know you like a bear,” to which RuPaul replies: “I LOVE a bear” – both referring to (fat) gay bear sub-culture. A scene repeated every season is that of RuPaul having lunch with the finalists albeit a “meal” of one or two jellybeans. These scenes fit in well with mocking model culture, which is a major trope of RPDR. In this specific case it mocks the dangerously ridiculous efforts to stay thin. In another moment, “Prancing Queens” (S7, E10), Ginger Minj is anxious about the dancing challenge. On the runway, the judges reassure her: Ginger: Alyssa Milano: Rachael Harris:

“ . . . I feel people are going to judge me poorly for the way that I look and the way things jiggle.” “I didn’t know any of your insecurities and I could not tell. You were absolutely magnificent.” “I second that.”

Another instance of polyphony can be found in “Face, Face, Face of Cakes” (S3, E7). The challenge is to create an outfit inspired by a cake. RuPaul reproaches Stacy Layne Matthews for eating her cake – “This cake is almost all gone” – while the camera shows that only a few slices are missing. In the same segment, other cakes are eaten, but their thinner owners are not reproached similarly. Skinny Raja even cries to RuPaul:

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“I took a bite and then I swallowed!” and although it is clearly a cynical comment about being a model, it reflects the misconceptions mentioned above, winning RuPaul’s forgiving remark, “But you had to bite it, to get your inspiration.” The entire scene is full of conflicting attitudes, both condemning fatness and mocking the desire to be thin. The simplest interpretation for this polyphony of voices is acknowledging that the typical RPDR production consists of many individuals holding different point of views on obesity. Some demonstrate stigma toward it, reflecting hegemonic notions, while others take fat-power stands, accepting and even glorifying the fat body. Mike Ruiz, for example, frequently voices negative comments regarding fat contestants. Examining the photo-shoots, one can see he does not perceive the fat body as a desirable body – not once over seven seasons does he refer to Big Girls posing as “sexy.” On the contrary, twice in two different seasons he describes Big Girls as crazy (Mimi Imfurst) or comic (Madame LaQueer). Twice more, Ruiz describes fat contestants on the runway with food-related terms: “Bakes at 350” (Mimi Imfurst), and “Seals in her own juices” (Jiggly Caliente). Perhaps it is no coincidence that Mike Ruiz boasts a by-the-book muscular body and one that he enjoys flaunting publicly. Contrasting Ruiz’s conformist point of view, RPDR presents viewers with an array of fat characters, such as Latrice Royale. Latrice loves her fat body and refers to herself as “large and in-charge, chunky yet funky, bold and beautiful.” She frequently shows off her body without displaying an ounce of shame. In “Frenemies” (S4, E8), the contestants are connected to a lie detector; Latrice states that she regards herself as more beautiful than Willam and receives an authenticity approval from the lie detector operator. This interpretation could be over simplistic, however. Some participants on the show may offer both demeaning and supporting remarks toward fat bodies. Regular panel judge Michelle Visage frequently admires the fat bodies of the “big girls.” She refers to Ginger Minj as a “cute little lemon drop,” to Darienne Lake as “stunningly gorgeous,” and encourages Jaidynn Diore Fierce to “touch all of this skin, honey.” Michelle remarks that Latrice Royale “stepped out of her comfort zone and it looked great” in an episode where Latrice wears a revealing bodysuit. Yet, Michelle describes Delta Work as “Ann Margaret after the buffet,” thus connecting fatness with over-eating. Michelle’s infamous critique is “Don’t rest on pretty,” which she offers as a warning to queens who tend to show skin instead of working creatively on the challenge at hand. This is not a problematic remark in itself, but since Michelle saves this critique for skinny queens, she reveals what “pretty” really means to her.

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Another interpretation of RPDR’s polyphony regarding fatness is the consequence of politically correctness on the one hand, and not challenging underlying power structures on the other. As such, displays of support for fat bodies and Big Girls are but a thin cover-up, designed to give the impression of open-mindedness and acceptance of the “other,” while lurking beneath is a fatphobic approach, waiting to rear its bullying head in moments of distraction. RuPaul exhibits an unmistakable affection for big behinds and contestants with ample bodies: he reacts to Jaidynns’ runway appearance by saying, “I like big butts and I cannot lie.” But other clues direct us to a different approach, one that reveals itself in the production details of the show and reflects on RuPaul. RuPaul is sole arbiter of who leaves the show at the end of each episode, and therefore of who becomes a finalist and who wins the crown. Never, in all of RPDR’s seasons, has a Big Girl won the title of “America’s Next Drag Superstar”; the seventh season was the first to include a fat queen in the top three; and only once (in season four) has a Big Girl won the title of “Miss Congeniality.” Although in every season the production is careful to include Big Girls (as it is to include African Americans, Latinos, and older queens), a pattern of underrepresentation and marginalization occurs despite the politically correct language used in the show. A casting policy that is careful to include at least one (token) fat queen every season is so transparent that all the contestants recognize it. This causes fat queens to feel that they have to justify being selected to RPDR for reasons other than being the token fat queen. Two fat contestants, Penny Tration (S5) and Darienne Lake (S6), were selected to appear on the show by viewers via Internet polls. While the thinner queens who were selected by these means felt no need to mention it, the two Big Girls did: “I’m Darienne Lake . . . I was picked fan favorite on the online Facebook contest”. “I’m Penny Tration, I’m 39 years old. I’m here because I was chosen by thousands of people on the online voting contest. I hope that me being voted on the show by a lot of people makes the other girls really intimidated”.

It seems that because of this policy of tokenism, simply being cast to appear on RPDR is not proof enough of a queen’s talent or virtue, and that fat contestants see the need to strengthen justification for their presence on the show.

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A common problem among marginalized groups is how to create solidarity in conditions of scarcity, caused by hegemonic control over the distribution of resources and goods (Marx et al. 1975). The production’s policy of tokenism marginalizes Big Girls, leaving them with few resources, while prizes and recognition are allocated to more conventionally beautiful queens. Too often, scarcity of recourses drives fat queens to rivalry instead of solidarity. This conception of rivalry accounts for Jaidynn’s reaction when she first enters the workroom and spots Ginger Minj: “Is there another big girl? I can only be the only big girl.”

A third interpretation points out that contemporary western culture is currently in a process of transition with regards to fatness. Starting in the mid-1990s and increasingly during the last decade, we have witnessed more representations of fat people in popular culture (Kyrölä 2016). In contrast to past representations, fat characters currently tend to be more positive and powerful, and critical discourses regarding fatphobia and sizeism are granted more airtime. It is plausible that a similar transition is occurring within RPDR. An improvement in the status of fat contestants can be seen as the season’s progress. During the first two seasons, fat queens “sashayed away” by the third episode, but with every passing season Big Girls have lasted longer (apart from Season Five), as demonstrated in Table 1.

Table 1 Last episode of each season of RPDR with a fat contestant Season

Big girls

Last episode with a fat contestant

1 2 3

Victoria Porkchop Parker Mystique Summers Madison Mimi Imfurst, Stacy Layne Matthews, Delta Work Madame LaQueer, Jiggly Caliente, Latrice Royale Penny Tration (Roxxxy Andrews not included) Darienne Lake Jaidynn Diore Fierce, Ginger Minj

Episode 1 Episode 3 Episode 8

4 5 6 7

Episode 11 Episode 1 Episode 11 Episode 14

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There are other possible interpretations of RPDR’s polyphony regarding fatness; those mentioned above are not mutually exclusive and may coexist, explaining together situations and phenomena along the seasons. This intricate condition poses a challenge to all the fat queens obliged to adopt and invent strategies of coping and resistance.

COOPERATION One of the most common strategies implemented by fat people to deal with fatphobia is cooperation: complying with social prejudice against fat people and behaving in ways that perpetuate this prejudice (Joanisse and Synnott 1999). Several Big Girls have walked the runway holding food or food-like objects (Victoria “Porkchop” Parker (S1), and Jiggly Caliente and Madame Laqueer (S4)), perpetuating the association between fat people and food. Mimi Imfurst (S3) topped them all by first entering the workroom with a tray of cookies. Contestants impersonating fat celebrities in “Snatch Game” challenges often portray their characters with the help of food, among them Latrice Royale (S4), Darienne Lake (S6), and Ginger Minj (S7), all of whom are big queens and whose need to emphasize the fatness of the characters they portray with food plays into the hands of hegemonic fatphobia. Mystique Summers (S2) enters the workroom with exactly the same attitude, explaining to the other girls the reason for her large body: “Cheeseburger (pointing to her right breast), a Taco Bell (pointing to her left breast), and Diet Coke on the side, girl (lifting her bosoms).” Roxxxy Andrews joins in and associates herself with food when, in a perfume-creation challenge, she incorporates scents like maple and chocolate into her perfume. Additionally, Roxxxy names her perfume “Thick and Juicy,” a title that combines her definition of herself (juicy) and the definition cast onto her by RuPaul (thick). Roxxxy keeps on echoing fatphobic perceptions. When asked by RuPaul to describe how losing weight through diet changed her, she states: “Now I show a little more body than I used to be able . . . ” implicitly rendering fat bodies as ugly and therefore unpresentable.

“FUNNY FUNNY KID” Using humor, especially self-inflicted humor and camp comedy, is a common strategy, although the line between laughing with someone and laughing at them is sometimes blurred, and jokes are not always critical of fatphobic perceptions (Whitesel 2014).

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A common stereotype about fat people is that they are happy and funny. In “Ru Ha Ha” (S3, E8), RuPaul turns to Delta and says, “I have a feeling you are gonna be very funny . . . they say that comedy comes from . . . a dark place, and I have a feeling that you spent a lot of time where, maybe, people have said some nasty thing to you.” RuPaul not only assumes that Delta is indeed funny (an assumption that proves wrong when Delta fails the stand-up challenge), but he also provides Delta and the viewers with a pseudo-psychological explanation that associates her presumed humorousness with her fatness. Despite incidents like this, humor is a commonly used strategy on RPDR, particularly self-deprecating humor. In “Rupocalypse Now!” (S4, E1), Jiggly draws amused reactions from the other contestants when she waves about two corsets and exclaims: “Thank God I’m good at math: One small corset plus another small corset equals one fat-ass corset!” Later, when asked by RuPaul, “May I call you Jiggly?”, she replies: “Of course Mama – everything jiggles!”, referring to her large body and causing RuPaul to laugh loudly. Jiggly uses this strategy so successfully that by the end of the episode, in front of the judges, RuPaul refers to her as the “funny funny kid.” Darienne Lake is another Big Girl who uses humor. In “RuPaul’s Big Opening: Part 2” (S6, E2), she presents herself by saying: “Some of the queens are funny, I’m funnier.” In the same episode, Milk introduces herself to Darienne by saying, “I’m Milk,” to which Darienne replies, “I’m heavy cream,” touching her own breasts. Darienne’s use of humor is so apparent that she was considered a leading candidate to win the stand-up challenge. Ginger Minj also utilizes humor. In “Born Naked” (S7, E1), she introduces herself with: “My name is Ginger Minj and I am an overweight, asthmatic, chain-smoking cross dresser from Orlando, Florida. I like to describe myself as a glamor toad.” Humor is apparent in coupling “chainsmoking” with “asthmatic,” and in referring to her drag profession as merely cross dressing. She ends on a note of self-deprecation by calling herself a “glamor toad.” In this short passage, Ginger manages to subvert a few common conventions: those of health (smoking while asthmatic) and normalcy (using “cross dressing” rather than “drag”). Her appropriation of the word “toad,” paired with the word “glamor,” defies both concepts of beauty (the toad is a symbol of ugliness) and employs animal stereotypes commonly used toward fat people (beasts who can’t control their eating urges).

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A thin line marks the difference between using self-inflicting humor as a source of self-empowerment, and fully cooperating with the fatphobic hegemony. Some of the above examples indeed display both aspects simultaneously.

“WHEN I DON’T SHAVE, I’M

A

BEAR”

Fat people form spaces in which they can take pride in their bodies. In the US, there are fat women, fat men and multi-gender fat communities. Communities of gay fat men, Chubby-culture and Bear-culture created an array of identities that changed the notions of male beauty within the larger gay public, making it easier for fat gay men to recognize beauty in their own bodies (Pyle and Loewy 2009). Despite a life-long socialization process through messages that idealized thin or muscular bodies, when exposed to the many fat people who refute these messages, the ideal body image starts to crack (Whitesel 2014). These subcultures that regard fat men as beautiful are nowadays quite common among gay communities and have started to take their first steps into the straight world as well. RPDR reveals many contestants who adopt such fat identities. Some fat queens maintain their association to fat communities (actual or imaginary) by identifying as “Big Girls,” and even see themselves as representatives of these groups. As Mystic states, “I’m Mystic Summers. I am 25 years old. Big Girls are gonna represent (sic) this year.” Identity constitution is almost always oppositional. Fat identity is positioned against the slim, hegemonic body-ideal. The fat contestants on RPDR voice their rivalry with the skinny queens who represent, in their eyes, greater fat-shaming society (including hegemonic LGBTQ society). Stacy Layne Matthews:

Mystique:

“I think it’s time for a plus-size queen. The skinny girls are trying to take over, so I think it’s time for us big girls to step up.” “Wow! Some of these girls, they’re pretty cute, fucking skinny bitches. It is a big, big girl’s world.”

The Big Girls do not come to the program from a void. They know and are sometimes members of fat LGBTQ communities. This identity is also stated on the show. In a dialog between Mystic and Sahara Davenport in

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the Untucked! episode following “Starrbootylicious” (S2, E2), Mystic is asked: Sahara: Mystic:

“Are you a bear?” “Am I a Bear? When I don’t shave I’m a Bear, yeah.”

Mystic recognizes the problems that a bear performance might cause in her profession. While women can use burlesque dancing to present the curvy lines of their fat bodies (Asbill 2009), fat gay men tend to accentuate and sexualize the hyper-masculine elements of their performance. This is achieved by growing beards, shaving the head to a shiny baldness, showing off body hair, developing muscle mass, and wearing jeans, leather, metal spikes, and other “tough” clothing. All these practices reaffirm, and even reconstruct, gay fat men’s masculinity (Pyle and Loewy 2009). Mystic’s remark demonstrates the impossibility of benefitting from the reaffirming masculine techniques of bear culture inside the feminine context of drag. Although most hyper-masculine techniques are contradictory to the drag project, there is a notable exception: body mass. Describing the fat body as massive is associated with masculine aspects of fatness by emphasizing the excess and domination embodied within the violent potential of size advantage. This emphasis on size as strong is common in ultra-masculine spheres such as bodybuilding, wrestling and martial arts. Among some feminists and especially some lesbians, such rhetoric has been adopted to describe the fat massive female body as taking space and declaring its presence – as a means of domination over and defiance of the patriarchal demand that women diminish themselves (Maor 2012). Similarly, fat contestants on RPDR use this tactic of emphasizing the dominance of the fat body. Latrice describes her drag persona with the words: “Latrice Royale is large and in charge.” In “Queens of Talk” (S6, E9), when the queens are told to hit the runway in their own “animal kingdom couture,” Darienne chooses to dress as an elephant – the animal most associated with massiveness: “Elephants are lucky, they’re fabulous – and I’m serving you all of my elephant glory.”

“PLUS SIZE BARBIE” Much like the formulation of the “Black is beautiful” slogan by communities resisting racism, the groups and organizations challenging fatphobia were inspired to promote “Fat is beautiful” campaigns. This mostly feminine strategy has strong links to feminist criticism of patriarchal conventions of

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beauty, and was forged in women’s communities, both feminist and fat (Bordo 2004). Prevented from using the classic bear masculine strategies, the queens draw from the rich tradition of female resistance of beauty standards and echo these notions of “fat is beautiful”: Darienne Lake:

“Some of the queens are pretty, I’m prettier.” (S6, E2) Ginger Minj: “I know that I will never be the prettiest one, but I will always be the beautiful one.” (S7, E1)

Jiggly Caliente makes great use of this strategy: “Jiggly Caliente is New York City’s plus-size Barbie.” “I’m in the runway and my adrenaline is on fire. Everything is pulsating through me and I’m ‘Oh! Here we go bitch, I’ll show you plus size super model.’” (S4, E1) She associates herself with two feminine beauty ideals: the Barbie doll and the super model, both representing an imaginary perfect femininity. By re-appropriating these two icons, Jiggly claims for herself entitlement to admiration and access to beauty. Another example can be found in “Frenemies” (S4, E8), where each contestant is connected to a lie detector and asked questions about herself and about other contestants. In this scene, Latrice is asked with regards to the skinny, toned Willam: RuPaul: Latrice:

“Do you think Willam is prettier than you”? “No”

The lie detector operator confirms that Latrice is indeed telling the truth. The short scene provides irrefutable proof that Latrice likes her fat body, so much so that she is convinced that it is more beautiful than the standard beauty presented by Willam. Subscribing to such points of view with regards to beauty provides Latrice, other contestants of the show, and gay fat men in general, with a powerful tool with which to resist the social oppression to which they are subjected. Connected with the “fat is beautiful” notion, as well as with communities of fat people, is the strategy of sexualizing fatness: amplifying its attractiveness and positioning the fat body as worthy of being desired sexually (Whitesel 2014). With the formation of gay fat men communities, groups of men who were not fat, but were attracted to fat men, joined in. Recognizing the sexual potential – not just the beauty – of the fat body, became another tool with which to reject standard models of beauty: it

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may be that most of society considers me to be ugly and undesirable sexually, but there seem to be enough people who are attracted precisely to me, and who prefer my body over others’. The strategy of sexualizing the fat body is nowadays one of the most used and most successful among fat gay men (Whitesel 2014). To successfully perform the sexualization of their bodies, fat drag queens pick elements from the world of feminine imagery and female sexuality. This they do by accentuating the curves of their bodies much like fat women do, or by focusing on breasts and bottoms as sexualizing and feminizing parts of their body, as quotes from Big Girls on RPDR demonstrate: Roxxxy: Jaidynn: Latrice:

Victoria:

“I’m walking down the runway, giving them a little hip and body – Bam!” (S5, E1) “I’m giving the judges curves and swerves and pure up deliciousness, and I got to show the judges how sexy I is.” (S7, E1) “I’m Latrice, so of course I stomped it on out and I’m giving big girl sexy, showing off my curves and swerves and give a little face, give a little attitude and a lot of ass.” (S4, E1) “Would you fuck me? I’d fuck me.” (S1, E1)

In “Totally Leotarded” (S3, E4), when the queens are asked to present their favorite body part on the runway, Delta and Stacy choose their breasts. Delta narrates her runway performance with: “I’m ready to show them the twins, and I know that they would fall in love with my look.” It appears that the queens understand the social convention that considers fat to be a feminine trait, and use it to their advantage. This same convention may be responsible for gender-bending uses of sexualized fat men’s bodies outside of drag. For example, some fat gay men will refer to their “man boobs” or say that “there is plenty to hold on to,” phrases usually associated with female fatness.

EMPHASIZING OTHER TRAITS Being put in a position of contending with and resisting fatphobic stereotypes sometimes leads to refusal by the fat subject to adopt a fat identity. Some people may feel that accepting this identity constrains them within a social role that they do not care to occupy. In situations of this nature, a fat individual may choose the strategy of emphasizing other traits she or he possesses, while ignoring or minimizing the importance of their fatness

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(Whitesel 2014). Delta Work demonstrates this strategy in “ The Queen Who Mopped X-Mas” (S3, E2): . . . people watching this thing that “a Big Girl can’t win this competition”; but if you can’t get past that, you’re not gonna get into everything I have to offer. I’m here not just to represent the big girls, I want to follow in RuPaul’s footsteps.

Delta affirms that she is a Big Girl, but insists that it is not her main objective in the competition – she is here to show that she has much more to offer than just her fat figure. When Delta is dragged by Mimi Imfurst to join her and Stacy Layne Matthews in “Totally Leotarded” (S3, E4), she complains: “Immediately Mimi decides it needs to be the three plus size queens together, the last thing I want to do is be on a team with Mimi.” Opposing this strategy of avoiding being identified as “the Big Girl,” some queens emphasize other traits without distancing themselves from fat identification. Latrice and Jaidynn highlight their courage, beauty and professionalism while taking pride in their large physiques: Latrice: Jaidynn:

“Latrice Royale is large and in charge, chunky yet funky, bold and beautiful, baby.” “My name is Jaidynn Diore Fierce. Capital F I E R C E. Because I’m what? Fierce.”

Latrice declares that she is always in charge of the show, and that she is absolutely fabulous, without concealing or rejecting her size; Jaidynn, who we saw identifies as fat, points out that she is indeed “fierce.” From the examples above, it is possible to feel tension between the empowerment offered to the contestants by fat identity and the limitations it creates for them. On the one hand, identifying as fat allows for powerful resistance to fatphobia by creating a positive self-image; on the other hand lurks the danger of only being seen as “the fat girl,” suffering lower chances of survival through the episodes and having only a faint chance of reaching the finale. In later episodes of RPDR, it becomes evident that some queens, having used fat identity as a “boat” to get them thus far, abandon that boat to adopt a strategy of “more than just a Big Girl” in hopes of winning the crown or at least winning recognition for their other traits. Sometimes, the strategy of emphasizing other traits may be used by a contestant to separate herself from fat identification, and by another

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contestant as a tool to empower and glorify her fat identity. Often, the two effects occur simultaneously. In “Queens in Space” (S3, E3) Delta wears Boobarella’s plastic breasts, although she can definitely do well without them, thus deliberately relying on what is considered the “artificial” (plastic) rather than the “natural” (her own man-boobs). Later in the season, in the “Ru Ha Ha” episode (E8), she wears a thin body T-shirt, performing fat-to-thin drag. In both incidences Delta challenges the naturalization of the division between fat and thin, and exposing the social constructs involved in determining those labels. This is a unique way in which she creates empathic distance between herself and her fat identification.

“CAN I GET AN AMEN?” RPDR is a pressure cooker, within which many voices concerning fat bodies are brewing. These voices sometimes comply with oppressive body norms, while other times they voice resistance to hegemonic oppression. Regardless of the interpretation we prefer in reading this cacophony, fat queens have to cope with and resist the fatphobia and sizeism inflicted upon them in this complex environment. RPDR’s fat contestants implement a variety of coping and resistance strategies commonly used by fat individuals worldwide. Nevertheless, they implement these strategies with nuances derived from their unique position as drag queens, a position that disavows the use of more masculine styles of coping, especially those that utilize appearance, while allowing the use of other strategies in more feminine ways. Fat contestants use the gender duality embedded in drag to move between these gendered styles of resistance and coping, thus crafting queer strategies – neither completely feminine nor completely masculine – that are unique to this sparkly pressure cooker of drag.

REFERENCES Asbill, D. L. (2009). “I’m allowed to be a sexual being”: The distinctive social conditions of the fat burlesque stage. In E. D. Rothblum & S. Solovay (Eds.), The Fat Studies Reader (pp. 299–304). New York, NY: NYU Press. Berrett, J. (1997). Feeding the organization man: Diet and masculinity in postwar America. Journal of Social History, 30(4), 805–825. Bordo, S. (2004). Unbearable weight: Feminism, western culture, and the body. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

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Braziel, J. E., & LeBesco, K. (2001). Bodies out of bounds: Fatness and transgression. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Dallesasse, S. L., & Kluck, A. S. (2013). Reality television and the muscular male ideal. Body Image, 10(3), 309–315. Farrell, A. E. (2011). Fat shame: Stigma and the fat body in American culture. New York, NY: NYU Press. Forth, C. E. (2013). “Nobody loves a fat man” masculinity and food in film noir. Men and Masculinities, 16(4), 387–406. Joanisse, L., & Synnott, A. (1999). Fighting back: Reactions and resistance to the stigma of obesity. In J. Sobal & D. Maurer (Eds.), Interpreting weight: The social management of fatness and thinness (pp. 49–70). Piscataway, NJ: Transaction Publishers. Kyrölä, K. (2016). The weight of images: Affect, body image and fat in the media. New York, NY: Routledge. Maor, M. (2012). The body that does not diminish itself: Fat acceptance in Israel’s lesbian queer communities. Journal of Lesbian Studies, 16(2), 177–198. Marx, K., Engels, F., Lasker, I., & Ryazanskaya, S. (1975). Selected correspondence. (pp. 220–224) Moscow: USSR Progress Publishers. Mosher, J. (2001). Setting free the bears: Refiguring fat men on television. In J. E. Braziel & K. LeBesco (Eds.), Bodies out of bounds: Fatness and transgression (pp. 166–195). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Pool, R. (2001). Fat: Fighting the obesity epidemic. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Puhl, R. M., & Heuer, C. A. (2009). The stigma of obesity: A review and update. Obesity, 17(5), 941–964. Pyle, N. C., & Loewy, M. I. (2009). Double stigma: Fat men and their male admirers. In E. D. Rothblum & S. Solovay (Eds.), The fat studies reader (pp. 143–150). New York, NY: NYU Press. Wann, M. (2009). Forward: Fat studies: An invitation to revolution. In E. D. Rothblum & S. Solovay (Eds.), The fat studies reader (pp. xi–xxv). New York, NY: NYU Press. Whitesel, J. (2014). Fat gay men: Girth, mirth, and the politics of stigma. New York, NY: NYU Press. Ami Pomerantz is a PhD candidate in microbiology and is pursuing an MA in gender studies at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, Israel. Pomerantz cofounded the Israeli Divorced LGBTI parents support group, is a member of Israel’s bear community, volunteers at an AIDS task force, and goes by the drag name of Miss Conception.

PART II

Drag Culture, Community and Belonging

“I Am the Drag Whisperer”: Notes from the Front Line of a Cultural Phenomenon Rob Rosiello “There’s this reality show, for you know, with like, drag queens . . . ” “RuPaul’s Drag Race.” “Yeah, and they have these things every week . . . ” “Viewing parties.” “Yeah, yeah . . . and I need one of those—” “Drag Queens.” “Yeah—to like, host it.” It was often how the phone call would begin. An odd version of Mad Libs . . . A very odd and very gay version of Mad Libs . . .

I can hear my co-worker giggling behind me as I continue with the call. I had suffered through this game of verbal charades enough times that my colleagues in the office could fill in the other end of the conversation, having never heard it themselves but having suffered through my end of it enough. They knew the dialogue as if it were their well-rehearsed part in an absurdist play of the highest degree.

R. Rosiello (*) Montgomery County Community College, Blue Bell, Pennsylvania, USA

© The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_9

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Luckily, I had learned how to speed through this kind of call; often supplying enough information so that the caller’s font of questions quickly ran dry. Hanging up, I spin around in my chair, lean back and throw my hands in the air triumphantly, “I am the Drag Whisperer!” And at this particular moment in time, I am. As of this most recent call, the latest crop of RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR) contestants had just been revealed for season four of what had quickly become a runaway hit for Logo TV. The lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer/questioning (LGBTQ) community had fully embraced the show and was eager to share the love with the rest of the world – RPDR wasn’t held close to the vest, or in this case, the tightly cinched corset. This was a far cry from the early days of the show, its viewing parties and subsequent national tours. Those were the days when the unknown commodity of the show and its celebrity weren’t a tough sell to LGBTQ business owners and audiences, due to RuPaul’s name and the legendary associations it brought to mind. It was, however, a slow process that was usually met with hesitant curiosity. My early pitches to gay bar owners across America and to their usually heterosexual liquor sales representatives and distributors were exactly alike, “It’s like America’s Next Top Model meets Project Runway, but for drag queens.” Amused laughter and peaked interest gave way to more questions and eventual agreement. Those who agreed to a weekly viewing party in that first year, or those who saw the potential in an eventual tour date, were the lucky ones, smart enough to understand the potential, or curious enough to go out on a proverbial limb to see just where this was going. So begins my part in a much larger story about RPDR. I come to this not with statistical analysis but rather with intimate and first-hand knowledge of what went into the first five years of the show: at least, what happened once the show was filmed and its new stars had name-recognition value, once the wigs had come off and the glitter finally had a chance to settle. “Once Upon a Time . . . there was a show called RuPaul’s Drag Race . . . ” And so we go back to the early days, in the late summer of 2008 . . . I had been with a small, LGBT-focused marketing agency in New York City for just over two years. I was the National Promotions Director, working with corporate clients like PepsiCo and Absolut Vodka on their LGBTQ promotions and events, often specific to LGBTQ bar and nightclub settings.

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When my boss at the time suggested a national tour with the first winner of a reality show featuring drag queens, my mind started to race. I immediately kicked into logistical planning mode and looked at the big picture before shattering it apart into tiny glittery bits to be assembled into a more dazzling mosaic of glamour and fun. I received a budget from Absolut and a calendar of target dates from Logo TV. These had everything from the premiere in L.A. and the network premiere, to an episode dedicated to Absolut and the eventual finale date where America would, hopefully, eagerly await crowning of its next Drag Superstar. First things first – what would it take for a bar to host a viewing party for seven consecutive weeks? I began weekly phone calls with my contact at Logo TV, and we devised a plan for consumer giveaways, some branded with Logo TV, others with Absolut, and a few that bore both brands. There were pieces designed specifically for the bar, like a six-foot nylon flag that a bore a larger-than-life image of the show’s namesake and our brand’s logo. We referred to these packages as “viewing party kits”, and any venue that agreed to host a weekly party would receive one via courier every week. The participating venues would also receive digital support materials, like logos and images from the show. Above and beyond all else, participants were endowed with the honor of being an “Official Viewing Party Location” that they could include in their advertising associated with the events. Designated locations also received the most crucial element needed to make these weekly events work – the episodes themselves. A surprising number of venues did not receive Logo TV as part of a basic cable package. To my surprise as well, I quickly learned that many venues didn’t have cable TV. So along with allotments of giveaway items and bar merchandise, Logo TV sent us weekly episodes on DVD, which we would then send to our clients with their viewing party kits. We received one episode at a time with enough DVDs to send to each bar. It was also agreed that each venue would not show an episode before the network’s scheduled broadcast time of Monday at 9 PM. Threats of pulling support from weekly events kept venues in surprising agreement, with no reports of early viewings ever happening. The list of bars where parties would happen was slowly and carefully compiled. I had a list of “home bars” identified by each of the queens on the show. The idea was that each contestant would host a viewing party at her home bar. The first season of RPDR had nine contestants, so we began with nine venues in cities from which contestants came. The original list included Miami, Cleveland, Minneapolis, and Denver, and two venues in

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Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Raleigh and Chicago. With a plan for weekly viewing parties in place, the next step was creation of the tour that had been promised as a grand prize to the season’s winner. I came up with tempting components and laid out my plan. We would begin with a Finale Party in New York City, then would kick off the tour in Chicago, followed by Miami, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Asbury Park, New Jersey, and Boston. Dallas, Austin, Houston and New Orleans were quickly added to the first season’s tour schedule. There was only one tour venue selected for each city. It had to be an LGBTQ venue, it had to have a stage suitable for a performance, and it needed a dressing room. I planned to have the winner headline the tour, and we would provide giveaway items similar to those distributed at the weekly viewing parties. In venues that had existing drag shows or revues, RPDR’s first season winner would be built into the show. Venues that did not have existing shows would have the winner perform with additional contestants. In an attempt to create as well rounded an evening as possible, I thought to offer another form of entertainment that would appeal to all venues. What immediately came to mind was the tried and true celebrity of LGBTQ communities – the nightclub DJ. A DJ friend with whom I had worked for years in Provincetown, Massachusetts, and at events around the country, recommended a friend of his who was a Chicago-based DJ and producer. After introductions and several exchanges explaining the nature of RPDR, our program and his possible place in the tour, the DJ agreed. Our tour had its own DJ. The tour was given the name The Real Fruit Tour, a nod to the then Absolut campaign promoting Absolut’s growing line of real fruit-flavored vodkas. One of the later episodes of the season featured a challenge based on Absolut flavors and with guest judge Jeffrey Moran, an Absolut executive. It was a branding opportunity and chance for venues to create signature cocktails to further enhance the viewing party experience. Obviously, it also playfully teased, in a camp way, on the moniker of “fruit” for homosexuals. With all elements in place for The Real Fruit Tour, including target markets, venues and a DJ, we were left with the final, all-important piece of the puzzle – the winner of season one, who would of course headline The Real Fruit Tour. Before the first season premiered, Logo TV kept close tabs on the profiles of contestants, and eventually even closer tabs on the three finalists. Since our agency was under contract with Absolut and .

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had signed a strict nondisclosure agreement with Logo TV, we were considered “safe” for keeping secret the three finalists and ultimately the winner. But before I ever saw the first episode I knew the names of the three finalists. I entered the season knowing not only the finalists, but also America’s first eventual Drag Superstar – the incomparable, amazing BeBe Zahara Benet. The premiere party for the first season of RPDR was such a runaway success that RuPaul herself could not get into the jam-packed premiere party, according to reports on the ground. The weeks that followed RPDR’s premiere and its installments proved to be increasing fodder for social media commentary and discussion. Everyone had a favorite contestant, and catch phrases from the show began to take on a life of their own. “Sashay away” or “Shante you stay” became phrases tossed about the LGBTQ community. Then there was, of course, the mother of all reality show taglines that quickly rose to legendary levels the very first time RuPaul uttered it: “The time has come for you to Lip Sync for Your Life!” At the end of February 2009, I met season one winner BeBe Zahara Benet on a conference call with the three finalists. We agreed that all three contestants would be in New York City for publicity purposes immediately following the episode that revealed the finalists to the public. We managed to schedule the three finalists, while in New York, to appear at a local LGBTQ charity event called “Night of a Thousand Gowns.” They would walk the red carpet and perform that evening, and it would be the first time for me to meet the finalists in person. I first met Rebecca Glasscock, Nina Flowers and BeBe Zahara Benet at the Marriott Marquis in Times Square. I distinctly remember each queen as exceedingly charming and wonderfully engaging. My first interaction with BeBe was while we were waiting for Rebecca so that the three finalists could walk the red carpet together. BeBe looked at me with faux seriousness and with a murmured sigh said, “Always waiting for Rebecca . . . ” Almost at the same instant we burst into laughter. Also at that moment I knew The Real Fruit Tour would be an experience none of us would forget. Rebecca breathlessly arrived soon thereafter and the trio took to the red carpet in a blaze of flashbulbs and cheers. We were well on our way. I attended many New York viewing parties during RPDR’s first season. Representatives from Logo TV and Absolut were also present. It was amusing to watch their awe and surprise as the hostess of one evening,

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Mimi Imfurst (S3 and All Stars, S1), welcomed the eager crowd. The crowd shouted back at the episode’s developments and cheered as their favorite finalists came on the screen. The evening built to a frenzied climax as the Lip Sync for Your Life contestants emerged following Rebecca’s early dismissal. It was now between Nina and BeBe to battle it out for the crown. As eventual winner, BeBe met with thunderous applause and took the stage to accept the crown and receive an oversized check of $25,000, her cash prize. With the magic of that evening now behind us, the first leg of the tour was set to begin in early April in Chicago. This would be followed by BeBe’s one-night-only appearances in Miami, San Francisco and Los Angeles. Two weeks flew by and it was time for me to travel to Chicago for the first leg of the tour. Everything indicated that we would have an exciting few months, but walking through the venue of that day’s performance provided me with the first bump in the road. And it showed promise of being quite a bump. I was well acquainted with the venue we had selected for the first tour stop. It had a stage and a large dance floor in the back that had been rebuilt following an unfortunate fire the previous year. The new space was bigger and better than the original, and I was excited about kicking off the tour there. “You’ll be up here, in the front bar,” the venue manager told me as I entered the bar. Keeping it as professional as possible, I tried to persuade him that the better option for everyone would be the area in the back. But it was very clear he was not going to budge. Doing his best to calm me, a representative tried to explain, “He said it’s supposed to rain tonight, and he’s not sure what the turnout will be like and he doesn’t want it to get lost in the back room.” “You saw my report from the New York finale, right?” The representative nodded. “You saw the attendance numbers?” Another nod. The manager kept looking over at our increasingly animated conversation. I was quite certain he could read my vibe from the across the room – and I didn’t really care. But there was no budging him – it was what it was. And so the evening arrived.

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Just as the manager had predicted, it began to rain. A cold, biting Chicago rain that gave you the impression winter was still fighting for seasonal control of The Windy City. Both Jade and BeBe, who were performing that night, were prepared with talking points for thanking Logo TV, Absolut Vodka, the venue and its staff. I was introduced to the local queen who was hosting the evening, the sassy and sharp Frida Lay. Showtime rapidly approached and much to my pleasure, the venue wasn’t filling up. It was overflowing. The manager came to me with a look of shock and awe as we were preparing to start the show, “There’s a line down the block waiting . . . in the rain!” I simply shrugged and smiled, “I hate to say I told you so . . . ” “Want a shot?” The manager asked with all sincerity and a grin. “After the show,” I said, and we began what would become a wild and memorable evening. After the show and after the carefully orchestrated meet-and-greet, I enjoyed a shot, or two, with the manager. It was then he revealed that his sales for the night rivaled that of the busiest nights at that bar. I made it back to my room in enough time to pack my bag and get a cab to the airport for our flight to Miami. I slept that whole flight from Chicago to Miami. Miami promised better weather and a smoother performance. The venue was a chic nightclub whose upstairs lounge would host the press meet-and-greet before the show. The venue was well equipped for our DJ, and a large stage had been constructed for the performances. Rebecca joined us that evening along with my Miami marketing manager. It turned out to be a late night, as it was Miami Beach, but with a travel day wisely booked between this appearance and our Chicago engagement, we were more than ready. But I was not ready for what happened during BeBe’s first number. The crowds were bigger than those in Chicago, and even more enthusiastic. I escorted BeBe through the crush that had come to see her and Rebecca. She gracefully ascended the stage for one of her signature numbers at the time, a cover version of “Get This Party Started” by Shirley Bassey. I had seen this number in New York twice and most recently in Chicago. It was a high-energy, crowd-pleasing number that promised to set the crowd on fire. My enthusiasm quickly gave way to horror, for in the first sixty seconds of the song I watched as America’s Next Drag Superstar kicked her leg and then fell on the stage. And by fell, I mean wiped out.

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BeBe’s friend and manager was standing right next to me. I could feel his horror. We looked at each other and then back at BeBe, who was rolling around on stage and still lip-syncing. Was she okay? Had The Real Fruit Tour come to a grinding halt before it ever got a chance to take off? Shit. Shit. Shit! SHIT! I turned and looked at the crowd behind me. There was no chance they had missed that. Not a one. You could have seen that spill from space, had the roof of the building been open to expose our shame to the stratosphere. I also saw dozens of digital cameras and cell phones in the air, capturing the moment for posterity. I wondered how long it would take before that little gem ended up making its rounds on social media. But BeBe kept going and didn’t miss a beat. It didn’t look like she was hurt. When she swept off the stage she saw our anxious faces, grabbed my hand to escort her through the crowd and laughed a high, joyful laugh that could be heard over the music pulsing from the DJ booth. And the show, as they say, did go on. The cities that followed began to form something of a pattern. Minus the fall on stage, of course! Overcapacity crowds, countless photos ops with fans, staggering liquor sales and bewildered yet gleeful bar owners. And, oh yes – the stories! San Francisco. The tour was scheduled for my birthday. That morning, I awoke to the news that Ongina (S1) was delayed in Los Angeles and couldn’t make the appearance. Tammie Brown had already arrived and, of course, BeBe was there with our DJ. The second whammy to hit us that morning was a change of venue at the whim of the owner. He had decided, after having confirmed as recently as the previous evening, that he wanted us to hold the show at his venue across the street. That venue was one-third the size of the originally scheduled one. It also had no stage. The mad scramble that ensued on my birthday was all made worthwhile; however, after her final number, BeBe announced to the packed bar that it was my birthday. The entire venue proceeded to sing “Happy Birthday.” The saying “Everything’s bigger in Texas” is true. We performed at some of the largest venues to date, with some of the largest crowds to date, when the tour reached the Lone Star state. It was in Texas when the DJ, BeBe and I really began to understand just how far reaching was the impact of RPDR.

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In Dallas, a female security agent recognized BeBe as we went through airport security. She insisted on showing us her runway walk as we hurriedly put our shoes back on and collected our bags. We barely made our flight to Austin. The mad pace of the tour and BeBe’s non-tour engagements started to show when BeBe stood on stage in Austin. After her first number, microphone in hand, BeBe turned to me and whispered, “What city is this?” “Austin!” “Hello Austin!” She screamed to deafening cheers. I anticipated the next question as she covered the mic and turned back to me, “And the venue name again?” I told BeBe its name and we both laughed as she greeted the venue to even more thunderous applause. In spite of everything surrounding us, BeBe never drank. This was BeBe stone cold sober. Funny and fabulous – without question. We met a lot of local drag queens on this leg of the tour, as almost every venue we encountered had existing shows and a roster of queens who scrambled to take part in the meet-and-greets with BeBe. We heard a lot of stories and caught glimpses of a community of fierce performers with some amazing talent and stories to tell. And the stories were not limited to drag performers. In Houston, we met devoted fans of RPDR who had traveled from Oklahoma to see the tour, as it was the closest stop to their hometown. We experienced the same in New Orleans, where fans had driven from Alabama and Mississippi to catch their beloved BeBe performing live. In a convenience store in New Orleans we encountered a tattooed and beefy dad with his young daughter who was in a stroller. The dad immediately recognized BeBe out of drag and confessed to being a fan of hers. His girlfriend was also a huge fan and had gotten him into watching the show. These stories continued through our final tour stops. To see the tour come to an end in Boston was bittersweet for me, even though we had just scheduled an additional stop in Atlantic City for September. This was the final show for The Real Fruit Tour. BeBe and I had become very close, and watching her perform a Whitney Houston mega-mix actually brought tears to my eyes. My reports for each city stop and for and the overall tour captured the numbers of fans, the images, and the stories that only supported what we already knew – this show had reached further than anyone realized.

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After the first tour, I told Absolut, Logo TV and my office that RPDR had created a kind of celebrity unlike anything people had ever experienced from a reality show. Comparing it to American Idol, I pointed out that RPDR fans had their favorite queens and rooted for them. And like American Idol, RPDR brought their favorite queens and the winner on tour. But that was where the similarities ended and the unique experience of RPDR’s celebrity began. You could spend weeks following your Idol favorite and then see the tour if it came to your city. You would be joined by tens of thousands of other fans, but this would be as close as you got. And this is what set RPDR apart. The queens hosted official viewing parties in their respective cities, where you could see them every week of RPDR’s broadcasts. If queens made it onto the tour, they would meet fans from all over the country. Those adoring fans could then interact with their favorite queens during well-orchestrated meet-and-greets. RPDR’s celebrity was far more accessible and interactive in person than that of most, if not all, reality TV shows thus far. Newfound celebrity suddenly met with newfound fandom, resulting in a perfect storm of instant gratification for everyone involved. For me, this instant celebrity was a wondrous thing to see as the tour concluded. I eagerly waited to see what the second season would hold for its queens, as well as the possibilities of a subsequent tour. RPDR and Absolut would continue in partnership for four more seasons to come. In subsequent years, we worked with RPDR to increase the Absolut brand’s visibility. Absolut commercials were created using fan’s favorite queens and finalists from the previous season. Posters and banners bearing images from those commercials were created and used in LGBTQoriented marketing around the country. By the time season two was announced, bars were contacting me, asking to host official viewing parties and the tour. I established locations and markets for viewing parties, and I developed my own system of selecting the cities and venues the tour would reach. RPDR and its supporting events became highly desirable commodities. Mondays, when the show aired, became lucrative nights for official viewing party venues, and nights when the venues were usually quiet or closed. Giveaways changed for season two, and they were still sent out weekly, along with the weekly episode, to venues. I had a chance that year to attend the RPDR premiere party in Los Angeles. I got to see many of season two’s contestants, but I didn’t get to

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meet any that night. It was on this trip I started a tradition that would eventually help me select which other contestants would eventually join the winner on tour. The night before the premiere party each year, queens who had traveled from out of town would converge on a local club known for its Monday night drag show. Prior to the premiere party, the queens would all perform at the club. At this event I saw queens perform outside of the show, showcasing far more talent than what we’re given the chance to see on the weekly episodes. Many decisions were made about tour talent that night, well before the premiere of the second season. Tour stops continued to shatter attendance records, with Denver kicking off the second tour. The tour had now been renamed The RuPaul’s Drag Race Tour featuring Absolut Cocktails Perfected. In Denver we had with us the top three contestants, our DJ, and a new addition, a guest bartender who now traveled with us on the tour. At lunch during the first day of our stop in Denver, I hung out with Raven and Jujubee, a treat I would never grow tired of, and a chance I would enjoy for seasons to come. I remember Jujubee asking me about how crazy it had gotten on the previous year’s tour for some of the girls. I laughed and said they would soon see. Denver was a new tour stop, as we had not been there the previous year. Everyone with whom I had spoken before coming to Colorado promised that the venue would not disappoint. Denver and the venue were truly amazing that year. Well over a thousand people were in attendance and the production values for the event were unlike anything we had ever seen on tour stops the previous year. Denver and the venue had the honor of kicking off the tour, the result of an online contest carried out by Logo TV. All aspects of that first stop of season two exceeded all expectations. And then there was the meet-and-greet. Season one’s meet-and-greets quickly became the bane of my existence. Crushing crowds, all with life stories to tell and too few with functioning cameras, wanted photos and lengthy conversations with their favorite queens. I quickly learned how to keep the flow moving by using a booming voice that contradicted my normal demeanor and tone. This would amuse the queens to no end. It also served as a great icebreaker on those early tour stops. Jujubee took great pleasure in laughing at my uncharacteristically deep voice belting out, “One! Two! Three! Go! NEXT!” as I took a fast photo and hustled wide-eyed fans away with the help of some able-bodied club security.

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It was welcomed when we opted not to have a meet-and-greet for whatever reason. One night during the finale of a tour show, a rabid set of fans decided to grab Raven’s hand and rip a ring from her finger and then take off into the crowd. Petty theft was the exception, luckily, and not the rule. More often, we had jealous competitive club owners calling police and fire marshals to lodge charges of over-capacity. These scenarios usually played themselves out without incident. In one case, the officers who arrived to investigate alleged overcrowding were charmed by the queens performing and ended up assisting with crowd control outside the club. By season two, RPDR queens were in demand for a number of appearances that extended beyond the tour. Suddenly, we were booking appearances such as Pride events. You haven’t really lived until you’ve been on a Pride float with Raven and heard a high school marching band’s rendition of “Sweet Caroline” for the umpteenth time. LGBTQ vacation destinations like Fire Island, New York, were also quickly added into the mix. When season three rolled around, a noticeable change was in the air. The celebrity of season three’s queens had reached a level I hadn’t seen in the first two seasons. At the premiere party in Los Angeles, I was first introduced to the queens along with their agents. It seemed like every queen had an agent that year, whereas previously the queens dealt with everything from travel arrangements to performance fees directly. We were entering new territory now. And with this came larger crowds and greater demand even earlier in the year for the coveted title of Official Viewing Party Location and, for a select few, Official Tour Location. Everything was ramped up by all the involved parties. The merchandise for viewing party kits became more and more clever. The finale party for season three gave a clear indication of what was to come as well. We had moved from a location in New York City used the previous two years to a nightclub that held over 1500 patrons. On the night of the season three finale we had a full-capacity crowd at the new venue – the line stretched down 57th Street and around Broadway. So the RPDR phenomenon continued to grow and expand. But as is often said, all things must come to an end. Eventually. During season five Absolut decided that this would be its last as a RPDR partner. We had already launched a national campaign celebrating over 30 years of the brand’s involvement in and support of the LGBTQ community. I remember sitting in the Denver airport the morning after the final tour stop, waiting to fly home, exhausted yet relieved.

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The biggest question that haunts the end of any fairy tale loomed in my head . . . Would there be a “Happily Ever After?” Or was it instead echoes of the Cher song that asks if there is Life After Love? Is there Life After Drag Race? I was a guest at the 2014 RPDR Pride event in New York City. I stood in the VIP lounge high above the crowd as they roared for last season’s winner, New York’s own Bianca Del Rio. I mused over what fun it would have been to tour with Bianca and the other finalists from season six as an extension of the tradition that we started. Earlier that evening I went with friends to say hello to Michelle Visage who was co-hosting the event with Bianca Del Rio. Michelle and I worked together on the season five tour and on a special All Star tour stop – long before she launched into the “Battle of the Seasons” tours that eventually picked up from where we finished. On my way back to the balcony, I was welcomed by other RPDR tour alumna like Ivy Winters and Latrice Royale – a proverbial sea of fairy godmothers, all with arms wide open. Back in the VIP section, a friend joined me as I stood looking over the general admission and stage areas. “Miss it?” my friend asked me. “I don’t miss that,” I said, pointing to the crush of bodies. We laughed. “I do miss the girls, though,” I confessed. “Yeah,” he replied, “But in a way, you really are Drag Royalty.” Again we laughed . . . But he was kinda right. After all . . . I was The Drag Whisperer . . . And that was enough celebrity for me . . . That was my Happily Ever After . . .

Rob Rosiello is an adjunct professor of theatre at Montgomery County Community College and president of Town and Country Players in Buckingham, Pennsylvania. Previously, Rosiello was National Promotions Director for SPI Marketing, a New York-based LGBT marketing firm. Rosiello has also produced and collaborated on many theater productions across the USA.

Sissy That Performance Script! The Queer Pedagogy of RuPaul’s Drag Race Colin Whitworth RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR) came to Logo TV in 2009 as I was finishing my first year of college. I first encountered the show on VH1 in my parents’ living room; during the first few seasons, reruns of episodes played on the music and culture based network. My parents did not subscribe to Logo TV, nor was there any real reason for them to. Of course, they had a son that identified as queer, but they did not, and still do not, know that . . . at least not explicitly. As something that I have always felt symptomatic of my own queerness, I have always been drawn to the irreverent spectacle of camp. Of course, then, I had to stop when I saw Nicole Paige Brooks (S2, E2), who is infamously from “At-lan-tuh, Geor-juh”, strolling the streets of Los Angeles in full drag, shouting at passers-by, “You know you want this cherry pah!” in her thick and strange Southern accent. I watched the drag queens shill pie coupons and perform burlesque routines in rapt revelry, careful to leave my hand positioned just-so on the remote control, ready to push the “previous channel” button at the slightest sound of footsteps headed toward the living room. I would not know how to explain to either of my parents my fascination with these queer men dressed as women, at least not without outing myself.

C. Whitworth (*) Southern Illinois University, Carbondale, IL, USA

© The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_10

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I continued to watch in secret, using my parents’ cable to keep up with the “girls” whenever I was at home, keeping one finger just over that button I had programmed to return to the innocuous safety of more heteronormative programming. When I was able to watch, in spite of the suspense and anxiety of participating in drag—a kind of queer ritual—I was able to learn things about the culture I knew I belonged to. I began to understand my gender, my sexuality, and ultimately, myself, more completely through viewing RPDR.

YOU BETTA’ REPRESENT! Like other marginalized populations, lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) people often find themselves lacking the popular cultural representations readily available to their straight counterparts. These representations in turn allow those represented to view themselves in light of diverse and varied possibilities, offering multiple and distinct performance scripts (Bobo 1995). As these scripts are ascertained through social and cultural interactions and artifacts (Bauman and Briggs 1990), our interactions with and representations within popular culture become imperative for us—especially as we formulate and realize constantly evolving identities. As hooks (1996) articulates, film (and I would argue by extension television) has become one of the most important pedagogical sites for learning not only our identities, but also how those identities may fit within the macro-culture we are members of. Media can teach us what actions or performances are “socially acceptable” from people marked by various identities (Case 2009). In short, cultural representations of identity in film, television, literature, and music illuminate potential performances and outcomes of/for those who claim those identities. Drag, too, is rife with pedagogical power that allows us to understand our identities—specifically within the contexts of gender, sexuality, and performance. Pensoneau-Conway (2006) points out that while many scholars have invested in the performative contexts of drag, few have really mined the pedagogical potential of “drag culture” (p. ii). Butler (1990) shows us that drag can illuminate issues of how we perform gender, but drag, like popular cultural representations, can show us how those parts of our identities may fit or interact within queer macro- and micro-cultures. As Pensoneau-Conway (2006) further posits, we stand to learn a lot of the “how” of gender and sexuality from participation (including attendance) in drag shows or drag culture (p. 2).

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RPDR, then, is a kind of super-potent pedagogical confluence of the small-town drag that Pensoneau-Conway addresses and the larger popular cultural representations (Bobo 1995; hooks 1996) interrogated in so much of popular culture scholarship. RuPaul is often lauded as a queen who found crossover success and brought the subversive art of drag into the living rooms of millions of Americans—starting with The RuPaul Show (Bailey & Barbado, 1996), and continuing into RPDR. It is fitting then, that RPDR acts as such an accessible representation of many elements of queer culture through its endeavors of making drag palatable to a more massive audience than ever before.

STROLL DOWN

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RUNWAY (METHODS)

As someone who experienced RPDR during (and beyond) a formative stage of acknowledging my own queer identity, I believe that the best way to engage in an interrogation of RPDR’s pedagogical potential is through autoethnography. In short, autoethnographies are “autobiographies that self-consciously explore” (Ellis and Bochner 2000: 742) individuals’ relationship to culture, carefully drawing links between those experiences and larger cultural narratives as inside observers (Boylorn 2012), stretching beyond memoir to connect lived experiences to culture, both theoretically and analytically (Adams 2011), while offering evocative and “thick ethnographic descriptions” (Geertz 1973: 10). I further propose approaching this as a layered account autoethnography (Rambo 1995): a form of autoethnography that allows the researcher to performatively address various voices or standpoints within a single text that exists simultaneously as art, narrative and academic manuscript. Layered account writing can offer seamless shifts between the personal and the analytical, in ways better representing the theorization of connections between experiences and analyses. This methodological framework is especially salient, as RPDR played a key role in my experiences of queer pedagogy and identity formation. RPDR became available during a time when I was trying to learn about and make sense of my own queer identity. Beyond that, neither the show nor my own identifications have remained static. While I have shifted to acknowledge the queerer, more complicated parts of my identity, RPDR has shifted to acknowledge the complicated nuances of an art form that is too often reduced to crossing the gender binary. While early seasons

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offered an outlet to safely initiate an understanding of queer culture, the increased inclusion of experimental, concept, or “outsider” queens (Sharon Needles (S4), Milk (S6), and ViVacious (S6), to name a few) mirrors my own development as a queer-identified man and my understanding of LGBTQ cultures.

CONFRONTING

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We walked into the bar; it was a Wednesday and we looked ok, so we didn’t get carded at the door. My friend Allison, who had snuck in with friends before, strode confidently in front of me in the high heels she always wore. She was (and still is) what many in LGBTQ communities would call “high femme”—that is, she always dresses and performs a very traditional femininity, in spite of or as part of her own queer identity. Allison’s heels clicked on the tile floor, announcing her confidence as we strode into Elevation, my first gay bar experience. I remember being confused, looking around in what I now understand as ethnographic observance, trying to parse together the practices of this new culture—a culture that I knew in some ways was mine. I didn’t dare talk to the bartender or even sit at the bar; instead, I floated between the pool room, filled with men in leather vests and butch-presenting lesbians that I could only make out through the thick, waist-level film of smoke that filled the atmosphere, and what I assumed would eventually be a dance floor. This room, where I spent most of my time, had a wide-open space, two stages, and chairs built into the floor surrounding load-bearing columns. Eventually, a heady bass backbeat ruptured the chatter and ambient noise of the bar while an androgynous voice commanded us to, “Shut the fuck up!”. I don’t remember the first drag queen I saw, but I do remember the emcee of the night, Miss Trinity Taylor. Having felt nervous, I don’t even remember Trinity Taylor’s set; I do, however, remember her dress, covered in green paillettes, and her wig, which seemed to follow the mantra, “The higher the hair, the closer to god.” My most vivid memory is our interaction, though. Like the rest of my first gay bar experience, Trinity made me feel nervous, so I spent most of the night in one of the chairs attached to the columns on the main floor, watching the queens with rapt attention. I had only ever seen “drag” through the auspices of The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) or Tootsie (1982), so needless to say the real thing was mind-boggling and breathtaking in equal measure.

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Near the end of her performances, Trinity singled me out. “We got a cute young one in the audience!” She started looking at me and my mind was racing: she said I was young? Was I getting kicked out of the bar? What if I got arrested, would they tell my parents that it was a gay bar? Oh god, what do I—and just then Trinity reached me with a microphone, “Are you a top or are you a bottom, honey?” She asked me a question. I knew what “top” and “bottom” meant—they refer to the sexual preference of men in gay intercourse, giver and receiver respectively—but I was a virgin. I didn’t know how to answer, so I shot for the middle, “Uhhh . . . versatile?” I said with a shrug. “So we got a cute bottom over here! Someone come snap him up!” Trinity was finished with me, but I felt humiliated. I didn’t understand why I had been singled out or called a bottom! I felt as if I had done something wrong, that I had failed in that ethnographic observance of my new culture.

THE MAIN EVENT As opposed to being thrust unwittingly into the space of the gay bar— a high-stakes site of cultural identity and negotiation, especially for a 17 year-old—television and other cultural representations of queerness allow individuals to experience and consider cultures or identities that may be new to them within the relative safety of home. For many teenagers, to seek out LGBTQ culture often means unlawfully entering bars (like I did), which can have negative ramifications, both legally and personally. Because LGBTQ spaces and identities remain stigmatized (Herek 2004), the confluence of these dangers within the closet (which is often necessary, especially for youths) (Adams 2011, 2013) can translate into undue mental burden for those trying to learn and discover their formative identity by seeking-out those very cultural spaces. Even then, as illustrated by my experience with Trinity, those people seeking to understand their LGBTQ identities may feel like an outsider in their own culture. Even though RPDR came along several years into my understanding of my queer identity, its own cultural citationality offers new insights into and reifications of LGBTQ culture both as it existed in the past and as it moves forward. As television bloggers Tom and Lorenzo point out, the show offers “a double espresso shot of classic gay male sass, lingo, and humor” by maintaining the prevalence and potency of certain elements of queer history (Fitzgerald and Marquez 2013). In my case, RPDR both

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sparked and furthered my interest in my culture as a queer man. Obviously, my devotion to the show has remained steadfast (even through the ups-and-downs of the seasons), from clandestinely watching at my parents’ house to writing this chapter. Along the way, RPDR has allowed me entrée into multiple facets of LGBTQ cultures. It has broadened my horizons in terms of understanding our community’s past and its present, and the show is aware of the responsibility borne by the importance of representing this LGBTQ timeline. Even within LGBTQ cultures, the internalized misogyny and homophobia of gay men is well documented (Bonnet 2001; Johnson and Samdahl 2005); my shame of being called a “bottom” by Trinity Taylor is one example of the complicated ways that oppressions associated with gender and sexuality can manifest in psychically damaging collusion. Inherently, RPDR’s depictions of drag point to the fluidity of gender and performance in ways that can serve to undermine the gender binary these internalized prejudices are built upon. While it is important to note that not all drag queens present or identify as genderqueer, genderfluid, or transgender, it is equally pressing to look at the ways in which RPDR has represented those marginalized within our already marginalized community. In “MAC Viva Glam Challenge” (S1, E4), for the first time in RPDR history a competitor came out as HIV-positive. Ongina made her declaration on the main runway following a performance in the weekly challenge. While some may critique the show for a “commodification of HIV” (Hargraves 2011: 24), the importance of offering real representations of people living with HIV that run counter to widely accepted narratives of sickness cannot be ignored. These representations have continued throughout RPDR, with Trinity K. Bonet making the same declaration as Ongina five seasons later in the Untucked! episode following “Snatch Game” (S6, E5). These representations not only debunk stereotypes and narratives that surround HIV but also serve to make the effects of the disease on the LGBTQ community real; while it is easy to think or believe that the disease may effect the LGBTQ community less as we move further beyond the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s, gay and bisexual men still account for 63% of new cases of HIV infection in the United States (Human Rights Campaign 2016). While RPDR moves issues that have and continue to face LGBTQ communities into an imminent temporality, the show is also cognizant of displaying the root of these issues. The show takes joy in including citations of queer culture, from language use to the employment of

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cult and camp iconography (“Divine Inspiration” (S7, E9), for example, relies on camp icon Divine and is guest judged by John Waters). Where the show really shines as a facet of responsibility to queer representation and pedagogy is when it shines light on queer history. Given that the show is increasingly reaching a younger demographic (Charles and Visage 2015), this becomes even more imperative as an informal archive of LGBTQ histories. In some episodes, like “Super Troopers” S4, E10, guests may offer special insights into queer histories, as with gay veterans who shed light on “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” policies, military service and gay life from different generational perspective. In other episodes, the potential for revealing and archiving histories is built into the challenge, for the benefit of younger competitors and viewers of the program. For example, “Float Your Boat” (S4, E6) saw the competitors creating boats that related to tenets and symbolism behind the original Pride celebrations, offering ample opportunities for queer pedagogy to develop amongst the differentlyaged queens. These conversations, in turn, create a kind of historiography allowing the queer pedagogies of RPDR to transcend the television screen and reach into ever-increasing audiences. Finally, the show has given greater visibility to identities that transgress the gender binary. Most notably, and canonically to the contents of the program, Monica Beverly Hillz (S5) became the first contestant to come out as a transgender woman during a competition (S5, E2: “Lip Synch Extravaganza Eleganza”), which was followed by Sonique (S2), who made history by being the first woman to come out as transgender on network television (Grant 2013; Shepherd 2013) during the season two reunion (S2, E12). This goes back to the importance of representation; while lesbians and gay men face a dearth of representation, transgender people seem to face a complete drought with rare exceptions. To have representations that do not focus solely on individual transgender identity as an only characteristic, but rather that showcase individuals as performers and hard workers, has the potential to be revolutionary. The show’s relationship to the transgender community could be characterized as complicated, but that characterization belies the complex tensions that exist and are negotiated by transgender drag performers. Hillz herself says it best in an interview with Entertainment Weekly after her tenure on the show: “Drag is what I do. Trans is who I am” (Stransky 2013). RPDR has paved the way for me to understand not only my community’s history, but also, and more explicitly, my own orientations toward

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gender. The show increasingly showcases queens that may be considered “genderfuck” or genderfluid—those that don’t necessarily strive to “pass” (Larsen 1929; Blackmer 1995), or convincingly cross the gender binary. Instead, these queens deconstruct gender into concepts and performance. One such queen, Milk, wore a beard onto the runway in “RuPaul’s Big Opening, Part 2” (S6, E2), before later hitting the runway as a man in a tailored suit in “Snatch Game” (S5, E5). Later, in season seven, eventual winner Violet Chachki identified herself as genderfluid, or non-binary, in interviews (Reynolds 2015), offering representation and visibility to yet another marginalized identity. My experience with drag and RPDR has influenced my own identification; as a person who sees gender through a performative and constructed lens, and from my understanding of gender identity that started in some ways with RPDR, I identify myself as genderqueer. Without the queer pedagogy of Drag Race, I am not sure that I would have had sufficient understanding, representations, or performance scripts available to realize my identification, which illuminates both the importance and the effects of RPDR. While it is clear that the pedagogical potential of RPDR is important for LGBTQ communities and identities, the potential for understanding and humanizing inherently part of this televised representation is also a useful tool for teaching non-queer individuals about LGBTQ identities and cultures. While not everyone is likely to watch the show, in part because of its explicitly queer content, it can be useful for LGBTQ people to have the show to use as a reference point for nonqueer people.

RUPAUL’S BEST FRIEND RACE “Yeah, uhm, I’ve been putting some stuff together,” I stammered. I was standing in my best friend’s apartment during fall semester of my first year of college. I knew I was somehow queer—bisexual or gay, probably. I had recently dated boys and girls, but Sarah didn’t know that. “Ok . . . ?” Sarah said, unsure of where this was going. I knew. I felt kind of bad, essentially using someone else to test the waters with my best friend. “Gay stuff” was not something that we ever really talked about. In fact, I didn’t even know how she felt about gay people, much less gay people so actively in her life. “Well, I . . . I think Jay might be gay.”

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“Oh,” she said, not a question or a statement, just this dismissive utterance that seemed to freeze in the air and fall between us. “Well,” she continued over the concrete slab of sound that she had dropped at my feet. “I mean, I’m not sure,” I backpedalled, but that felt wrong too. “I think he is with Corey, the mellophone player.” (We were all in marching band.) I could tell that telling her this made her feel awkward and I felt badly about that. I also felt badly about outing Jay to her, but if she felt this way at least I hadn’t lost my best friend by coming out to her, right? Somehow that was small comfort when I knew she would react the same way when I came out to her. “Sometimes,” she continued, measuring her words, “Sometimes I wish that I had not heard things about certain people.” I felt wounded. I felt my face flush red. I felt the static of shame, of my secrets, of confusion and betrayal start at my feet and warm my entire body before I spoke again. “Yeah. I know what you mean, but I thought you should know.” I felt like I had betrayed “my people.” *** Sarah is from Andalusia, a small town in Southern Alabama. Before college, she had very little exposure to LGBTQ people, primarily occasional representations in film and television, which were often relegated to jokes and stereotypes. Effectively, those representations not only limit what LGBTQ people can envision as a possibility, but they effect how straight people come to view LGBTQ people as well. In many ways, because I did not perform as a flamboyant, fashion-obsessed version of “gay man,” I did not register as even possibly gay in Sarah’s mind. Due both to a lack of representation and regional conservatism, she did not understand the ways in which sexuality is nuanced and complicated, or the ways in which a marginalized person is so much more than popular media often makes of them. *** I sat on her kitchen counter, in the same spot I always sat: next to the sink, in front of the container of Tang orange drink mix I had bought as a joke well over a year ago. I had news, and I was nervous to tell her. I had hooked up with a mutual acquaintance that we both saw frequently, and in spite of his boyfriend and my own better judgment, I was hoping to turn this into a relationship. I knew she had to know. “So, uh, Chris . . . from uh . . . ” I was clearly struggling.

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“Yeah, yeah Chris . . . ” she said trying to pull me along. “Well . . . I might have fucked him.” As soon as I said it I felt like it was the most heavy-handed way I could have delivered it. This wasn’t ripping a Band-Aid off, I felt like I had just removed a plaster cast with a chainsaw. “Oh,” she started, startled not by my bluntness or sailor-like mouth (she was used to both), but to the content of my statement. While I waited for her to continue, I tried to keep it together and not worry too much. We had been friends too long at this point, I thought, for her to change the relationship too much. “Ok . . . ” she continued, one non-committal word at a time. *** Two years later we were in the same apartment, one day before a tornado threw a tree through its roof. She and I sat on her floor, next to a beer stain that was our fault, our backs to a big, round, sturdy ottoman. We had pizza on paper plates, a brief respite from our pre-finals week schedule. By now, Sarah had become a regular with me at ICON, the only gay bar in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. She knew the drag queens there by name, and I had finally introduced her to RPDR. That night we were watching the VH1 airing of “Grand Finale” (S3, E15). When the pool was whittled down to two, we both agreed that we liked Manila and Raja and would be happy if either won, but as soon as we saw Raja lip-syncing in the Cabaret-esque, money-inspired, black, and gold finale ensemble, we both chose our allegiances quickly. I had introduced Sarah to what I consider a “make up my own version” of queer culture: music, movies, television, politics, but in this instance, it was the cultural citationality of musical theatre that won us both over. *** Sarah did not reject me when I came out to her, but she still had a tenuous comfort with my sexuality. Having her best friend come out to her seemed to challenge the politics that she was raised in—including her notion of who could be gay, and how LGBTQ people existed in the world. After coming out to her, it became safer to share those of my interests that “felt” more resonantly queer with her—RPDR among them. The representations of queer culture I offered, starting with RPDR and expanding beyond, formed new bedrock for our friendship—one made up not only

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of tolerance, but also of appreciation for LGBTQ people and distinctly queer cultural markers. These offered Sarah an entrance point for experiencing and understanding my world as a friend and ally; in that way, the representations of identity and history offered by RPDR allow its queer pedagogy to expand beyond new queer generations—to potentially create open-mindedness and alliances where they did not exist before. In this way, the pedagogy of RPDR goes beyond queer world-making (Goltz and Zingsheim 2015) and reification for LGBTQ people, and it begins to delve into the potentialities of queer coalition building (Chávez 2013). *** Several years later, Sarah and I live in different states; I am still in Alabama pursuing a Master’s degree while she is in Ohio working toward a Ph.D. We have met with several friends in Nashville for New Year’s Eve. As the clock’s near midnight and Nashville’s music note begins to descend to mark the new year, Sarah and I leave our friends behind and make a long and fast trek across town to Play Dance Bar. Once there, I stand next to my best friend and watch Coco Montrese and Alyssa Edwards trade blisteringly precise lip-syncs to techno remixes of catchphrases that originated on RPDR. That bedrock offered through RPDR, representations, and diverse cultural understandings, allows us to stand here, years later, even as we live separate lives that rarely convene. Because of what I shared with her—both of me and of LGBTQ culture—during our time together in college, her appreciation for me and that culture resonates today, just as it resonated as we, open-mouthed and drop-jawed, watched Coco and Alyssa. ***

CAN I GET AN AMEN? RPDR continues to court younger and younger audiences as evidenced by its continued emphasis on social media (Winifred 2014). Recently, the show used online teaser images and promises of information about season eight to lure fans into interacting with the “app” Dubsmash. These devices will invariably have an effect on how the pedagogy of the series can, should, and could work. As the show focuses on younger audiences, and seems to support younger queens (Violet Chachki (S7) is the youngest winner), I worry that the emphasis on queer history and RPDR’s specific

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brand of LGBTQ cultural citationality will fall by the wayside, reifying the ageism that exists in LGBTQ communities (American Psychological Association 2016), and eroding another avenue for understanding and educating about older LGBTQ people and our community’s history. Even with concerns of “watering down” queer histories and RPDR’s ability to truly represent them, the very audiences who threaten the integrity of the show’s LGBTQ-centered themes—young audiences and non-queer audiences—are the ones who stand to benefit the LGBTQ community most through learning lessons of queer pedagogy. There is no easy answer to offer here, but rather an acknowledgement that this is a “tensive and productive conundrum” (Pelias 2014), a “double bind” (Peterson and Langelier 1982) of which the show needs to be aware moving forward. Whether or not RPDR is aware of its own rhetorical power, the show has a nuanced and complicated existence as a queer pedagogical tool. To come out and come of age during a time when there was (and is) a prominent popular culture showcase of queer artistry in a queer art form on television was a pretty foundational part of me being able to understand queerness and my own LGBTQ identity; I am sure there are other stories and narratives of LGBTQ individuals using RPDR or other cultural representation as an integral part of their own identity-based sense-making (Dervin 1983) process. RPDR was, in ways, my classroom for queer history. It taught me about gay men of the present and the past. It gave me context for the ideological and legal battles I have inherited as a member of the LGBTQ community, and for the different kinds of people who populate that community. Of course, RPDR is not perfect (what teacher is?), but it holds a queer pedagogical power and a responsibility to continue teaching its audience about queer lives and queer experiences, even as it entertains. *** I’m lying on my parents’ couch, years later. Troop Beverly Hills plays on Logo TV; I still watch snatches of the network whenever I visit them. “Did you know this is the gay channel?” my mother asks. “Yepp! Sure did!” I curtly reply, “They play some good stuff.” An ad for Season 7 of RPDR comes on the screen. It features Kandy Ho sucking on a lollipop in Daisy Dukes. “That gal looks rough!” my father declares.

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I retort, “Well, she’s a drag queen so . . . ” no longer hiding my knowledge of the queer community, but not “officially out” to my family. The space I occupy is in-between, liminal. It’s . . . queer, and the queer pedagogy of RPDR was part of what taught me to embrace it.

REFERENCES Adams, T. (2011). Narrating the closet: An autoethnography of same-sex attraction. Walnut Creek, California: Left Coast Press. Adams, T. (2013). Post-Coming Out Complications. In R. Boylorn & M. Orbe (Eds.), Critical Autoethnography: Intersecting cultural identities in everyday life (pp. 62–74). Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press. American Psychological Association. (2016). Lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender aging, (web article) Accessed 29 January 2016. http://www.apa.org/pi/ lgbt/resources/aging.aspx Bailey, F., & Barbado, R. (Producers). (1996). The Rupaul Show, (Television series). Los Angeles, California: World of Wonder. Bauman, R., & Briggs, C. (1990). Poetics and performance as critical perspectives on language and social life. Annual Review of Anthropology, 19, 59–88. Blackmer. (1995). The veils of the law: Race and sexuality in Nella Larsen’s Passing. College Literature, 22, 50–68 Bobo, J. (1995). Black women as cultural readers. New York: Columbia University Press. New York. Bonnet, M. J. (2001). Gay mimesis and misogyny: Two aspects of the same refusal of the other? Journal of homosexuality, 41(3), 265–271. Boylorn, R. (2012). Sweetwater: Black women and narratives of resilience. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Butler, J. (1990). Gender Trouble. New York, NY: Routledge. Human Rights Campaign. (2016). HIV and the LGBT community. (web article) Accessed 29 January 2016. http://www.hrc.org/resources/hrc-issue-briefhiv-aids-and-the-lgbt-community Case, S. E. (2009). Feminist and queer performance: Critical strategies. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Charles, R., & Visage, M. (2015). Episode 31: Recapping . . . the finale!. RuPaul what’s the tee? With Michelle Visage. (podcast). Chávez, K. (2013). Queer migration politics: Activist rhetoric and coalitional possibilities. Urbana, Illinois: University of Illinois Press. Dervin, B. (1983). An overview of sense-making research: Concepts, methods and results. Paper presented at the annual meeting of the International Communication Association. Dallas, TX.

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Ellis, C., & Bochner, A. (2000). Autoethnography, personal narrative, and reflexivity: Researcher as subject. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of 74 qualitative research 2nd edition (pp. 733–768). Thousand Oaks CA: Sage Press. Fitzgerald, T., & Marquez, L. (2013). RPDR S5E2: Loose lips synch ships. (Blog post) Tomandlorenzo.com Geertz, C. (1973). The interpretation of cultures. New York, NY: Basic Books. Goltz, D. B., & Zingsheim, J. (2015). Queer praxis: Questions for LGBTQ worldmaking. New York City: Peter Lang. Grant, E. 2013. Owensboro drag queen sashays away on RuPaul’s Drag Race. WBKR 92.5 (online). Accessed 19 January 2016. Hargraves, H. (2011). You better work: The commodification of HIV in RuPaul’s. In D. Race (Eds.), Race, sex, and television, (Fall)2011. Los Angeles, California: University of Southern California. Herek, G. M. (2004). Beyond “homophobia”: Thinking about sexual prejudice and stigma in the twenty-first century. Sexuality Research and Social Policy, 1(2), 6–24. hooks, b. (1996). Reel to real; Race, sex, and class at the movies. New York: Routledge. Johnson, C. W., & Samdahl, D. M. (2005). “The night they took over”: Misogyny in a country-western gay bar. Leisure Sciences, 27(4), 331–348. Larsen, N. (1929). Passing. New York, NY: Knopf. O’Brien, R. (Director). (1975). The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Twentieth Century Fox Films. Pelias, R. (2014). Performance: An alphabet of performative writing. Walnut Creek California: Left Coast Press. Pensoneau-Conway, S. (2006) Gender and sexual identity: A reflexive ethnographic account of learning through drag (Doctoral dissertation). Peterson, E., & Langelier, K. (1982). Creative double bind in oral interpretation. Western Journal of Speech Communication, 46(3), 242–252. Pollack, S. (Director). (1982). Tootsie. Columbia Pictures. Rambo, C. (1995). Multiple reflections of childhood sex abuse: An argument for a layered account. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 23(4), 395–426. Reynolds, D. (2015). Catching up with Violet Chachki: “I identify with trans people.” Out Magazine online. Los Angeles: Here Media. Shepherd, J. E. (2013). RuPaul runs the world. SPIN Magazine. New York City: Spin Media. Stransky, T. (2013). ‘RuPaul’s Drag Race’ react: Monica Beverly Hillz talks to EW about her shocking runway revelation. Entertainment Weekly, February 5 2013, New York: Time, Inc. Unlisted, D. (2014). Snatch game [Television series episode]. In F. Bailey (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race untucked. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder.

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Winfred, T. (2014). The Adore Delano era of RuPaul’s Drag Race internet fandom, Dragaholic on Queerty.com. Accessed 19 January 2016. https:// www.queerty.com/adoredelano-era-rupauls-drag-race-fandom-20140529. Colin Whitworth is a Ph.D. candidate at Southern Illinois University, where he studies performance, intercultural communication, gender and sexuality, and pedagogy. Whitworth’s work centers on how people develop, understand, communicate, and perform queer identities.

Super Troopers: The Homonormative Regime of Visibility in RuPaul’s Drag Race Anna Antonia Ferrante When it was first produced in 2008, RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR) was conceived as a cross-section of a subculture, positioned outside the heteropatriarchal order. RPDR’s roots were established in the glossy tradition of the balls of New York, as documented in Paris Is Burning (Livingston 1990), which features scenes crowded by a mainly black and brown queer underclass – Latino and black trans* and Males Assigned at Birth (MAAB). What is the legacy of this tradition in its representation on the RPDR television screen? During the course of RPDR, the transformation of a regime of visibility has been both gradual and continuous. It is possible to note how the representation of intimacy shifts from drag families to biological families; and how more and more attention is paid to political correctness, which materializes in the censorship of certain challenges and irreverent expressions typical of camp culture (Halberstam, 2014). In this chapter, I focus on the building of a paradigm of representability witnessed in drag culture through the repeal of the “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell (DADT) US military policy and all of its attendant ideological implications. In particular, I focus on two episodes that articulate this trend. With “RuPaul Roast” (S5, E7), I explore connections with the tradition of drag houses as portrayed in Paris is Burning, A.A. Ferrante (*) Centre of Gender and Postcolonial Studies, University L’Orientale, Naples, Italy

© The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_11

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while I use “Super Troopers” (S5, E10) as an example of how drag queens are metaphorically enlisted in a nationalistic rhetoric. Through a discussion of the socio-cultural phenomenon of Drag Houses, I attempt to understand how these performative practices are situated in a relational perspective, as well as how they allow us to experience drag culture as it exists outside of the “traditional” rule of heteronormative patriarchal families. Interweaving different kinds of kinships does not mean devotion to the idea of the family as an institution, but rather as a site of contestation, contributing to the construction and destruction of a society’s power relations. As Weston puts it, “ . . . I am interested in family not so much as an institution, but as a contested concept, implicated in the relations of power that permeate societies” (1997: 51–52). In the drag family context, acts of mutual care are produced as acts of rebellion and as forceful ways of practicing affection through networks of trust that do not receive acknowledgment as such from society, either in a cultural or in an institutional perspective. Until now, drag practice has acted as a centrifugal force against the kinds of desires normally associated with the Lesbian Gay Bisexual Trans* Queer (LGBTQ) community. However, as RPDR gained popularity, opposing forces emerged that acted as forms of containment for the most subversive aspects of its representations. The evolution of RPDR reveals how techniques of “disciplination” effectively build a regime of visibility for drag queens. In other words, the series allows us to observe how queer alternatives have had the chance to come to light only after being deprived of their destabilizing potencies. For drag queens, the very possibility of existing in an audiovisual world has evolved alongside a new model of what is considered normal in drag culture. RPDR has played a role in this dynamic, so as to rewrite the history of gender performativity, and of queer bonds, within a framework that fosters tolerability. A fundamental question here is whether or not drag queens and queer bonds are now tolerable only because they have been rendered “functional”.

THE TRAJECTORY

OF

DRAG QUEEN REPRESENTATION

RPDR is defined as a “reality competition” program. The term “reality” in this case refers to the most affective aspects of television staging, which illuminate the experiences of “real” life. However, we cannot overlook the fact that “realness” represents a chimera of the drag community (and a recurring theme for those who analyze drag culture). At the same time,

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this definition allows us to stay within the dimension of competition – the very performative practice traditional in the drag community – as portrayed in Paris Is Burning. I refer, for instance, to the beauty contests, “readings” and balls of the community. Paris Is Burning, which documents the tradition of balls in New York City, is a kind of essay in images that introduces us to the drag world and drag performances, incorporating these experiences into a broader pattern of codes that allow us to immortalize the internal dynamics of a subculture. Through the voices of the protagonists themselves, the director reconstruct an important piece of the New York underground drag culture between the 1980s and the 1990s, complicating and mixing an already dense tangle of gender, sex, race and class. Here, Paris is not a city, it is rather a heterotopy taking place every night under the buzz of neon lights that are switched on when normal people go to sleep. It is there – on those streets, on those benches, on the wooden floors of ballrooms – that the difficult and contradictory path of drag visibility is walked. This path had been paved with refusal and resistance, and today it ends up under the roof of the house of more tolerable kinships, organized by new cultural and legal norms and now represented in RPDR. Paris Is Burning is not simply an inspiration for the reality show, it is a repository of expressions to borrow from and transform in order to carry drag culture’s originating traditions out of counter-culture and into popular culture. Many of those expressions would have been lost if RPDR had not adapted the setting of those traditions – the ballroom – to the television studio. RuPaul inherits drag’s rituals and becomes its MC: “Gentlemen, start your engines, and may the best woman win!” Bodies assigned male at birth, whether voguing in New York or stepping onto the catwalks of a Los Angeles television studio, show that drag performance is a step in the process of building a subjectivity that does not intend to imitate (exclusively) the feminine, but rather to challenge it. To beat femininity is to tear it up: RPDR’s challenges show us that femininity is a practice belonging to the domain of “doing” rather than of “being”. Thus, what RPDR’s challenges show us is the everyday performance through which we have stabilized our social gender. But drag’s true performative potential is staged while tearing down identitarian politics in order to produce a subject crystalized in a unique interpretation – that of social expectations – of what femininity should be. Drag queens do not confine themselves to identifying with that which society deems desirable but, according to Munoz (1999), they also disindentify themselves from

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society’s models, thus highlighting a universalization of femininity as it is built through the experiences of class and race. It is, however, necessary to re-contextualize the competitive dimension of drag as portrayed through the frame of television discourse. In fact, it is certainly no coincidence that RPDR’s format is that of a talent show; this appears to be the congenial format of the mise en place of neoliberal modernity. The very idea of competition is in line with a market ideology, which manifests itself in terms of annihilating competition. So, while drag queens traditionally fought against their own selves in staging the ideal of realness, in RPDR the competition takes on the characteristics of material elimination of competitors through the mechanism of its challenges. From this perspective, the representation of drag as portrayed through RPDR’s format seems to comply with the lexicon of a neoliberal hegemonic representation. This is the perspective I use to define the techniques of discipline that occur throughout RPDR as the evolution of a homonormative regime of visibility, a regime which radically transforms reality or, better yet, empties the reality of drag of its radicalism. The same practices, in the ballrooms and on the television screen, have shifted from producing destabilizing discourse to producing discourses that are reassuring for the order of the nation. The regime of visibility is the set of norms governing the representation of certain subjects. While unpacking normalization as a disciplining power, Foucault gives more than one explanation, concluding with an ultimate definition through negation, clarifying what normalization is not. The power of normalization is thus not linked to the power to conceal, but rather to a productive force in the regime of visibility. Foucault writes: Finally, it seems to me that with the disciplines and normalization, the eighteenth century established a type of power that is not linked to ignorance but a power that can only function thanks to the formation of a knowledge that is both its effect and also a condition of its exercise. (Foucault 1999/2003: 52)

In the context of RPDR, this regime of visibility can be qualified as “homonormative”, meaning that queer bodies, turned tame by hierarchy and segregation, can work within processes of producing meaning, as well as in consuming it (Duggan 1994, 2004). In particular, I focus on one aspect of this homonormative trend, defined by Jasbir Puar as “homonationalism”.

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Through this binary-reinforcing “you are either with us or against us” normativizing apparatus, the war on terror has rehabilitated some – clearly not all or almost – lesbians, gays and queers to U.S. national citizenship within a spatial-temporal domain I am invoking “homonationalism” short for “homonormative nationalism”. (Puar 2007: 38)

This is not only nationalism/racism in the context of LGBT and queer communities, but also a tool of political analysis regarding the structure of contemporary capitalism. Therefore, according to Puar (2007), homonationalism is a critique of contemporary configurations of power that establishes a relation between state, capitalism and sexuality through the involvement and disciplining of queer bodies. On the other hand, moving from the opposite perspective, homonationalism is an instrument through which queer bodies, once domesticated and made harmless and docile, can help to rebuild these new bio-political configurations of control and global exploitation.

FROM

THE

DRAG MOTHER . . .

“So many emotions . . . ” With her voice broken by emotion, Roxxxy Andrews has just whipped her hair, throwing down her wig to Alyssa Edwards. Both of them are considered the worst performing queens in the episode “RuPaul Roast” (S5, E7), and for this reason they both risk elimination. RuPaul judges who deserves to stay after a Lip Sync for Your Life performance of Willow Smith’s “Whip My Hair”. Just after the elimination challenge, Roxxxy is show crying due to her traumatic childhood: It just hits me like not feeling wanted enough, not being good enough, I just feel like my mom never wanted me. My mother left my sister and myself at a bus stop when I was three, but I remember like it was yesterday. I come out as a strong character, I’ve tried to stay so strong, but I’m weak. It just hurts that I was left. Nobody cared.

Roxxxy cannot help sobbing, her make up melting, while her tears become contagious among the other contestants. The blond and glossy RuPaul sheds her judge’s robe and puts on the clothes of MamaRu, the empathetic mother in a community of people who acknowledge

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refusal and resistance as shared trauma. RuPaul speaks these words, her own voice breaking: We. Love. You. And you are so welcomed here. You know, we as gay people, we get to choose our family. We get choose the people we’re around. You know what I’m saying? I am your family, we are family here. I love you. I love you.

This moment is particularly meaningful because a tsunami of tears breaks down the limits of the grammar of format. In this moment reality takes over. This explosion of content over form is perhaps one of the rare moments where the drag queens are united by a remote bond that exceeds rhetoric, a bond that is not only enacted in the challenge, but also in a sense of belonging to a tradition of care and affection. Once again, the connection between tradition and format makes itself explicit. In Paris is Burning, queen Pepper LaBeija expresses a similar sentiment: When someone has rejection from their mother and father, their family . . . when they get out in the world, they search. They search for someone to fill that void. [ . . . ] I’ve had kids come to me and latch hold to me like I’m their mother or like I’m their father.

In the intimacy of the tale told by Pepper, mother of House of LaBeija, the street enters: two skinny, effeminate kids, aged 15 and 13, and from Harlem and the Bronx, laugh when they are asked why they want to walk under the lights of nighttime: who should control them? Pepper continues in the background: For a lot of these kids, they come from such sad backgrounds, you know . . . broken homes or no home at all. And then the few that do have family, when the family finds that they’re gay, they “X” them completely. This struggle could be considered one harbinger of a path leading to the legalization of civil unions and same-sex marriages in many countries. However, such struggle also represents the cast-offs from this path. I discuss drag queen families not because they tell us that what they represent is a deviation from the heteronormative canon, and I do not use the word “family” because it resembles something that most of us already know. Here, “family” does not approximate an effort toward assimilation, but rather the word becomes a site of its subversion. Houses are not parodies, or grotesque impressions: they are ties among real people, mutual ties built through voluntary affiliation. Voluntariness is one of the most interesting aspects. The houses’ names do not represent a

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patronymic or an asphyxial bond, but rather a tie based upon mutuality and the possibility of recognition in a particular style of performance. If the practice of mutual affection and care is not based on heterosexual and biological kinship, why should we then preserve its lexicon? The awareness and voluntariness in the use of certain words, with a meaning that exceeds the dominant one, blows up the signifier “family” as we know it. Words such as “family”, “mom” and “sister” are “violent words” for their performative strength; they are illocutionary acts with non-mediated consequences, in that they immediately confirm the necessity of the change that is already being made while uttering them. Butler stressed the importance of the practice of naming as an illocutinary act: Indeed, words exercise a certain power here that is not immediately clear. They act, they exercise performative force of a certain kind, sometimes they are clearly violent in their consequences, as words that either constitute or beget violence. (Butler 2000: 60)

Whoever utters them faithfully drives their meaning toward a direction that should have never be undertaken, as Angie Xtravanganza illustrates: My name is Angie Xtravaganza, and I am the mother of the house of Xtravaganza. When there’s a ball I’m always doing something for everybody in my house . . . You know, I ran away from my house when I was 14, and I’ve learned all sorts of things . . . good and bad.

In one of the balls documented in Paris Is Burning, Angie Xtravaganza is awarded Mother of the Year. In voice-over, someone describes being thrown out of their parents’ home and picked up from the street by Angie, who fed them and gave them a home until they found a job. On Angie’s award, the declaration “Mother of the year for keeping the children intact” is engraved in everlasting memory, while the mom shadows her face behind a fan as she recounts what she does for her family. But when the narrative slowly slips back into more everyday circumstances, Angie is seen on the street with her breast uncovered. Someone shouts, “I bought her her tits. I paid for them. He paid for my tits. I paid for these implants. Shake them tits, mami!” Several people hold on to her nipples: “Our mother even nurses us!” Angie is a mother feeding daughters who did not grow in her womb, daughters who no other mother wanted, not even the mother who can claim a blood. Angie is a mother who helps her

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daughters build a foam rubber breast, or collect money for the surgery they long for. Again, I question, as does Butler: “Does it make sense on these occasions to insist that there are symbolic positions of Mother and Father that every psyche must accept regardless of the social form that kinship takes?” Than Butler stresses more her doubts about the renovation of a new symbolic order: “Or is that a way of reinstating a heterosexual organization of parenting at the psychic level that can accommodate all manner of gender variation at the social level?” (2000: 69). The question posed by Butler is not strictly about signifiers, but rather about their symbolic position: is the taboo against incest continuously mobilized in order to re-affirm, authoritatively, certain forms of kinship as the only ones that are intelligible and that constitute legitimate experience? Butler is not killing off the psychoanalytic father-figure Lacan, but she is interrogating feminist psychoanalysis in terms of the need to reconfigure the Oedipus figure in the face of social changes that have emptied the symbolic father of its traditional significance. In observing what occurs in queer counter-culture, such as in RPDR and Paris Is Burning, we have the opportunity to provide a radical theoretical critique of the heteropatriarchal order with observable, tangible and consistent substance.

. . . TO

THE

DRAG FATHERLAND

In this section, I consider how the aforementioned practices might work within a normative project of family by weaving a new thread that ties queer subjects to the nation, assimilating the discourse of the house to that of the (drag) House of Fatherland. In 2009, US President Barack Obama signed the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act. In 2010, his administration repealed the DADT military participation policy. RPDR brings this new direction in American politics to the core of its contests. As an example, “Super Troopers” (S5, E10) is dedicated to the repealing of DADT with all of its ideological implications. In fact, in “Super Troopers” the drag queens are challenged “to give back to those who sacrifice so much to serve this great nation” by completing a makeover of five biologically male veterans. As RuPaul introduces the challenge, “Thanks to these men, we have the freedom to be fierce. You’ve got to exercise this freedom by enlisting these men into your drag families”. The soldiers to put in drag are six veterans of different wars, who have experienced military life at different historical moments: compulsory military

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service, voluntary service, and, of particular interest, the period of transition before and after repealing of the DADT policy. In addition to radically changing the veterans and introducing them to the performing arts, as only a drag mother can provide, what is requested of the contestants and their newly adopted daughters is to create explicit signs of belonging to a family through resemblance. The discourse of house here takes an unexpected turn, as we see how this transformational experience can be tamed and brought into a new context of community: from the underground of queer subcultures into a renewal of the national community. In one short step, the drag mother is turned into the motherland. The denaturalization of femininity, and the reconfiguration of bonds of solidarity and support as alternatives to the traditional family, can be represented and celebrated on television as long as they are in some way attributable to a matrix of national pride. What is required, therefore, is something more than family resemblance: drag queens and veterans are made to look alike, to build family-like bonds, and to confuse us on multiple levels until it is unclear whether the drag queens have enrolled in the army, or the army is in drag. Even in the most grotesque aspects of the contest, the ambiguity of the parody holds an important metaphorical function: the enlisting of drag queens in the rhetorical clash of civilizations. Hence, this episode parody functions not only as rhetorical practice but also as ideological practice, allowing for a shift toward new power configurations. The mother/daughter couples walking the catwalk, the older veterans’ shaky stride on high heels, and one faux pas after another allow us to see as laughable what must be the paradigm of visibility, that of a love story between the USA and its citizens, even its most unlikely citizenry. The veterans enter the workroom, a bunker/ lab where the contestants “produce” their daughter queens not only physically but also through intimate dialogue. Here, the contestants produce drag personas hailed as heroines of a struggle meant to bring down the ultimate frontier of invisibility. The repealing of DADT has produced a number of consequences. First, the Obama administration made it possible to stop a history of abuse and violence in the military, as suffered by LGBTQ peoples in the military and as committed by a state institution in itself. Jinkx Monsoon’s Vietnam War vet knows this story well and recounts it firsthand. He was court-martialed for arriving at a gay club in drag while also wearing his uniform. Another consequence of Obama repealing the DADT act was to oversimplify a genealogy of violence – to not question its culturally rooted causes, but rather to believe that this violence can be erased by assimilation. It is this

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kind of simplification that characterizes the experience of one veteran of the challenges drag queen/veteran pairings. This veteran was the only soldier to have served before and after the repeal of DADT. According to his account, one would think that the violence and fear of retaliation for being “out and proud” had evaporated in a single day. In the end, the main political consequence is that of producing a narrative of “exception” in the defense of gay rights. The Obama administration took a clear position in granting exceptional rights to LGBTQ people, and this state of exception involved exceptional measures in defending exceptional citizens. Jasbir Puar, in his analysis of homo-nationalism, turns his attention specifically to the idea of American sexual exceptionalism: As the US nation-state produces narratives of exception through the war on terror, it must temporarily suspend its hetero-normative imagined community to consolidate national sentiment and consensus through the recognition and incorporation of some, though not all or most, homosexual subjects. (Puar, 2007: 3–4)

More specifically, we can speak of sexual exceptionalism in considering techniques of controlling lives in relation to a nation founded on an exceptional feeling of attachment to country, a feeling now made even more exceptional by homonationalism. Fantasies of exceptionalism are constitutively related to the formation of the USA as a nation. This exceptionalism resides in the uniqueness (“exceptional” here is understood as singular) and universality (“exceptional” in the teleological sense) of the liberationist mission. From this perspective, the paradigm of American exceptionalism can be tied to Giorgio Agamben’s definition of the state of exception, which is defined as a form of legitimization of the use of measures laying outside the norm, including exceptional violence, in order to preserve privileged, sacred lives (Agamben 1998). Such exceptionalism is precisely what RuPaul expresses when she says: “I’m so proud to show them what they are fighting for.” They are fighting for our freedom to dress up in drag. This is a fabulous country and I’m so proud to be an American citizen. Once “pride” meant being visible, demanding recognition through the radical re-appropriation of public space. Here, we find ourselves in an altogether different context: pride is the feeling of attachment to one’s country, a tie that is claimed through the status of citizenship. The drag

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queens here represent lives identified as exceptional, as deserving exceptional protection, arbitrarily, by means of extraordinary violence committed by the very soldiers considered “out of the ordinary” for being gay. In this sense, the “fabulousness”, the sequined pride of an originally rebellious community who responded to police violence, shifts in meanings until they become exceptional, but in the sense of compatible with the uniform. As in any grammar, such as in the syntax of political discourse, the exception is the most interesting part of the standard because it represents normalized excess brought into a frame of regulation: The example is thus excluded from the normal case not because it does not belong to it but, on the contrary, because it exhibits its own belonging to it. The example is truly a paradigm in the etymological sense: it is what is “shown beside,” and a class can contain everything except its own paradigm. (Agamben 1998: 20; original emphasis)

In order to illustrate how this process of exclusion/inclusion works, Agamben refers to it as to a Moëbius strip in which the inner and outer faces merge and the boundary between the two is overturned, bringing outside what is inside and vice versa (1998: 28). The Moëbius strip is a graphic example of how a state of exception works, but it is also useful to describing how drag queens’ regime of visibility operates. This paradigm of homonormative representation ties the televisual popularity of RPDR to the US international and domestic political agenda. Today, drag queens are on the visible side of the strip: they come out as gay, giving up counterhegemonic and underground traditions, with the explicit intention of staying inside the borders of normative power, of gaining a place in contemporary, mainstream popular culture. I wish to develop this televisual trajectory in a wider perspective, one that will allow us to better understand why this regime of visibility works in the category of the “functional”. In 2008, Obama was granted his first presidential mandate. The USA had just put behind the neo-conservative experience of the Bush era and were getting ready to write a new chapter, equally full of wars and anxieties. The USA of Obama is a country that has been tested by many conflicts and scenarios, namely an explosive economic crisis and the ravages of poverty. At the same time, the most radical areas of the country are dissociated from representative politics and experience brief but intense periods of financial self-organization and contestation through social justice movements. Meanwhile, racial conflicts erupted

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during the first black presidency in US history. Such conflict has reached an extent that is comparable to the Black Panthers movement. With the mantra “Black Lives Matter”, black people in the US protest loudly against the discriminations and violence perpetrated by the police. In this context of social fragmentation, a priority of the Obama presidency was to reunite the national community. This project could only be achieved by involving new voices in an antiquated choir singing songs of patriotism. They are the voices of children of immigrants and racialized subjects, of which Obama is the most authoritative representative, as well as those of a homosexual bourgeoisie, economically influential but still excluded from basic rights. These are the reasons why building a discourse of liberties and rights cannot be postponed any longer. Writing its rules of tolerance means taking care of its imperatives and putting them to work for the new and renewed needs of the nation. In this way, a significant part of Obama’s presidential campaign later intersected with one for complete equality of marriage, bringing new supporters over to Obama’s field.

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I have described the homonormative regime of visibility as a normative project by analyzing a disciplining trend in the competition of RPDR drag queens. I insist here on the gradual nature of this phenomenon, because its trajectory still unfolds before our eyes and is not necessarily one whose endpoint we can foresee. This homonormative trend allowed me to consider the experiences of drag houses and of the practices of “eccentric subjects” within the reconsolidation of the national community. At the same time, the formal and informal distribution channels of RPDR, and the popularity of the show outside of the USA, have raised the chance of building a community which is far more complex and wider than the nation: a community which recognizes itself in its aesthetics and narrates itself through the practice of drag. The values of this community of affect are still being negotiated; we must wait and see whether the popularity of RPDR will go beyond raising the bar of tolerance through popular culture – whether it will permit destabilization of hegemonic assumptions in televisual representation for queer subjects.

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REFERENCES Agamben, G. (1998). Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life. Redwood City: Stanford University Press. Butler, J. (2000). Antigone’s Claim: Kinship Between Life & Death. (Vol. 8). New York: Columbia University Press. Duggan, L. (1994). Queering the State. Social Text, 39(39), 1–14. Duggan, L. (2004). The Twilight of Equality?: Neoliberalism, Cultural Politics, and the Attack on Democracy. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Foucault, M. (2003). Abnormal Lectures at the College de France, 1974–1975. Trans. G. Burchell, London: Verso. Les Anormaux, Editions de Seuil/ Gallimard 1999. Halberstam, J. (2014). You Are Triggering me! The Neo-Liberal Rhetoric of Harm, Danger and Trauma. Retrieved February 23, 2016, from https:// bullybloggers.wordpress.com/2014/07/05/you-are-triggering-me-the-neoliberal-rhetoric-of-harm-danger-and-trauma/ Livingston, J. (1990). Paris Is Burning. United States: Miramax Films. Muñoz, J. E. (1999). Disidentifications: Queers of Color and the Performance of Politics. Minneapolis – London: U of Minnesota Press. Puar, J. K. (2007). Terrorist Assemblages: Homonationalism in Queer Times. Durham: Duke University Press. Weston, K. (1997). Families We Choose: Lesbians, Gays, Kinship. New York: Columbia University Press. Antonia Anna Ferrante is a PhD candidate in Cultural and Postcolonial Studies at University of Naples. Ferrante works at the intersections of queer theory and postcolonial studies, focusing on popular representations of homonatonalism and nationalism in TV programming.

“Please Come to Brazil!” The Practices of RuPaul’s Drag Race’s Brazilian Fandom Mayka Castellano and Heitor Leal Machado In Brazil, issues concerning the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer (LGBTQ) community face a bipolar political scenario. Progress in homosexual rights, such as recognition of same-sex unions by the National Council of Justice in 2013, and reversals, like the approval of the proposal called “family’s statue” in 2015, help illustrate this schizophrenic political culture. This political context also reflects the polarization of social practices. On the one hand, we notice the proliferation of homophobic attitudes, such as the rise of movements like “straight pride”, and which spread through websites and social networks, as well as the persecution of political leaders like Jean Wyllys, the only openly gay Brazilian congressman. Although Wyllys has been elected for a second term and is considered one of the 50 people with outstanding commitment to diversity (“Top 50 diversity figures in public life”, 2015), the congressman has been attacked in the Web, in addition to other campaigns of slander. However, Jean is best known for his ardent position regarding the rights of the LGBTQ community.

M. Castellano (*) Universidade Federal Fluminense, Niterói, Brazil H.L. Machado Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

© The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_12

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According to the 2014 Annual Report of Homosexual Murders in Brazil by Grupo Gay da Bahia (GGB), the oldest group acting in defense of the LGBTQ community in Brazil, 326 homicides related to the LGBTQ community were documented, including nine suicides, corresponding to one murder every 27 hours. Despite the serious political and social implications, we see the emergence of an LGBTQ community engaged and strongly present in a virtual environment, and in events like Pride parades. The world’s biggest Pride parade, in São Paulo, attracted 3,500,000 people in 2010 (“Gay Parade reunites more than 3 million people, according to the organization”, 2010), quite a large number given that Brazil’s gay population is estimated at twenty million people (Scrivano and Sorima Neto 2015). In this chapter, we evaluate the practices and social motivations of Brazilian fans of the reality show RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR), and the drag scene established in Brazil due to the success of the show. To write this article, besides monitoring throughout the year of 2015 two fan pages on Facebook (RuPaul’s Drag Race Brasil and RuPaul’s Drag Race Brasil Lipsyncers), we also analyzed articles and reports from the greater media dedicated to the show’s audiences. Furthermore, we conducted interviews with Rebecca Foxx, a drag queen who has achieved substantial focus in Rio de Janeiro’s drag scene. The contact was established through social networks. Media artifacts, such as RPDR, have become more and more the foundations of a lifestyle, contributing to a process of increased relevance during the construction and manifestation of individual identities (Kellner 1995). In this way, we believe that analysis of RPDR, both in relation to niche and mainstream audiences, leads to useful contributions to a wider reflection about contemporary culture and society in Brazil.

GENTLEMEN, START YOUR ENGINES, WOMAN WIN!

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RuPaul is a media phenomenon: for 20 years the personality has produced music albums, books, and TV shows. In Brazil, RPDR became well known after appearing in the Netflix catalogue, where the show is described as, “The famous drag queen RuPaul is the hostess of this reality competition show which is half America’s Next Top Model and fabulous as a whole”. Following a model adopted by many TV programs labeled “competition reality shows”, RPDR merges challenge with studio-set scenes in which contestants spend most of their time preparing for activities and “dragging

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up” for the runway show, which is the finale of every episode. In these moments, interpersonal relationships between contestants, which vary from strong bonds to strong disagreements, become a commonplace aspect of their coexistence, such as in Big Brother. All of this exchange is amplified by the intervention of editing. Furthermore, the emotional biases of RPDR are supplemented by RuPaul’s Drag Race: Untucked!, broadcast immediately after RPDR, and depicting scenes excluded from the main episodes. The program, initially produced for a small US cable channel with a modest budget, became a cult success (Castellano 2014). RPDR’s success was significant enough to inspire two subsequent products: RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars, where contestants from previous seasons compete again, and RuPaul’s Drag U, where the “interior drag queen” of ordinary women is revealed. RuPaul, who does not appear in drag in Drag U, embodies the director of a drag queen school that counts on a team of drag queen professors to teach biological women how to find their “inner drag”. Canceled after its third season, each Drag U episode featured three ordinary women who shared traumas and personal histories while RuPaul suggested countless make-up and style tips with the help of well-known drag queens. At the end of each episode, and after having been judged, one of the three women earned a small cash prize. Meanwhile, every contestant brought home a dose of self-love. Having risen in the underground scenes of Atlanta and New York, RuPaul reached worldwide visibility with the release of her first album in 1993. RuPaul’s success came after leaving behind “genderfuck”, a more subversive kind of drag that questions the binary notions of gender. In a 2013 interview to Jason Wu, RuPaul (2013) relays how this happened: ( . . . ) That had more to do with the fact that it was a calculated effort to take sexuality out of my image. It was more like a Disney caricature, rather than a sexualized, subversive character. ( . . . ) They don’t think of me that way; they don’t feel sexually threatened by me.

Such “normalization” also seems to have been adopted by Logo TV, a US cable network that targets LGBTQ audiences. Logo TV’s target audience shifted slightly in 2012, however. According to an executive of the channel, “culturally, we’re past the tipping point. For gays and lesbians, it’s part of who they are, but they don’t lead with it, because many are leading fully integrated, mainstream lives” (“Logo Saying GOODBYE To GayThemed Programming”, 2012).

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Susan Sontag (1987) defined camp sensibility as many different things: a capacity to transform the serious into the frivolous; an aesthetic; a taste; and a particular “eye” on the world (p. 318). Sontag’s broad perspective, however, also disconnects camp from a queer political agenda (Meyer 2005, Davy 1995, as cited in Whitney 2006, p. 37). In more explicitly queer terms, Meyer (2005) defines camp as queer parody – political and potentially critical in nature. However, a weakening of camp’s critical potential can be noted in RuPaul’s career, which took off only after she left behind more subversive modes of expression that threatened dominant heterosexual orders. Nevertheless, RuPaul has made camp a type of “lifestyle” (Freire Filho 2003, p. 73) present in all of her work. Based on a philosophy that seeks to simply not be that serious (RuPaul 2010), the drag star promotes positivity and self-love. At the end of each episode of RPDR, RuPaul’s teachings are reaffirmed with the closing statement: “If you can’t love yourself, how the hell you gonna love somebody else?” But, as pointed out by Edgar (2011), RPDR offers a limited perspective of drag culture because the queens must face numerous critiques that direct their performances to be more feminine and less androgynous. For example, Jade, a contestant in the first season of RPDR, was criticized for not properly “tucking in” her penis. According to Edgar, such critique of reality perpetuates certain gender norms and renders drag performance more normative than subversive. Despite these concerns, RPDR seeks to raise awareness among its audience about homonormative causes and the LGBTQ movement’s politics (Duggan 2002 as cited in Lemaster 2015, p. 178). Perhaps without the likes of RPDR, a homonormative viewpoint would be even less likely to contest dominant heteronormative institutions and assumptions. However, it is worth considering that RPDR’s homonormative viewpoint contributes to LGBTQ support “while promising the possibility of a demobilized gay constituency and a privatized, depoliticized gay culture anchored in domesticity and consumption” (Duggan 2002, p. 179 as cited in Lemaster 2015, p. 184). Morrison (2014) adopts a similar perspective in defining the way camp is sadistically presented in RPDR. Because the show reinforces gender roles and capitalizes on homonormative political causes, its performances can produce discursive violence against women’s bodies, overweight people, the elderly and other underrepresented groups through well-intentioned acts, which makes the performance a reaffirmation of the power and privilege of those who perform it (Morrison 2014, p. 125).

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THE BRAZILIAN RPDR FANDOM Although most Brazilians have probably never heard of RPDR, the show has a devoted community of Brazilian fans that has grown substantially since the program became available on Netflix in 2014. Prior to that, RPDR was only available via (illegal) download from the internet, especially since Logo TV is not accessible in Brazil (Brooker 2009). In mid2015 Globosat’s Multishow began broadcasting the seventh season of RPDR a few months behind its US schedule, due largely to the popularity of the streamed episodes. RPDR’s success in Brazil has generated two Brazilian derivatives: Glitter – Em Busca de um Sonho (Glitter – Chasing a Dream) and Academia de Drags (Drag Academy). Glitter prides itself on being “the first reality show produced in the country presenting only gays, transvestites and drag queens” (“Glitter” 2015). Glitter airs only on TV Diário, a broadcaster in Fortaleza in the northeast region of Brazil. This is notable, considering that the northeast is one of Brazil’s most dangerous regions for homosexuals, with 45% of all murders in 2012 involving the LGBTQ population (Grupo Gay da Bahia 2012). Nevertheless, viewers from all over Brazil can watch Glitter through its official site and through other digital platforms like YouTube. The competition is presented by Brazilian TV figure Ênio Carlos and transgender personality Lena Oxa over 40-minute episodes. The winning prize is “a dream come true”, which ranges from a cruise, to home restoration, to “opening a beauty parlor”. This last wish is particularly common among candidates, indicating that transgender individuals in Brazil are largely attached to workplaces where they feel most accepted. The first season of Glitter aired in 2012 and, at the time of writing, the program’s producers are considering contestants for its third season. On the other hand, Academia de Drags, completely inspired by RPDR (as a low-budget version), is a reality show “with unusual and funny challenges aiming to raise the bar in the competition and test the candidates’ talents” (“O programa” 2015). Produced directly for the web in 30-minutes episodes and uploaded twice weekly to YouTube, the show is presented by the drag queen Silvetty Montilla. The first season aired in October 2014 and the second one in April 2016. Additionally, more than forty thousand people follow the show’s Facebook page. The interest of Brazilian fans in RPDR extends beyond copycat programming. Former RPDR contestants have visited the country to perform

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in various cities, often garnering significant media attention. On RPDR contestants’ social media feeds, the number of Brazilians interacting with the artists is enormous, including many requests to come and perform in the country, inevitably stated as “Please Come to Brazil”. Interestingly, a big part of the Brazilian fan base is composed of women, some of whom have earned the nickname “RuLoucas” (“RuNuts”). According to an article published by the entertainment editors of the Brazilian portal UOL: Back with the seventh season next March 2nd, RuPaul’s Drag Race promises to gather fans and followers in front of the computer to watch the new competition to crown the most sickening queen. Here at Diversão, we took the opportunity to talk to some girls who live, breathe and lip-synch RuPaul for their lives in order to find out some of the craziest things they’ve ever done for the show. Ladies and gentleman, the RuLoucas! (“Elas são loucas por RuPaul’s Drag Race” 2015)

The devotion of these fans ranges from traveling to the USA just to watch contestants perform, to promoting parties in Brazil in order to book the artists. Brazilian fans also engage in intense activity in web communities of RPDR admirers, go out “in drag” at night, get tattoos in honor of contestants, and purchase music made by them. In an era of illegal music downloads, buying a product is almost a declaration of love. As a fan explains, “It’s been years since I last bought a CD, but I paid for Jinkx Monsoon’s album. She deserves it”. Moreover, another fan attests to the importance of streamed episodes of RPDR for audiences of the show: Meet Gisele Ramos, a journalist from Porto Alegre. Two years ago, the young woman was presented to the wonderful world of drag queen contests. “Before that, I took a look occasionally when [RPDR] was broadcast on VH1, but I don’t think I ever watched an entire episode. Then Netflix helped with it”, she explains, and from that moment on, her life was changed. (“Elas são loucas por RuPaul’s Drag Race” 2015)

On social media platforms devoted to the show, however, fan behavior can differ greatly. On one hand, some fans present themselves as supporters of the art of drag; as such, they participate in posts about every contestant and other artists whose profiles are publicized on social media. They appear to understand that from a political point of view it is important to strengthen the community growing around drag culture. On the other

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hand, some individuals adopt typical fan behavior of “hating” certain contestants who are presented as villains or adversaries of favored queens on the show. Social media spaces are also useful in promoting and encouraging Brazilian drag artists. Many local artists use social media to gather RPDR fans together in order to promote YouTube videos in which they perform or share tips on how to “get up in drag” (such as advice on make-up, padding, wigs, etc.). In December 2015, the Facebook page RuPaul’s Drag Race Brasil shared a Twitter post by season seven contestant Trixie Mattel: “Saying you love drag – but you only watch Drag Race. It’s like saying you love music – but you only watch American Idol. See your local queens!” This kind of encouragement to establish the art of drag in Brazil does not only come from foreign artists. During the same month, one of Brazil’s divisions of Social Service for Commerce, which is a traditional education institution, offered a “Dress-Up Workshop for Drag Queens”. In just a few days, all vacancies were filled. The workshop was described in the following way: Behind all the glitter and colours of a Drag Queen lies an artist who needs specific techniques so that their performance can get applause. This workshop deals with Drag Culture by means of practical exercises, offering support for the creation of a drag character by using make-up, lip-synch, catwalk and choreographic techniques. The origins of drag, and also the dynamics of theatrical expression and self-knowledge, will be studied as well. (“Drag queen workshop de montagem” 2015)

In fact, the successful reception of RPDR in Brazil contributed to the rise of Brazil’s own drag scene, a fact discussed widely in the Brazilian media. In March 2015, Carta Capital published the headline “Thanks to RuPaul, drag queens are in”. Local performances by RPDR stars depend on the presence of Brazilian queens who appear on stage before and after the night’s main attraction, an allegiance that has contributed to the increased popularity of these artists, particularly in the Rio-São Paulo circuit. These cities already host many parties dedicated to drag, such as the “Priscilla” event, which takes place in both Rio and São Paulo and has attracted dozens of stars from RPDR. Regarding Rio de Janeiro’s “Priscilla”, drag queen Rebecca Foxx, a staple of the event, explains that the show was fundamental to her understanding of “dragging up” as an art form. According to Rebecca, mainstream acceptance of RPDR has encouraged many people to explore

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drag, especially those who already felt the urge. Drag queens are now “popping up from the gullies”, Rebecca jokes, before defining the phenomenon as “magical” (personal correspondence, December 2015). Rebecca also notes the ever increasing presence of heterosexuals, straight couples and children at these events: “The queens are back to being the main attractions of the night!” Indeed, the relation between mainstream culture and the art of transvestism in Brazil is not recent, as Rebecca suggests. Pirajá (2011) reminds us that in the 1930s, João Francisco dos Santos, a poor, black ex-convict, was notorious in Brazil for his performances as Madame Satã (Madame Satan, his alter-ego) in the bohemian district of Lapa, Rio de Janeiro, and a character immortalized in the eponymous 2002 film by Karim Aïnouz. In the 1980s, Silvio Santos, a famous Brazilian TV host, brought to the SBT channel various “transformist” artists who would compete in his “Show de Calouros”, a popular program partially responsible for introducing the art of drag in Brazil. Aware of the renewed interest in such performances, Silvio resumed presenting “transformists” in his 2013 attraction. Recently, Xuxa Meneghel, a popular personality in Brazil and former host of children’s programs, also promoted a drag queen contest in her current (adult) TV show on the Record channel – curiously, a channel run by an Evangelist Church. The contest offered a R$ 5.000 prize for the best performer of the night. Even though transvestite and drag queen representations in the Brazilian media tend to emphasize aesthetics by focusing on the talent and glamor of the artists, there are still persistent and troublesome images concerning transvestites, especially prostitutes, who are often represented as weird and potentially dangerous individuals in sensational news programs: Transvestites are filmed during fights with clients who refuse to pay for the rendez-vous. They are identified as aggressors and belittled by journalists, but recently this type of approach resulted in an administrative lawsuit. In 2010, São Paulo’s Justice Secretariat warned TV host Datena against homophobic discrimination on his show (Pirajá 2011, p. 95).

CONCLUSION José Luiz Datena, the journalist accused of homophobia, is a possible candidate in the 2016 race for mayor of Brazil’s biggest city. Apart from issues related to party-politics, representation policies also seem to be at

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stake. On one hand, it is arguable that RPDR – and the entire drag scene that grew around it – promotes some measure of assimilation and political whitewashing as it reaffirms neo-liberal values like patriotism and consumerism, while at the same time reassuring heterosexual viewers that drag queens are not a threat, but individuals who only wish for the same things that they do (Morrison 2014). On the other hand, even if it selectively endorses homo- and heteronormative politics, the show is imbued with the potential to insert LGBTQ political agendas into mainstream TV. After all, there is a visible consolidation of fandom that goes beyond geographic and cultural frontiers, a fact that cannot be underestimated in such a contradictory political context. Rebecca Foxx, the Brazilian drag queen, and an important character in a cultural scenario established through the influence of the show, believes that media artifacts like RPDR have the power to significantly change homophobic attitudes and behavior, even if the program does not deal directly with broader issues. Aesthetics, according to Rebecca, can also be political: “in the society we live in, stepping out of the house on heels and a wig is an act of great courage” (personal correspondence, December 2015). Without doubt, it is possible to notice change, such as the rise of “Drag-se”, a project headed by young queens in Rio de Janeiro’s drag scene, including Rebecca herself. With more than twelve thousand subscriptions on YouTube and twenty thousand likes on Facebook, “Dragse” offers a huge variety of web content, like musical performances, make up tutorials and a documentary destined to follow the lives of Rio’s drag queens. Some of these queens perform drag as hobby, others pursue drag for political questions, while others still do drag simply for personal fulfillment (or because they look better with makeup), with no intention to make drag a way of living.

REFERENCES Brooker, W. (2009). “Television out of time: Watching cult shows on download”. In R. Pearson (ed.) Reading Lost: Perspectives on a hit television show. (pp. 52– 72) London and New York: I. B. Tauris. Castellano, M. (2014). “Gosto cult: a proximidade velada entre o cinema de arte e a cultura trash”. Revista Eco-Pós, 17(3): 1–13. “Drag queen workshop de montagem”. Sesc SP, Available from http://www. sescsp.org.br/aulas/76391_DRAG+QUEEN. Accessed: November 2015.

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Duggan, L. (2002). “The new homonormativity: The sexual politics of neoliberalism.” In R. Castronovo & D. Nelson. (eds.) Materializing Democracy: Toward a Revitalized Cultural Politics (pp. 167–75). Durham, NC: Duke UP. Edgar, E.-A. (2011). “Xtravaganza!: Drag representation and articulation in RuPaul’s Drag Race”. Studies in Popular Culture, 34(1): 133–146. “Elas são loucas por RuPaul’s Drag Race”. UOL Diversão, Available from http:// virgula.uol.com.br/tvecinema/elas-sao-loucas-por-rupauls-drag-race-con heca-o-que-estas-garotas-ja-fizeram-pelo-reality-show/#img=1&galleryId= 923197. Accessed: November 2015. Foxx, R. (2015, December). Personal correspondence. Freire Filho, J. (2003). “Mídia, consumo cultural e estilo de vida na pós-modernidade”. ECO-PÓS, 6(1): 72–97. “Gay Parade reunites more than 3 million people, according to the organization” G1 SP. Available from http://g1.globo.com/sao-paulo/noticia/2010/06/ parada-gay-reuniu-mais-de-3-milhoes-de-pessoas-segundo-organizacao.html. Accessed: 7 June 2010. “Glitter” (2015). TV Diário, http://tvdiario.verdesmares.com.br. Accessed: 4 June 2015. Grupo Gay da Bahia (2012). Annual Report of Homosexual Murders in Brazil. Available from https://homofobiamata.wordpress.com/estatisticas/relator ios/2012-2/. Kellner, D. (1995). Media Culture: Cultural Studies, identity and politics between the modern and the post-modern. London and New York: Routledge. Lemaster, B. (2015). “Discontents of being and becoming fabulous on RuPaul’sDrag U: Queer criticism in neoliberal times”. Women’s Studies in Communication, 38(2): 167–186. “Logo saying GOODBYE to gay-themed programming”. Perez Hilton, Available from http://perezhilton.com/2012-03-05-logo-network-to-stop-featuringgay-focused-programming/?from=post#.V7hqMWWAvYU. Accessed: 3 May 2012. Meyer, M. (2005). The politics and poetics of camp. London and New York: Routledge. Morrison, J. (2014). “Draguating to normal: Camp and homonormative politics”. In J. Daems (ed.) The makeup of RuPaul’s Drag Race: Essays on the queen of reality show (pp. 124–147). Jefferson: McFarland. “O programa”. Academia de drags. Available from http://www.academiadedrags. com.br/oprograma.html. Accessed: November 2015. Pirajá, T. (2011). Das calçadas à tela da TV: representações de travestis em séries da Rede Globo. Dissertation, Universidade Federal da Bahia. RuPaul, C. (2010). Workin’it: RuPaul’s guide to life, liberty, and the pursuit of style. New York: Harper Collins.

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RuPaul, C. (2013, 9 March). Interview by Jason Wu. Interview. Available from http://www.interviewmagazine.com/culture/rupaul#. Accessed: November 2015. Scrivano, R., & Sorima Neto, J. (2015, 5 April). “In Brazil, LGBT consumption potential is estimated in R$ 419 billion”. O Globo, Available from http:// oglobo.globo.com/economia/potencial-de-compras-lgbt-estimado-em-419bilhoes-no-brasil-15785227. Accessed: 6 July 2015. Sontag, S. (1987). “Notas sobre o camp”. In S. Sontag (ed.) Contra a interpretação (pp. 318–337). São Paulo: L&PM. “Top 50 diversity figures in public life” (2015). Global Diversity List. Available from http://www.globaldiversitylist.com/top-50-diversity-figures-in-publiclife.html. Whitney, E. (2006). “Capitalizing on camp: greed and the queer marketplace”. Text and Performance Quarterly, 26(1): 36–46. Mayka Castellano is Professor of Media Studies at Universidade Federal Fluminense, Brazil, and holds a PhD in Communication and Culture from Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro. Castellano researches new forms of television consumption and sharing, especially in serialized and reality programming. Heitor Leal Machado has a master’s degree in Media, Social and Cultural Mediations at Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro. Machado holds an undergraduate degree in cinema studies and a MBA in Executive Production and Television Management.

Reception of Queer Content and Stereotypes Among Young People in Monterrey, Mexico: RuPaul’s Drag Race Nazar Ali de la Garza Villarreal, Carolina Valdez García and Grecia Karina Rodríguez Fernández Sexism, misogyny, homophobia, and male chauvinism are some of the features that usually characterize Mexican culture (Anguiano 2013). Despite the fact that in recent years relevant social changes have been taking place all over Mexico in pursuit of better integration of the lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, and queer (LGBTQ) community, high rates of discrimination toward this group remain, especially in Mexico’s northern cities. Nonetheless, younger generations have been first-hand spectators of, and the main participants in, these recent integration efforts, raising questions about a generation gap in considering the position of the LGBTQ community in Mexico. The main aim of this research was to study the reception of RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR) by young audiences living in Monterrey, Mexico, in order to analyze their acceptance of queer

N.A.d.l.G. Villarreal (*)
C.V. García
G.K.R. Fernández Universidad de Monterrey (UDEM), Monterrey, Mexico

© The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_13

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media content and their perceptions and opinions about queer stereotypes. It was assumed that, although the LGBTQ community might be accepted by the majority of our participants, male chauvinism would still play an important role in general reactions to each segment of RPDR’s content, such as the way the show’s contestants would be accepted or rejected, as well as how the queer community is stereotyped. However, it was also expected that RPDR could encourage the audience to consider new positions regarding the LGBTQ community, and that the level of acceptance toward the show, and therefore of its enjoyment, would be related to audience empathy for and identification with its contestants. In order to have a better understanding on how we arrived at these presumed relationships, it is important to first explore the role that male chauvinism plays in Mexican culture, and then describe some of the characteristics of Monterrey society. Moreover, Bandura’s (2001) social learning theory is used to explain how RPDR might, possibly, educate audiences, including their levels of empathy for and identification with (Igartua and Muñiz 2008) the show’s contestants.

MEXICAN CULTURE

AND THE

LGBTQ COMMUNITY

In 1971 the modern LGBTQ movement started in Mexico with the founding of the Gay Liberation Front, the first group to stand for homosexuals’ rights in the country. Moreover, Mexico’s first Pride parade occurred in 1979 in Mexico City; however, it wasn’t until 2001 that the city of Monterrey held its first Pride celebration (Jóvenes LGBT México 2015). Depending on the biological sex of every human being, even before birth, we attribute a number of cultural features that intend to determine the gender of the newborn. In case of Mexican culture, masculinity is often ingrained due to a culture of male chauvinism, and men and women grow up with its attendant characteristics and ideas. In the context of Mexico, a heterosexual man therefore usually grows up with the belief that he must avoid everything that is culturally related to what is feminine, including homosexuals (Anguiano 2013: 107). However, it is important to point out that because Mexican culture relates gay men with the feminine, this does not mean that gay men are excluded from having sexist attitudes. Since “emotional issues” are primarily related with femininity, gay men often also avoid such issues

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(Anguiano 2013). In this context, gay men become much more vulnerable to bigotry than lesbian women because, as Mercado (2009) states, “male homosexuality subverts much more the established order, the status quo, and morals because it goes directly against the standards established by the rules of a quasi-Victorian Mexican society” (p. 137). Based on these findings, it can be concluded that gay men who do not demonstrate feminine features are less likely to be discriminated against, meaning that transvestites and drag queens become the groups most vulnerable to discrimination within the queer community. Moreover, gay male characters in Mexican television have been mostly limited to comedy roles; some of the most famous Mexican actors and comedians have played stereotyped homosexual characters, occupying the world of fashion and style (Medina 2015). These kinds of portrayals do not help to promote inclusion, gender equality, or respect for minorities in Mexican culture.

MONTERREY SOCIETY The city of Monterrey is the capital of the state of Nuevo León, located in the northeast of Mexico, and its metropolitan area is comprised of eleven other cities. Greater Monterrey is the third largest city in Mexico, and it is known for its wealth, industrial activity, and a conservative society. According to the National Survey on Discrimination in Mexico of 2010, the difference between social classes causes great division among the people of Coahuila, Nuevo León and Tamaulipas (National Council to Prevent Discrimination 2011). Likewise, in a study conducted by Morrison and Morrison (2002), it was concluded “that negative attitudes towards homosexuality are highly correlated with the conservatism in the moral values” (cited in Moral and Valle 2011: 86). It is also pertinent to mention that 82.4% of the state’s population is Catholic (INEGI 2011). However, in recent years relevant social changes have taken place in pursuit of greater integration of Mexico’s LGBTQ community. In June 2015, The Supreme Court of Justice of the Nation proclaimed that banning gay marriage was considered unconstitutional (Excelsior 2015). Also, the three most important universities in Nuevo Leon approved establishing LGBTQ student associations. Although all of these developments indicate that the inclusion of the LGBTQ community is becoming

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an important matter for society, still, in 2014, the president of the National Council to Prevent Discrimination, Ricardo Bucio Mujica, revealed that the intolerance rate toward homosexuals in Monterrey was higher than the national average (Campos 2014).

RECEPTION THEORY

AND

RUPAUL’S DRAG RACE

Cultural studies arose from the need to explore the way different audiences read and give meaning to media messages within a particular society (Repoll 2010), the basis of which gave rise to the development of reception theory. Orozco (2003) explains reception theory as a multidisciplinary effort toward a better understanding of the multiple interactions, and their results, between different audience segments and diverse media content. Accordingly, Lozano (2007) states that the way media messages will be decoded depends, in each case, on the social and cultural differences of each segment. Although all participants in this study shared the same Mexican cultural heritage, our main interest was to understand how audiences understood queer media content and how the sex and sexual orientation of audience members informed this understanding. It is important to mention that this research was based on audience members’ first exposure to RPDR. In Mexico, only the first four seasons of RPDR were initially available on VH1. However, currently all seven seasons are available on Netflix. Given the global popularity of RPDR and its host, we hypothesized that, even if audiences are not familiar with RPDR, they could enjoy it. Moreover, even if audience members had strong conservative values, they could be lead to consider new positions; and that even if they happened to dislike the content, they could gain new knowledge about the meaning and implications of being a drag queen.

SOCIAL LEARNING THEORY AND IDENTIFICATION WITH CONTESTANTS A way of explaining how RPDR may in fact teach audiences is through social learning theory, which states “that we learn social behavior by observing and imitating, and throughout rewards and punishments” (Myers 2005: 392). Albert Bandura (2001), the leading exponent of social

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learning theory, argues that it is easier to learn and reproduce behaviors that have been previously observed in someone else. Additionally, Bandura asserts that learning is linked to conditioning and reinforcement processes, and that behavior can only be understood when considering all the different aspects of our social environment (cited in Lozano 2007). “Social learning is a vehicle influenced by family, culture, and media” (Myers 2005: 392); thus, Bandura believes that life exposes us to different models of behavior, which are taught and learned continuously throughout generations. Hence, it is expected that, although everybody is born immersed within a culture and everything that a culture entails, content like RPDR might present new behavior models to its audiences, and reinforce tolerant positions. However, since it was the first time the participants in this research were exposed to RPDR, and because short content segments were shown, we also considered that the environment created among the participants would play an important role in discussions. Likewise, we also considered a multidimensional framework of content reception, comprised of the psychological processes of: (a) emotional empathy, or the ability to feel what characters feel, feel concern for them, and feel with them; (b) cognitive empathy, the ability to understand, or to take the place of protagonists; (c) the experience of becoming a character and a loss of self-consciousness; and (d) personal attraction to the characters (Igartua and Muñiz 2008). Additionally, “Cohen has suggested that because empathy is a central component of identification with characters, it is likely that a greater identification with the protagonists leads to a greater enjoyment of the messages” (cited in Igartua and Muñiz 2008: 35). Therefore, we anticipated that our participants’ sex and sexual orientation would play a decisive role in how RPDR would be perceived and accepted. Also, we expected that this framework would help detect specific factors involved in the creation of empathetic bonds between participants and the show’s contestants.

METHOD As a way of applying reception theory, three discussion groups were held with five or six participants in each. Groups were segmented by sex and sexual orientation: heterosexual women, heterosexual men, and

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homosexual men. All participants were young adults between the ages of 18 and 24; they currently live in metropolitan Monterrey; they are uppermiddle-class college graduates or are currently studying; and none had seen RPDR before. Although this study does not provide statistical results or make generalizations about the way audiences read media, the purpose of choosing a qualitative method was to discover real symbolic information through the discussion of different opinions (Orozco 2003). We decided on this way of segmenting our participants in order to allow for a more open dialogue; we assumed that by maintaining codes used to define sexes and sexual preferences, we could encourage more honest and personal discussions within the groups. We chose the age range and educational level of our participants because of our aim of inquiring into the opinions of young Mexicans, and in consideration of recently formed LGBTQ associations in Monterrey’s main universities. Furthermore, because social class, conservatism, and religion can be related to discriminative behavior in some cases, only upper middle class participants were selected for this study. We prepared a series of questions to guide discussions around three main topics: the content of RPDR, its contestants, and LGBTQ stereotypes. Before starting each session, all participants answered a personal questionnaire in order for us to gather background information about their positions on the LGBTQ community. Furthermore, after starting each discussion group with some introductory questions, we showed edited versions of two RPDR episodes; thus, the discussions that followed related to what our participants had just seen. The episodes selected were “Snatch Game” (S4, E5), and “Drag My Wedding” (S6, E10). These two episodes were chosen for the main challenges they entailed, and for the dialogue occurring among the contestants, both of which we felt would trigger revealing discussions among our participants. The main challenge of “Drag My Wedding” consists of turning heterosexual men into “blushing brides”. We chose the episode for the conversation that takes place behind the scenes, of an athlete talking about how his friends will react when they see him dressed as a woman, and of how heterosexual men treat gay men in locker rooms. “Snatch Game” was chosen not only because this challenge has been a RPDR tradition since its second season, but also because of the level of seriousness the drag queens demonstrate putting into their work in this particular challenge. All discussion groups took place during October of 2015 and involved a total of sixteen participants. All sessions, which were conducted in

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Spanish, were recorded and transcribed afterward. The following results compare the perceptions and opinions of each discussion group. The codes that identify each participant are as follows: “W” signifies a woman, “HO” a homosexual man, and “HE” a heterosexual man; the number following each code differentiates each participant within a group.

RESULTS Reception of RPDR Heterosexual groups reacted more positively to the material shown of RPDR. Although only two of the five heterosexual men said they would continue watching the program, they were enthusiastic when watching the show and said there was nothing in particular they disliked about it. Three out of five straight men and participant HO2 said they did not like the fact that RPDR was a reality show, as it is a TV genre they generally do not enjoy. The fact that their dislike was not related specifically to drag queens, but rather the format of the show, could mean their openness to queer themes in other kinds of formats. Before watching the episodes, all participants said they expected the content to be entertaining, although none of the heterosexual men knew anything about RuPaul, and had only a vague idea of what a drag queen is. On the other hand, half of the women did know who RuPaul is and had a general knowledge of the characteristics of a drag queen. In the group of homosexual men, only one participant did not know of RuPaul. Furthermore, when asked if they knew what a drag queen is, their responses seemed accurate at first, but further conversation showed their confusion between transgender individuals and drag queens. As an example: HO3:

I mean it is totally different to being gay, you know? It is really another letter of the LGBTQ, you know? It is the T.

All women respondents stated that they would probably continue watching the program. Although most heterosexual men said they would not continue watching the program, when asked how much they enjoyed it, heterosexual men and women mentioned different moments of both episodes as particularly appealing. On the other hand, the homosexual male group was the one group that demonstrated the greatest rejection of the content: three of five men said that they found the show interesting,

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but when asked if they would continue watching it, only two answered affirmatively. Also, three of the five participants in this group described the program as superficial and without a real message. HO1: HO2: HO5:

I think it’s a very cold show, a lot of superficiality [ . . . ] I don’t think it has a real message, to be honest. I think the show is very hollow. The point is to sell, stuff that make people laugh and distracts them.

Moreover, both heterosexual groups mentioned that the program’s messages were about loving yourself and positive self-esteem. Moreover, both groups described the contestants as pleasant, fun and dynamic. HE3: HE4: W4:

I liked all the energy they all have. Really cool. Watching drags on their everyday, [it] makes you realize they’re just the same as everybody else. It has many messages of self-esteem. It’s like, “accept yourself”. If you consider that you’re comfortable with this, there are no barriers.

Additionally, while the heterosexual men were the ones who learned the most about drag queens after watching the show, all the homosexual men concluded that they hadn’t learned or changed their perceptions about anything. The group of women had mixed opinions: some had their knowledge about queer culture reinforced, while four out of six said that they were able to appreciate the art of drag and understand all the effort it involves to a much greater extent.

ACCEPTANCE AND REJECTION

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CONTESTANTS

The general perception of the RPDR contestants was similar in the three groups: everyone agreed that they were funny, cheerful, outgoing, and confident. But, while the gay male participants focused only on these characteristics, both heterosexual groups discussed the contestants’ authenticity and passion shown for their work. W2:

I like them all because of their personality, how free they are and how much they enjoy transmitting their feelings.

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Besides giving their opinions on the contestants, two participants in the heterosexual male group deepened in their comments on the personal situations the contestants could have gone through earlier in their lives. In this discussion, the participants talked about the courage needed for the contestants to be drag queens without caring about others’ opinions. HE3:

HE5:

I guess many of them must have had a lot to overcome to be how they are now. They do what they like, and they don’t care what anybody else thinks . . . and I think that’s good. If in itself being gay nowadays is difficult [ . . . ] now being gay and wanting to be a performer [ . . . ] becomes more difficult. I feel that it was very difficult for them to accept themselves in the times in which they grew up, [ . . . ] so I see them as very brave.

On the other hand, and as expected, heterosexual men justified their answers more when asked if they found any of the contestants attractive. Most indicated that some of the contestants’ features, such as their hands, back, or voice, were characteristics that clearly gave them away as men. HE2:

They were fine and all, but I could never stop thinking anyway that they were only men dressed as a woman, and that’s it.

Chad Michaels and Latrice Royale (S4) were most mentioned as “favorite characters” within all three groups. While Chad was distinguished for her consistency and accuracy in impersonating the celebrity Cher during “Snatch Game”, Latrice was noted for her professionalism and her amazing transformations. W2: HE1:

It was like watching Cher, and how she speaks, and the wigs and the person. He talked all serious and then changed, and he did look like a woman. If I saw him on the street I wouldn’t think he is a man, I mean, the change was very intense.

On the contrary, the characters least liked were generally Milan and Jiggly Caliente. In all groups, Jiggly’s poor performance and lack of professionalism while impersonating Snooki (of Jersey Shore) during the Snatch Game was mentioned. Also, both heterosexual groups agreed that Milan was the least original character because she wore a man’s suit during her final runway challenge. However, surprising is that the group of gay men

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emphasized their dislike of RuPaul over any of the show’s contestants, since they considered him very superficial. HE3: HO1: HO5:

He looked like a man disguised as anything but no, he didn’t looked like . . . I mean, you couldn’t say he was a drag queen. I didn’t like RuPaul. He’s very obnoxious. Finally, drag is like very superfluous, you know, the idea of dressing like a woman is not something real, it’s something superfluous.

When all participants were asked if they felt they had identified with any of the contestants, all but one participant answered negatively. Although the responses from the heterosexual groups were no surprise, we assumed that most gay men would somehow relate to scenes where the contestants share their life stories about the difficulties of being gay men. However, only one participant of this group displayed character identification when recalling a scene in which Bianca Del Rio (S6) is pleased to have made a new heterosexual friend. HO1:

HO2:

It’s very hard sometimes to have heterosexual friends because sometimes they think you approach them because of interest, but once you have them [as friends] you know it’s because they’ll accept you as you are. Honestly, I could not feel identification with any character at all.

Although all participants within the heterosexual groups also answered negatively to the same question, they clarified that the lack of identification with the contestants was probably due to the short time they were exposed to the show. In both heterosexual groups it was suggested that identification could be possible if they watched more episodes, something that was not mentioned in the group of gay men at all. HE1: HE5: W6:

We didn’t get to know their personality. No, we hardly get to really know anyone. Maybe I would need to see more episodes.

Likewise, when asked in which moment they had felt more empathy for the contestants, most gay men agreed that it was when contestants competed in the runway competition. On the other hand, both heterosexual groups’ responses were quite similar. Discussed was the scene

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in which Courtney Act (S6) faces one of the show’s guests and talks about the coexistence of gay and straight men in locker rooms. Participants in both groups said that they agreed with Courtney, in that gay men should be free to express their sexuality without implying that they are attracted to all other men. Additionally, the women’s group also mentioned the scene in which Bianca del Rio is pleased with having made a new heterosexual friend. They agreed that gay men have a better chance of relating to, or becoming friends with, heterosexual women than heterosexual men. W5:

After all, it will always be easier for them to relate with women anyway; as there are more interests involved, or things in common [ . . . ] it is much more difficult for them and for heterosexual men to be able to say “oh, it’s a drag queen, I don’t care, he’s my friend.

The three groups mentioned this same scene again when asked which scene had caused them the greater impact. However, one participant of the group of gay men said that the scene was sad for him, as he had no difficulty making heterosexual friends. HO5:

In real life I have no problem, I make straight friends as I do popcorn [ . . . ] I’ve never even thought about it like, “wow, a heterosexual is talking to me”. So it did seem to me like, “what’s in your head that you feel so bad or you feel so excluded?” It was a little sad.

On the contrary, when asked about the moment for which they felt less empathy, most gay men mentioned all the scenes in which RuPaul appeared, since they said he tends to get all the attention. The group of heterosexual men mentioned the moment in which the heterosexual guests arrived in order to become drag queens. HE2:

You could tell that some were not aware of what they were going to do. It was like, it would bother me a lot if they take me to something like that without telling me.

Finally, all three groups agreed with RuPaul’s philosophy of drag being an art form. Additionally, all participants said that they would have no problem establishing a relationship with a drag queen.

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MONTERREY

AND THE

LGBTQ COMMUNITY

When asked about the representativeness of the LGBTQ community in RPDR, all participants said that it only represented a small sector of the community. While the group of gay men also noted that RPDR did not represent the Latino community, the group of women emphasized that reality shows are never totally reliable. Likewise, the group of heterosexual men also thought RPDR did not reflect the true nature of the whole community, stating that a TV show can never really represent people anyway. W2: HO1:

What reality show, whatever its theme, is not exaggerated and overdramatic? I mean, at the end it is still a TV show. Maybe only a certain segment of the queer community in the US, but not in general.

Moreover, it was discussed whether or not RPDR could help spread or reinforce tolerance toward the LGBTQ community. The heterosexual men concluded that the show was aimed at people who are already tolerant, since tolerance is taught at home and within social groups. On the other hand, the women agreed that it does help if audiences get to know more about drag queens, their struggles and efforts, and the ways these aspects of the show facilitate inclusiveness. HE2:

HE3: W4:

I think that if a person is already tolerant, whether he sees the show or not, he’ll keep being tolerant. And a person who’s not tolerant [ . . . ] can maybe get a wrong idea, and based on the show, stereotype the whole community [ . . . ] [ . . . ] I agree. If intolerant people get to see this show, I think they could get even less tolerant [ . . . ] I think it depends on who sees it. I think it helps to get to know them [ . . . ] then to be able to have a point of view in favor or against [ . . . ] but anyway, I think it does open your mind, and can help to have more positive acceptance.

Opinions were divided regarding this matter in the group of gay men. Even though the participants all agreed that RPDR helps create visibility for a minority, and that some aspect of the show demonstrate that drag queens are just like anybody else, most participants in this group also maintained that RPDR did not helped spread tolerance or respect for

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the LGBTQ community, due to the way the contestants ridicule each other. HO1: HO2:

HO5:

I think that even if they make fun of our community by being so extravagant, for me it’s fine to joke about ourselves. I think it creates visibility [ . . . ] but the part where they have to denigrate themselves, I don’t think it helps create tolerance or respect for our community; on the contrary, I think it creates more prejudice and mockery. I don’t know; I think it depends on who sees it [ . . . ] there are also conservative people, and I don’t know if this [show] can create tolerance.

However, when asked to expand on the aspects of RPDR they considered denigrating for the contestants, the group of gay men concluded that the main reason is because it is a reality TV show, and not because of its themes. HO2:

HO3:

It’s like “forget who’s watching, just make people laugh, tell jokes, and we’ll reward you” [ . . . ] Reality shows aim to denigrate people for an audience who is only looking for something to laugh about [...] But they will always denigrate the contestants in any reality show. The judges will always look for a way to make you feel less, because that is what sells and gives rating.

Moreover, this group mentioned that the show was aimed at people who like “faggy things”, and that the difference between a gay man and a “fag” is someone who prefers to be extravagant and who has feminine attitudes, in the latter case. Finally, when discussing the actual situation of Monterrey’s LGBTQ community, all groups concluded that they live in a society that not only discriminates against homosexuals, but also against women, the disabled, the poor, and other ethnicities. However, all groups also mentioned that Monterrey is becoming a more inclusive society, although moving at a slow pace. All groups attributed this to generational changes, agreeing that their parents or grandparents would not like RPDR. All groups assured us that there is an important difference in the perceptions of younger people nowadays, as compared to the perceptions of older generations.

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CONCLUSION High rates of discrimination toward Monterrey’s LGBTQ community do not match the general opinions of the participants in this study. This discrepancy indeed suggests the existence of a generation gap in ways of thinking about and accepting the LGBTQ community in this city. Segmentation of audiences is crucial to achieving concrete results in discussion groups, since decoding messages depends on social and cultural differences within each target group (Repoll 2010). Thus, although we expected that the production of meaning would be different in each segment, we assumed that sex would be the determining factor. However, the main differences in reception of RPDR were due to the sexual orientation of the participants. Both heterosexual groups had more similar opinions, while the group of gay men was notable for its apathy and rejection of the content. Because of Mexican male chauvinism, we expected heterosexual men to demonstrate greater rejection of RPDR’s contestants and content in general. However, this group showed greater enjoyment than the group of gay men when watching the show. Also, we thought that identification with characters would help in detecting specific factors involved in the creation of empathy bonds between the audience and protagonists of RPDR. However, we did not find that acceptance of the contestants was related to direct identification with them, although empathy did play a key role in this. Cohen (2001) defines identification with characters as “a mechanism through which the narrative is experienced from within, because of the creation of an empathetic reaction towards the protagonists” (cited in Igartua 2008: 43). Accordingly, we thought that gay men would feel greater identification with RPDR’s contestants due to sharing the same sexual orientation. However, although RPDR shows scenes in which the contestants share life stories about the difficulties of being gay, only one gay participant admitted to feeling identification. Furthermore, identification with characters as established by Igartua and Muñiz (2008), is also considered to be a multidimensional construct comprising different psychological processes. In this regard, we believed that most of our gay participants would feel emotional empathy (feel what the characters feel), and that only some of our heterosexual participants would feel cognitive empathy (to be able to understand; to take the place of the protagonists). Nonetheless, although all participants showed cognitive empathy at some point, only one gay participant showed emotional empathy.

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We did not expect heterosexual men to be more empathetic to the problems expressed by RPDR’s protagonists, nor that the group of gay men was most hostile toward them and therefore, the group that least enjoyed the show. Based on these findings we suggest that, contrary to what Cohen (2001) argues, greater identification with a protagonist does not necessarily lead to greater enjoyment of messages. Additionally, Myers (2005) argues that stereotypes can support prejudices and, in turn, provide sources of discriminatory behavior. Although participants in our heterosexual groups did not demonstrate substantial prejudice against the LGBTQ community, the group of gay men’s rejection of RPDR’s content suggests a fear of being confused with drag queens due to sharing the same sexual orientation, as well as both gay men in general and RPDR’s drag queens belonging to the LGBTQ community. This behavior can also be associated with Mexican male chauvinism. Anguiano (2013) argues that Mexican culture often associates being gay with femininity, and that gay men are not exempt from macho attitudes. This was clearly demonstrated in the group of gay men’s need to differentiate themselves from RPDR’s drag queens, when they mentioned that RPDR is aimed at people who like “faggy” things, and that the show reinforces gay stereotypes. Additionally, this was the only group to describe RuPaul as superficial, and four of its five participants named RuPaul their least favorite character. All of these comments support the idea that gay Mexican men, because of Mexican culture, feel they are not allowed to be feminine because of their sexual preference. On the other hand, we also expected that RPDR could somehow teach audiences about, or make them consider, new positions toward the LGBTQ community. Although there was no outright intolerance in any group, RPDR did teach some participants about drag queens, their lives and their work. Additionally, considering social learning theory maintains that learning is linked to conditioning and reinforcement processes within our social environment (Lozano 2007), we suggest that nowadays there is a form of social punishment of young people who demonstrate homophobic attitudes. Also worth mentioning is that most of our participants study in universities with student LGBTQ associations. Even as these associations have been created recently, they suggest that Mexico’s LGBTQ community has an increasingly important presence within the social environment of the majority. Furthermore, given that only one participant from each of the heterosexual groups claimed to not have

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any LGBTQ friends, this indicates that the inclusion of the community has become increasingly normal behavior among Mexican students. Our group of gay male participants appeared to have more stereotyped thoughts about RPDR’s drag queens than the other groups. A subsequent study could therefore look even further into the opinions of Mexican gay men about other subgroups within Mexico’s larger LGBTQ community. Finally, since our gay male participants displayed the greatest dislike of RPDR for its reality format, we suggest further research into how gay men’s perceptions of LGBTQ themes may vary according to genre.

REFERENCES Anguiano, F. (2013). La influencia en los estereotipos de género en los hombres gay. In Tejiendo Género desde la perspectiva teóricas y testimonios,105–116. Retrieved September 7, 2015 from http://archivo.nl.gob.mx/pics/pages/ iem_publicaciones_base/tejiendogenero-iem.pdf#page=105. Bandura, A. (2001). Social cognitive theory of mass communication. Media Psychology, 3(3), 265–299. Campos, L. (2014, August 11). Monterrey, la ciudad que más discrimina en el país: Conapred. Proceso. Retrieved April 13, 2015, from http://www.proceso. com.mx/379343 Cohen, J. (2001). Defining identification: A theoretical look at the identification of audiences with media characters. Mass Communication & Society, 4(3), 245– 264. Retrieved October 5, 2015. Excélsior. (2015). Abre Corte la puerta a matrimonio gay en todo el país. Excélsior. Retrieved October 23, 2015 from http://www.excelsior.com.mx/nacional/ 2015/06/14/1029322 Igartua, J. (2008). Identificación con los personajes y persuasión incidental a través de la ficción cinematográfica. Escritos de Psicología,2(1), 42–53. Retrieved October 4, 2015 from http://www.escritosdepsicologia.es/descargas/revis tas/vol2_1/escritospsicologia_v2_1_4identificacion.pdf Igartua, J., & Muñiz, C. (2008). Identificación con los personajes y disfrute ante largometrajes de ficción. Una investigación empírica. Comunicación y Sociedad, 21(1), 25–52. Retrieved October 6, 2015. INEGI. (2011). “Panorama de las religiones en México 2010” [PDF document]. Retrieved 14September 2015 from http://www.inegi.org.mx/prod_serv/con tenidos/espanol/bvinegi/productos/censos/poblacion/2010/panora_reli gion/religiones_2010.pdf Lozano, J. (2007). Teoría e investigación de la comunicación de masas (2nd ed.) (L. Figueroa, Ed.). México: Pearson Educación.

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Medina, A. (2015). Representación social de los homosexuales en los medios de comunicación: Devenir, estigmas y la lucha por la igualdad (1st ed.). México: Universidad Autónoma de la Ciudad de México. Mercado, J. (2009). Intolerancia a la diversidad sexual y crímenes por homofobia. Un análisis sociológico. Sociológica, 24(69), 123–156. Retrieved September 4, 2015, from http://www.redalyc.org/articulo.oa?id=305024672007 Jóvenes LGBT México. (2015). “Historia del Movimiento LGBT”. Retrieved 4 September 2015 from http://joveneslgbtmexico.org/historia-del-movi miento-lgbt.html Moral, J., & Valle, A. (2011). Validación de la Escala Mexicana de Homofobia EHF-6. Psicología Iberamericana,19(1), 80–88. Retrieved October 24, 2015, from http://www.redalyc.org/articulo.oa?id=133920896009 Morrison, M. & Morrison, T. (2002). Development and validation of a scale measuring modern prejudice toward gay men and lesbian women. Journal of Homosexuality, 43(2), 15–37. Myers, D. (2005). Psicología Social (8th ed.). México: McGraw-Hill Interamericana. National Council to Prevent Discrimination. (2011). National Survey on Discrimination in Mexico - Enadis 2010. Retrieved from http://www.con apred.org.mx/userfiles/files/ENADIS-2010-Eng-OverallResults-NoAccss. pdf Orozco, G. (2003). Los estudios de recepción: de un modo de investigar, a una moda, y de ahí a mucho modos. Intexto, 2(9), 1–13. Retrieved September 5, 2015, from http://www.seer.ufrgs.br/intexto/article/viewFile/3629/4400. Repoll, J. (2010). Arqueología de los estudios culturales de audiencia (1st ed.). México: Universidad Autónoma de la Ciudad de México. Nazar Ali De La Garza Villarreal is a high school teacher in Mexico. She holds a minor in organizational communication and a technical degree as a bilingual instructor. Carolina Valdez García holds a diploma in filmmaking from the New York Film Academy. She wrote and directed the LGBTQ themed short-cut called “Special Day”, is a community manager at a marketing agency, as well as a theater actor. Grecia Karina Rodríguez Fernández is a producer and photography director of the LGBTQ-themed short-cut “Special Day”. Rodríguez Fernández is pursuing a minor in advertising, and is working in human resources.

Mainstreaming the Transgressive: Greek Audiences’ Readings of Drag Culture Through the Consumption of RuPaul’s Drag Race Despina Chronaki This chapter is a first attempt to map Greek audiences’ reception of RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR) and their responses towards drag culture more broadly. Therefore, this account is mostly illustrative of people who have been raised in a culture where orthodox religion is still prevalent. Thus, one may assume that attitudes towards sexuality are generally put in the same context (Mappa 1997; Georgiadou and Nikolakopoulos 2002). My aim is to explore the narratives of both gay and straight people in Greece about drag culture and drag celebrity especially within a context where homosexuality is understood as discomforting at best, and an abnormal sexual identity at worst. Working within a social constructionist perspective of sexuality, informed by the Foucauldian approach to sexuality as a discourse understood and deployed within the context of selfgovernmentality (Chronaki 2013), I want to explore the narratives through which Greek audiences understand drag culture generally and RPDR specifically. This study falls under the paradigm of audience D. Chronaki (*) National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, Athens, Greece

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reception studies within cultural studies, namely in terms of trying to understand how homonormative and gendered identities are constructed and deconstructed by specific audiences.

RPDR: AN “AUTHENTIC” REALITY SHOW RPDR can been described as an amalgam of America’s Next Top Model and Project Runaway and features many of the elements of a typical reality show. Reality programming engages real people and their attempt to rise in the public space and compete among each other for a prize (Hill 2005). It also places considerable attention on how participants project professionalism, creativity and talent. The claim to realness (Winston 1995), a significant element of any reality show, is fulfilled by contestants’ emotional moments where they share personal stories with their fellow participants and, of course, with the audience. Popular reality shows like Big Brother, Survivor, Fame Story and X Factor are popular in Greece too, and while domestic research is still scarse, scholars elsewhere frequently draw upon their quantifiable popularity in their accounts of modes of audienceship (Hill 2005). RPDR, however, is not broadcast in Greece and so is only available online to those willing to search for it.

THE PROLIFERATION OF GAY CULTURE IN GREECE AND THE APPEARANCE OF DRAG RPDR has formally introduced drag culture, and more specifically celebrity drag, to Greek audiences. During fall 2015, the particular moment of writing this chapter, the Greek parliament voted in favor of the recognition of civil partnerships, including partnerships within the LGBTQ (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans and Queer) community. Although attitudes and norms about homosexuality have changed over the years, LGBTQ life in Greece is still largely hidden and marginalized. However, gay people in Greece have quickly moved from secrecy to forming longterm, romantic relationships as an aspect of homonormativity (Duggan 2002), which is more easily accepted in a dominantly heterosexual society. Since the late 1970s Greek audiences have had some exposure to female impersonation such as Giorgos Marinos (from the 1970s to the 1990s) and later on, Takis Zacharatos (from the late 1980s to present). Both performed in front of large audiences in popular Athens’ nightclubs and were seen

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favorably by Greeks. Their shows could not emerge until after the mid1970s because of the reality and aftermath of Greece’s 1965 to 1974 military dictatorship. The emergence and inclusion of mainly female impersonations could also be located within the political context of the “woman question” in Greece. Briefly, during the Greek civil war (1946–1949), mass sexual violence was used to coerce women on the left, while communist women were depicted as “the mothers of the nation” (Psarra 2007). Years later, the collapse of the dictatorship heralded a period of democratization in Greece, wherein the left experienced a political renaissance and re-empowerment. A renewed left brought the “woman question” into the mainstream of liberal democratic discourse. This political change further generated social and cultural changes in respect to public negotiation of the female figure and identity (see Tsaliki and Chronaki 2015). Greek’s early female impersonators are homosexuals, but they never negotiated their sexual identity publicly because of its negative connotations with abnormality and “unnaturalness” in the Greek context (Chronaki 2014). At the height of success, public confession of one’s homosexuality would result in social and public condemnation and therefore a loss of success. Their performances included both female and male impersonations without preferring one persona, as is often the case with contemporary drag queens. It was thus these artists’ performances that introduced Greek audiences to female impersonation. In Greece, being homosexual was kept secret until recently. Greek audiences are becoming familiarized with the general idea of homosexuality and there are a number of factors contributing to this change. First, the proliferation of US television series and movies in Greece (Tsaliki and Chronaki 2016) provided a number of diverse representations of homosexuality and relations between people of the same sex. In parallel, since the 1980s gay destinations like Mykonos have become increasingly glamorous for global LGBTQ tourism, as they facilitate a luxurious, cosmopolitan and sexually fluid lifestyle. These changes were made possible by broader shifts in Greek political and cultural life. Additionally, the second socialist administration in the 1980s changed not only the availability of media in Greece (allowing for the creation of private broadcasting), but it also contributed to such social and cultural changes. Finally, in entering the European Economic Union, Greece become more extroverted in its relations towards the West (Tsaliki 1997). These changes created a site for consuming diverse cultural representations of lifestyle, sexuality and taste that were occasionally illustrated in

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Greek TV and film. Prior to this, the effeminate male figure had been present in Greek filmography since the 1950s (Diamantopoulos 2011). He was usually a comedic character and would appear caricatured as a buffoon (Chatzitryfon 2007). Nevertheless, the homosexual figure was associated with indecency and immorality and his presence frequently led to film censorship (Kyriakos 2001). Diamantopoulos (2011) argues that between 1955 and 1975, the figure of the homosexual was stereotyped: he was loud, buffoonish and sarcastic. He was also effeminate and usually occupied feminine professions (e.g. dressmaker, hair-stylist) (Theodorakopoulos 1982), but most significantly he was presented as asexual (Kyriakos 2001). For example, the 1990s popular sitcom The Despicables (Aparadektoi) introduced a gay male figure (Yiannis) whose homosexuality was signified through his mannerisms, voice, sophisticated taste and fashion expertise, but whose sexuality was never explicitly asserted. So restricted was the portrayal of overt homosexuality in Greek media that, in 2003, Greece’s media regulation body issued a fine against a prime time drama series because of a kissing scene between a gay couple. Television drama is a very popular and well-established TV genre and is an umbrella genre including the subgenres of science fiction/fantasy, hospital, teen, soap opera, action/ adventure or comedy. Its popularity is much related to the fact that it cuts across these different subgenres (Bell 2013). Drama (especially in Europe) constitutes a fictional media genre usually written by a single writer and is planned in short seasons of weekly episodes. In the USA, however, also given the increase of drama series the last ten years, it is not unusual that there is a team instead of a single writer (Ellis 2004). In terms of structure, it is defined by three elements, including the characters upon which the plot is built, the setting and its overall narrative. Moreover, when it comes to the narrative, television dramas usually revolve around the fictional retelling of real life stories or characters (Bell 2013). Until 1980, all gay characters in Greek media appeared in comedy; the first dramatic character appeared in a 1982 film “Angelos”, based on the true story of a gay man who killed his partner, a pimp who forced him to prostitution as a transsexual and then dumped him because of his homosexuality. This was a crucial point at which Greek audiences began sympathizing with gay people and started considering the LGBTQ community more seriously than with ridicule (Soldatos 1991). Additionally, the 2009 film “Strella” was based on the true story of a transsexual, although the homosexual figure in mainstream Greek television is still predominantly that of the “sissy” (Ziras 2004).

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On another level, there has been a proliferation of drag culture in Greece. Although drag is not a well-paid job (Taylor and Rupp 2005), in Greece the profession carries additional stigma. As one female (27) participant puts it: “There is a perception about drag queens in Greece of being a transgendered or transsexual whore, or something like that anyway, unfortunately. It’s not just an entertainer or a celebrity”. Today there is one drag club in Athens, “Koukles” (Dolls), and it is a popular nightlife destination. However, drag culture is still considered a subculture, and drag queens, not always as professional as their US counterparts, are perceived as minstrels at best, and with ridicule at worst (Magubane 2002). Although Koukles’ prices for shows are quite high in order to be acknowledged as a legitimate part of Athens nightlife, the shows are still is considered to be burlesque and carnivalesque. As such, in Greece we cannot yet talk about wide recognition of drag culture to the same extent as in the UK and USA. In addition, although the homosexual figure is becoming more and more visible in Greek media, we are quite far from seeing RPDR become part of the TV schedule. Therefore this chapter is based on accounts of people who have watched RPDR online and know about it from friends living abroad or from a few articles online.

METHODOLOGICAL NOTE To conduct this study I interviewed 32 people whom I recruited via snowballing and posts about my research on the Facebook page for Greek fans of RPDR. All participants are Greek nationals, although some were living abroad at the time of research. I conducted semi-structured interviews based on a schedule that includes issues about participants’ taste in the show, their engagement with drag culture and their perception of drag culture within Greek popular culture. For example, I asked whether they had ever been to a drag show, which RPDR characters they liked or disliked, their perceptions of RuPaul both as a drag queen and as host of the show, and their ideas about whether RPDR would be welcomed by larger audiences in Greece. I interviewed eleven (11) heterosexual women aged 27–44; two (2) bisexual women aged 24 and 18; one (1) heterosexual man aged 37; fifteen (15) homosexual men 21–40 years old; and three (3) bisexual men 18–32 years old. Nineteen (19) out of thirty (30) participants are in their 20s, while eleven (11) are in their thirties, and two (2) in their

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forties. Eleven (11) participants are white-collar employees in the private sector; six (6) are self-employed; and ten (10) are undergraduate or postgraduate students (some of whom are employed as well), while two (2) work as researchers. Interestingly, twenty participants have seen a live drag show at least once, while most of those who have not have heard about “Koukles” and expressed an interest in going. Predominantly, those who have attended a live show are gay or bisexuals and some of these participants have attended live shows abroad too. I was surprised by the fact that three of my participants identified themselves as drag queens. The participant sample of this study is diverse and should provide an idea of how different audiences’ sexuality and age inform their talk about RPDR and drag culture more broadly. Also, the fact that almost all participants occupy professional positions of a certain socioeconomic status suggests that, to an extent, assumptions that reality shows are “cheap” and “trashy” – even more the case when non-normative contestants are involved – are not necessarily valid. In her study of reality show audiences Hill (2005, p. 85) notes that the reality genre has been stigmatized by the popular press, which in turn possibly informed her respondents’ views about the genre, who were “making light of the idea of learning from reality programming”. Nevertheless, although there have been references to the low cultural significance of the show, the participants mostly positioned respectively to the contestants’ talent, the aesthetics of the show and its transgressive nature as perceived in the Greek context.

EXPERIENCES

WITH

LIVE DRAG SHOWS

As mentioned, most participants who identified themselves as homosexuals have attended live drag shows. Therefore, my discussion here is based on homosexual and bisexual participants’ accounts. The rest of the participants mentioned that they have either heard about drag shows (at “Koukles” specifically) or said that they have never been to one: I’ve never been to a show. I know about “Koukles” club, and some friends who went to the show told me it’s very entertaining. They had fun. (Female, 44, heterosexual)

Of those who have attended live shows, some mentioned having done so on Mykonos, a popular gay Greek destination for the past thirty years. Apart from long-standing gay clubs, Mykonos has hotels that target

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mostly gay people by organizing drag shows and gay parties. Although not a homosexual man, one participant speaks enthusiastically of the entertaining and highly artistic value of the drag shows there: I’ve been to quite some, shows mainly in Mykonos. I have a marvelous time and I’m always astonished by drag queens’ talent and energy in interacting with their audiences. (Female, 33, heterosexual)

This participant acknowledges the professionalism of drag queens by commenting on the value of their performance. Another participant, though, reflects critically on the artistic value of “Koukles” shows by projecting a sophisticated, discriminating identity and by asserting expertise in terms of what counts as a good drag show. This participant has seen a lot of shows in New York, which possibly informs his self-representation of taste and expertise: I’ve been to shows in Lips and the Industry club in New York, and in Koukles as well, if that counts as a drag show. I also know two Greek drag queens personally. (Male, 33, homosexual)

In projecting a cosmopolitan self, the fact that this participant has seen popular and supposedly “the best” drag shows adds a sense of legitimacy to his argument about drag show culture. Moreover, his mentioning that he knows two drag queens might serve the same purpose. In a similar account but from a different perspective, another male participant talks about being reluctant to attend a Greek drag show that he anticipated it to be quite bad and trashy: The first time I went to Koukles I thought it would be trash, that was years ago. We had had pot and I remember that because it was a bit empty we were seated at the front tables. “Sometimes I feel like a motherless child” was the first song of the show and I remember myself with my mouth open. These girls were so beautiful, shining on stage and so talented! A few years later we went to one of New York’s most expensive drag shows and saw Bianca del Rio, before her participation in RPDR. (Male, 26, homosexual)

To his surprise – as he himself mentions – this participant enjoyed the aesthetic pleasure the show offered and accounted for the “beauty, nerve and talent” of the Greek drag queens, conveying some of the exact

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elements that, according to RuPaul, make for a successful drag queen. To acknowledge the quality of the show, and to make legitimate observations about it, he also asserts a sophisticated knowledge about drag shows as a result of his having seen popular and expensive ones in New York. In a sense, these participants compare Greek shows to US ones in terms of “realness” and authenticity, which define the success and professionalism of a drag queen (Lison 2015). A female participant makes this point more clearly by commenting on the lack of realness, thus the lack of authenticity in Greek shows, through an argument about Greek culture: There is no real drag show in Greece, I mean with Greek artists. Greek society is not yet open to this kind of entertainment. (Female, 24, bisexual)

This participant engages in a larger cultural discourse in her attempt to account for the value and quality of Greek drag shows. In this respect, she associates drag authenticity – in which its “realness” signifies truth, and therefore talent and professionalism – with Greek society’s intolerance towards such forms of non-normative entertainment specifically and non-normative sexuality more broadly.

RPDR

IN THE

GREEK CONTEXT

RPDR disturbs this stereotyped view of drag culture in Greece by celebrating drag as a lifestyle and solidifying it as a profession requiring talent and hard work. Participants shared a sophisticated perception of RPDR, defined by complex judgments of the show, RuPaul and the contestants. For almost all participants, the program offers a number of diverse pleasures. I like it a lot because it introduces me to the world of drag. I see how they dress, their make up, and even their fights (ksekatiniasma) while in drag. (Female, 24, heterosexual)

As Taylor and Rupp (2006) explain, educating about gender and about crossing gender boundaries is a vital element of drag shows. Indeed, several participants elaborated on how drag queens teach us about moving between male and female identities by demonstrating how gender is both a role and an art of living. In doing so, their accounts invoke feminist discourses, such as kinship, which allow one participant to associate her

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own cultural experiences with other cultures when it comes to issues of sexual discrimination: As a woman I admire these women who struggle for something that we have naturally and we don’t need to try for. For them, female nature is an achievement! Awesome! (Female, 33, heterosexual)

This participant positions herself as a woman to reflect on men who take up female roles and identity. A number of feminist scholars have critiqued drag shows and drag queens as a hostile parody of women (see for instance Tyler 2003). Through occupying a subjective position of woman “by nature”, this participant considers the nature of drag as an achievement. Although her judgment reflects a stereotypical view of gender as fixed and stable, the way she negotiates her “natural” female identity to account for drag culture presents an interesting ideological dilemma about what really counts as female and, ultimately, as a woman or a man. From a postfeminist perspective, another participant notes: The show is amazingly good at producing meanings about what gender is, what is reality TV, and, after all, what is beauty and desire (ok now I got too far). I don’t know what to say, really. I think it’s funny, it’s inspiring the way in which they create these grande personas, I think it’s awesome and a way of expressing themselves. (Male 26, homosexual)

This participant makes an argument about how drag shows educate in matters of gender and sexuality, beauty and desire, and, not least, reality TV. By commenting on the humor, aesthetics and performative roles of drag queens, he deploys his understanding of the transgressive roles of drag shows (although reluctantly) via a sophisticated interpretative repertoire. On another level, RPDR is about aesthetics, not just the aesthetics of drag queens, but also the aesthetics and grammar of the show overall. In principle, participants find that the show is created on the basis of certain aesthetics such as good directing, well-designed challenges and creativity (which is thought to be partly motivated by the production of the show): It’s way better than other reality shows (e.g. America’s Next Top Model, Project Runway). The reason is that the participants are expected to know how to sing, dance, catwalk, sew their own clothes, etc. I like so much

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watching such creative people building a persona to the finest detail. (Female, 24, bisexual)

This account is not just about aesthetics. It’s about professionalism, talent and dedication. Interesting as well is that participants invoke their media literacy to provide more sophisticated accounts of the program: From one season to the other, the show becomes better. The setting, the challenges, they are much better and more interesting. Through this show, you kind of understand how significant it is for those people; probably, it is a whole way of living. (Female, 33, heterosexual)

This participant talks about the progress of RPDR from one season to the next by noting particular aesthetic changes. For her, this is an indication of the significance of the program for those who participate in it. So in this case, comments on changes in the aesthetics of the show leads to a cultural observation (if not a note of acceptance) about drag culture being a way of living rather than just self-promotion or pageantry. The fact that RPDR has a certain structure and involves the use of certain quotes repeatedly is, for the participants, a ritual that guarantees its quality. The logic of the narrative allows audiences to “stay tuned for each episode” and engage with the text more fully, so as to be able to make more coherent and complex judgments. Nevertheless, not all participants find the show enjoyable: It was quite fun. The drag queens were at some point kitsch. However, put in the context of a reality show, these kitsch appearances were not too bad aesthetically. (Female, 44, heterosexual)

One participant thinks that some queens appear in attire of low aesthetic value at times, although this criticism needs to be understood in the context of reality TV. Media literacy is asserted as a discursive technique, enabling this participant to talk about her sophisticated taste in fashion and so-called “quality TV”. References to her cultural capital serve to define reality TV as an extravagant, loud and predictable genre. Another female participant makes a broader argument about TV programming and production, again raising the issue of quality:

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What I’m really thinking is that I’ve seen bits and pieces because a friend suggested it. I think I wouldn’t really watch [RPDR], and I don’t think which gap of TV programming it would fill. Is the drag community so large, or we’ve seen everything else really? (Female, 33, heterosexual)

This participant deploys her interpretative repertoire through an ideological dilemma expressed in the form of a question. Therefore, her point about the quality of TV programming is actually an argument about the social or cultural issues it addresses publicly. She seems to imply that issues related to larger communities with different social and cultural specificities are more important to public discussion than the world of drag.

RPDR’S CHANCES

IN

GREEK TV . . .

As discussed earlier, Greek culture is to a large extent a post-agricultural society in which norms and constructs are defined by its social and political history (Demertzis 1995). Therefore, orthodoxy and stereotypes about the dominant heterosexual model of family, love and sexuality do not allow for derivation or other forms or expressions of, or perceptions about, sexuality. In fact, words like “tranny” (traveli), “faggot” (aderfi, lougra) and “pervert” (anomalos) are embedded in everyday language when people talk about homosexuals. Such labeling in Greek language (and thus culture) signifies abnormality, and in many cases people talk about expressions of sexuality other than heterosexuality in terms of health and sickness (Chronaki 2014). In most cases, participants make this exact point when accounting for the conservativeness of Greek society: A show like that would attract huge reactions from several institutions like the Church, politicians, cultural bodies, but it’s sure it would get high ratings as it’s really fun. (Female, 44, heterosexual)

In this case, it could be that RPDR’s demand and appeal among audiences (for different reasons) would make any adverse reaction to the program seem less significant. As such, this participant engages with an interpretative repertoire about the ways in which audiences gravitate towards content that offers them pleasure and not towards governing themselves according to particular norms.

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Other participants make political arguments by projecting their views about sexuality and the predominance of heteronormativity in Greek culture. To make these arguments, participants draw on recent law enforcement of civil partnerships, including for same-sex people, which has generated intense debates about its reason for being and its legitimacy (Yiannarou 2015). For example: In Greek society it would be dealt with ridicule at best, as it happens with transsexual people who are ridiculed by young men passing them in their cars . . . Although Greek MPs voted for the civil partnership law, and there is broader acceptance of different sexual identities, there would be no actual recognition of drag culture, either as a show, or as a role or as an identity. Such a show would be marginalized, because it doesn’t fit the criteria of the dominant heterosexual culture where a guy becomes a couple with a girl and audiences want to watch love stories, not drag shows. (Female, 27, heterosexual)

This is a complex account that moves from the level of society to the level of media consumption through a political and a cultural argument. For this participant, the fact that Greek audiences prefer heterosexual love stories is presumably due to their inability to accept any other form of sexuality, even if protected by law. She presents an ideological dilemma between what counts as politically legitimate and what counts as culturally appropriate. However, she also critiques a dominant heterosexual model that appears to permeate Greek culture. From another perspective, participants account for the familiarity with celebrity impersonation in Greek culture: I haven’t thought about it, but drag culture in Greece is in many instances associated celebrity impersonation, so in this context, it could be acceptable to an extent. (Female, 27, heterosexual) there are many cases really, from trashy AMAN drag (a Greek satirical show) to the very successful T. Zacharatos’ [show]. Cross-dressing as a show is much more easily accepted; when we talk about gender/queer performances off stage, that’s where the problem begins. (Male, 26, homosexual) We’ve seen drag artists before, like T. Zacharatos, and of high standards. It’s easier to be a drag queen in Greece rather than accept homosexuality publicly. What is interesting though is the process of transformation, from a man to a woman. That would shock Greeks a bit. (Male, 37, homosexual)

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All three participants note that Greeks are not entirely unfamiliar with drag culture or at least with cross-dressing. As discussed initially, there have been famous Greek artists who have performed in successful shows of celebrity impersonations, including cross-dressing routines. Nevertheless, these performances are different than actual drag shows, and for two reasons. As two participants argued earlier, performing the role of a woman leaves gender and sexual identity issues somewhat undisturbed. In this sense, artists are not necessarily positioned as gay men, rather as satirical celebrity impersonators for audiences’ entertainment. Following this point, celebrity impersonation is significantly different than drag. Audiences are invited to engage in the caricatured impersonation of a stereotypically iconic person (a celebrity), which the impersonator is mimicking. Additionally, men who build a female persona with its own life and personality from scratch do so through performances not intended to be perceived as “real”. In effect, drag involves men embodying a female identity without denying their maleness but at the same time without merely mimicking women (Taylor and Rupp 2006). Besides, the act of mimicking as a classical theatrical device allows audiences to create meaning through the distance between the performer and the identity he or she assumes in order to achieve a successful act.

CONCLUSIONS As mentioned initially, this is the first attempt to map Greek audiences’ reception of RPDR and their responses towards drag culture more broadly. In the context of Greece, being transsexual or transgendered connotes nothing more than a form of “weird” homosexuality, and thus provides a site for ridicule. Given that the Greek parliament recently voted in favor of recognizing civil partnerships, including within the LGBTQ community, this study is of particular significance in terms of the accounts produced by its participants. Working within a social constructionist perspective of sexuality, I explored the narratives through which Greek audiences account for drag culture through consumption of RPDR. Despite coming from an orthodox and conservative cultural context dominated by perceptions of appropriate sexuality as heterosexual sexuality, all of the participants reflected critically on both Greek society and drag culture as a potential product for consumption. In projecting their cosmopolitan, politically minded

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or media literate selves, the participants explored the aesthetics of RPDR and the cultural proximity of drag and Greek culture in order to develop their accounts. Homosexuals appear to be more engaged with issues of identity and community possibly because of the proximity of the topic to their own experiences as gay people, while heterosexual women responded from well-grounded position that draw upon political and feminist oriented discourses of sexuality, or upon cultural ones. Lastly, in contextualizing drag within Greek culture, most participants accounted for the conservativeness and lack of social capital of Greek audiences, which would prevent a space for RPDR to appear and evolve. However, participants engaged with interpretative repertoires to explain the reasons behind drag’s lack of public acceptance in Greece, and they positioned themselves as critical participants in the culture to which they belong in order to reflect upon this topic. The exploratory nature of this study means that there is a need for further research into the intersections of drag and public culture through more extensive methodological models that could include broader ethnographic approaches. So far, I have offered a brief mapping of the way Greek audiences think and talk about drag culture within their national context. In future work I hope to engage with larger groups of audiences, as well as with drag performers, in order to provide a fuller account of drag culture in Greece.

REFERENCES Bell, C. (2013). TV Drama: Stories and Audiences. Paper presented at The BFI Conference, London, UK, 4-5 July. Available at http://www.bfi.org.uk/ sites/bfi.org.uk/files/downloads/bfi-media-conference-2013-tv-drama-stor ies-audiences.pdf Chatzitrifon, N. (2007). The behavior of gender: Gayness in Greek cinema. In: P. Th & N. Chatzitrifon Th. Ktenidis (eds.), Homosexuality, Homophobia, Conference proceedings, Athens: Epikentro. Chronaki, D. (2013). Young people’s accounts from experiences with sexual content during childhood and teenage life. Communication Review, Special issue 16(1–2): 61–69. Chronaki, D. (2014). Young people’s Accounts of their Experiences with Mediated Sexual Content during Childhood and Teenage life. PhD Thesis. Loughborough University, UK

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Demertzis, N. (1995). The selective nature of Greek political culture. In: N. Demertzis (ed.), The Political Culture in Greece, Athens: Odysseas, pp. 41–74. Diamantopoulos, V.D. (2011). Social and cinematic reality (1950–1974). Roles and codes in the old greek cinema: low comedy – homosexuality. PhD Thesis, Athens: Panteion University of Social and Political Sciences. Duggan, L. (2002). The new homonormativity: The sexual politics of neoliberalism. In: R. Castronovo & D. D. Nelson (eds.), Materialising Democracy: Towards a Revitalized Cultural Politics, Durham, NC: Duke University Press., pp. 175–194. Ellis, J. (2004). Television production. In: R. C. Allen & A. Hill (eds.), The Television Studies Reader, London: Routledge, pp. 275–292. Georgiadou, V., & Nikolakopoulos, E. (2002). Types of religious commitment, religious practices and political attitudes: An empirical study. In: L. N. Th. & V. Georgiadou (eds.), Religions and Politics in Modernity, Athens: Kritiki, pp. 254–279. Hill, A. (2005). Reality TV: Performance, authenticity and television audiences. In: J. Wasko (ed.), A Companion to Television, Oxford: Blackwell, pp. 449–467. Kyriakos, N. (2001). Difference and Erotics. Athens: Egokeros. Lison, S. (2015). Appropriation (?) of the month: Drag queens and femininity, IPinCH Website. Available from http://www.sfu.ca/ipinch/outputs/blog/ aotm-drag-queens-and-femininity [accessed 12/02/2016] Magubane, Z. (2002). Black skins, black masks or the return of the white negro. Race, masculinity and the public personas of Dennis Rodman and RuPaul. Men and Masculinities, 4(3): 233–257. Mappa, S. (1997). Orthodoxy and Power in Greek Society. Athens: Exantas. Psarra, A. (2007). Feminism and communism: Notes on the greek case. Aspasia, 1: 207–213. Soldatos, J. (1991). The History of Greek Cinema. Vol. 4. Athens: Egokeros. Taylor, V., & Rupp, L. J. (2005). When the girls are men: Negotiating gender and sexual dynamics in a study of drag queens. New Feminist Approaches to Social Science, 30(4): 2115–2139. Taylor, V., & Rupp, L. J. (2006). Learning from Drag Queens. Contexts, doi: 10.1525/ctx.2006.5.3.12. Theodorakopoulos, A. (1982). “The gay spectacle”. Stage and Screen, 1 Tsaliki, L. (1997). The Role of Greek Television in the Construction of National Identity since Broadcasting Deregulation. PhD Thesis. Sussex, UK: Sussex University Tsaliki, L., & Chronaki, D. (2015). Rethinking the pornography debate in Greece: A country-specific reading of an “old” argument’. Continuum, 29(6): 811–820.

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Tsaliki, L., & Chronaki, D. (2016). Class representations in American series aired in Greek TV of the 90s. In: V. Vamvakas & A. Gazi (eds.), American Series in Greek TV: Ideology, Representation and Psychosocial Practices, Athens: Papazissis, (forthcoming). Tyler, C. A. (2003). Female Impersonation. London and New York: Routledge. Winston, B. (1995). Claiming the Real: The Documentary Film Revisited. London: British Film Institute. Yiannarou, L. (20/12/2015) “The twelve points of the civil partnership law”, Kathimerini. Available from http://www.kathimerini.gr/843084/article/epi kairothta/ellada/o-dwdekalogos-toy-symfwnoy-symviwshs [accessed in 15/ 02/2016] Ziras, A. (2004). The depressing moon of gay people. Reading, 457. Despina Chronaki focuses on sexuality, childhood and popular culture in her research, with additional interests in audiences, celebrity studies and sexual citizenship. Since 2013 she has been working as a visiting lecturer in Greece and Cyprus (Communication and Internet Studies Faculty, University of Technology; Faculty of Communication and Media Studies, National and Kapodistrian University of Athens; School of Social Sciences, Hellenic Open University).

RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Reconceptualisation of Queer Communities and Publics Kate O’Halloran We’re drag queens in a competition; the only thing worse is prison – Bianca Del Rio, RuPaul’s Drag Race (S6)

In this chapter I start with two moments that tell distinct but interrelated stories about (queer) community. Both take place on season three of RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR). The first scene I draw attention to took place on “Totally Leotarded” (E3). RPDR runs on a fairly predictable format, and it is at this point in a season that contestants begin to open up to one another about all matters personal. Shot standing together around their hot pink workbench, this episode introduces us in more depth to two of the queens: India Ferrah and Mimi Imfurst. Both are dressed casually; they are out of drag preparing for the week’s runway challenge. This week the queens have been given relatively stress-free instructions: after starring in comedic exercise videos, they have been asked to choose an item from their closet that shows off their “favorite or best body part”. This works

K. O’Halloran (*) The University of Melbourne, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia © The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_15

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strategically, allowing the queens, who are less flustered than usual, to socialise without being required to come up with a couture piece. In this context, Mimi leans on the workbench and asks India if she has “always gone by India”. “Yeah”, replies India, rummaging through a make-up box. “My brother’s ex-boyfriend at the time was my drag mother”. India continues at a rapid-fire pace, leaving me reeling, as I try to get my head around this intimate and unconventional familial web; “he got me started and then gave me the name India Ferrah”. Mimi, unlike me, does not pause, instead smiling broadly and remarking as much as asking, “Oh, so your brother’s gay? That’s great, that’s really good”. India nods, before adding that her “family” is really supportive. “Great”, murmurs Mimi, before opening up on her own family situation: “My biological family . . . they threw me out of the house”. The camera stays with Mimi as India somewhat distractedly asks, “Oh really?” Mimi, the broad smile gone, nods solemnly. There are several reasons why I have chosen this scene to talk about community. To begin, India’s brief reference to her “brother’s ex-boyfriend”, being her “drag mother”, gestures at what has customarily been interpreted as drag’s capacity to reconceptualise traditional (nuclear, heteronormative) family structures. In Judith Butler’s (1993) classic reading of Paris is Burning (Livingston 1990), for example, she argues that the queer families that formed “houses” in the underground New York-based drag ball scene of the 1970s and 1980s are examples of how queer culture is able to “resignify” the normative terms of “family”, resulting in a “social and discursive building of community, a community that binds, cares, and teaches, that shelters and enables” (1993, p. 137). In the tradition of Paris is Burning, RPDR is replete with examples of queens subverting traditional notions of “mothering” and “care” in their relationships to each other. This is most obvious in the figure of RuPaul, who is affectionately termed “Mama Ru” by the contestants. In having a drag “mother” and having been taken under the wing of an older queen, India gestures at a “familial” bond with other drag queens that is non-biological, although in her case, this is a type of support that is not absent from her biological family. By contrast, Mimi’s emotional confession to having been forced to leave home sets up a distinction between biological family and queer community, both as “community” is imagined amongst the queens and in reference to a broader community of LGBTQ people seeking comfort and support outside of the normative and often painful constrains of (biological) “family”. Mimi’s story of displacement speaks to the utopic hope that is often assigned to queer community, a story queer theorist Miranda Joseph

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(2002) describes as one of “traumatic origins and organic unities, presuming always already common essence, oppression, political needs and goals” (p. xxii). Common essence here is one’s status as non-heterosexual, made manifest by Mimi’s delight that India’s brother is “also” gay. Mimi imagines that simply by nature of having a gay brother, India may have found “family” to be much more welcoming than her own, a “great” but unusual story. In contrast, Mimi, here and in the season as a whole, works to situate herself within an alternative communal family structure, both under the tutelage of Mama Ru and in an emotional bond with her “sisters”, such as India. This is Mimi’s story of queer community, where shared sexual oppression and isolation result in an attempt to form bonds that together resemble a kind of cathartic queer kinship. *** The second scene I am drawn to again features Mimi Imfurst, but tells a very different story about queer community. The moment is featured in the Untucked accompaniment to “Queens in Space” (E2). In this episode, the queens had been split into two teams (Team Phoenix and Team Mariah) and asked to feature in a pair of short sci-fi films entitled From Earth to Uranus and Return to Uranus, respectively. The episode of Untucked begins with Team Mariah unwinding after their film, Return to Uranus, was announced the winner for the week. Tensions begin to run high, however, when Mariah is asked how she compiled her team. Naming each queen’s strengths in turn, she says she chose Mimi because she “needed a villain”. At this point the other queens remind her that Mimi was the last to be picked, and was thus a “default” selection. Mimi, legs crossed, and seated on a single-person couch in the corner of the room, adds that this is probably because people “pick their friends first”, acknowledging her lack of popularity with the other queens. In a flashback to the task, Mimi is depicted with arms crossed, rolling her eyes and pursing her lips in bemusement as Carmen is picked before her. In Untucked Mimi remains isolated physically and socially, removing and re-attaching her wig, purring and petting it as she goes. Footage at this point cuts to Shangela interviewed out of drag: “Mimi Imfurst”, she says, methodically and matterof-factually, “I don’t know what future she livin’ in, but I don’t wanna be there. Beam me up to another ship”. Back in the Interior Illusions lounge, tensions have escalated over the queens’ competing drag styles. Shangela tells Mariah “the T”: some of the other girls aren’t sure whether she should be in the competition because

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they think “she’s already a tranny”. One by one, Mariah tells the other queens that they, too, have naturally feminine features, until she hits Mimi: “and . . . we, we . . . ” she hesitates, “ . . . we exchanged our notes”. As the other queens howl with laughter, Mimi becomes defensive about her style of drag. She explains that unlike the others, she does not strive for “polish” or to impersonate a female; she is simply “a man in a dress”. Besides, she adds, things are different in New York, where queens don’t have change rooms at the venues, and have to “get changed at home before taking public transport”. Upon hearing Mimi’s lament about being a drag queen in New York, Stacey, from Back Swamp, North Carolina, rolls her eyes, while Shangela moves in for the kill; to the soundtrack of steadily beating drums she accuses Mimi of “never” being able to do glamour. Mimi responds defensively that, unlike Shangela, she “will never” look like a supermodel, while Shangela simply and flatly responds: “true”. Finally, it seems, Mimi has snapped; the drum-based soundtrack stops abruptly as Mimi responds accusingly: “Girl, just cos you got a sugar daddy who pays for everything for you”. At this point, a loud “ooooooh” has been dubbed over Shangela’s thenmoment of recoil, as well as her cutaway interview in which she recalls the tension-charged event. Shangela, a distinctively different and quieter timbre having crept into her voice, tells Mimi that she has worked for everything she has, abruptly jumping off the couch to stand and face Mimi: “I built myself from the ground up!” Shangela’s monologue comes to a climax as she reaches for her Absolut Vodka cocktail and throws it over Mimi, screaming: “FUCKING BITCH!” To RuPaul fans, this moment needs little introduction or description. It has been excessively played and re-played on YouTube, and has been the subject of comedic re-cap by drag queens from other seasons as well as many who are simply fans of the show. This scene is notable not merely for its status as fan favourite, its high-intensity drama or ability to send me into fits of laughter in my silent, shared workspace, however. It is significant because it tells a very different story about queer community than the one offered above, and the one laid out in Joseph’s (2002) account of the assumption of community as the sharing of a “common essence”. In this scene, community has very little to do with harmonious, organic unity; in its place is an antagonism that works to exacerbate and highlight the very real differences between these queens. In contrast to a situation in which community is “deployed to lower consciousness of difference, hierarchy, and oppression within the invoked group” (Joseph 2002, p. xxiv), this

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scene works to over-emphasise these differences, primarily because antagonism works to create entertaining television. The scene dwells on and works to signify difference at every turn, at first in its efforts to labour the point of Mimi’s displacement from the other queens. Mimi, a plus-size queen with acting-out tendencies who does “camp”, finds herself isolated from the more “fishy”, model-like and sociable queens (whom, as a result of the sci-fi competition, she terms “Judy Jetson hookers”). Mariah, in turn, finds herself singled out for her “too feminine” appearance, the possibility that in a drag competition, she may have the unfair advantage of already being a woman. Mimi’s reference to being a “man in drag” therefore implicitly accuses Mariah and the others as straying too close to being trans or to “passing” as women to be “authentic” drag queens. Stacy, meanwhile, barely utters a word during this exchange, having already admitted in her private interview that she finds it hard to speak out amongst the other queens; although she makes reference to being outgoing and bubbly in her small hometown, she feels uncomfortable around the other “city” queens who seem even louder and more outgoing than her. Having already had her class difference mercilessly referred to by RuPaul and the other queens, she appears to have little sympathy for Mimi’s hard luck story of having to change at home and take the subway to clubs in New York. Yara Sofia, meanwhile, always already marked by difference in possessing a thick (and to the other queens, “indecipherable”) Puerto Rican accent, stays silent. Her distinctive speech style, in which she talks very fast and is often interrupted by other queens who cannot understand her, hardly fits with the slow and steady dramatic crescendo, exacerbated by the editing of this confrontation. Finally, Shangela takes issue with her characterisation, according to Mimi, as having leant on the support of others to get where she has, drawing attention both to her low socio-economic upbringing and also, implicitly, to her being African American. What this moment makes amply clear, therefore, is that sexuality can hardly be taken as a (straightforward) basis for this particular queer community. In the first scene, Mimi ascribes to the ideal of queer community as formed on the grounds of ostracisation from normative expectations around gender and sexuality. As sexual outliers, unified in the pain of social displacement, Mimi seeks belonging with India Ferrah but also presumes implicit queer community with India’s gay brother. In the second scene, however, sexuality can no longer be taken as that which holds these queens together; nothing, in this instance, holds them together except for their contractual obligations to the show. Unable to simply exit the Interior

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Illusions lounge, these queens are forced into confrontation with each other to the point where the irreconcilable differences between them spill over into an explosion of anger and hurled cocktails. What I’d like to explore in this chapter, then, is how RPDR might gesture at a form of community that does not operate on the presumption of a common essence amongst queer people. This may instead be community as what Jean-Luc Nancy (1991) calls “being-in-common”, rather than “a common being”. What interests me about such representation and formulation of community is the political potentiality that this lack of a common, knowable queer identity can have for queer politics and activism. This is to explore the potential of “queer”, not as a preconceived kind of politics (often imagined as a more “radical” or “progressive” politics than “gay or lesbian”) but as a point of productive antagonism. This is especially interesting in the case of RPDR since on the surface it reads as anything but “progressive” in the now consolidated, academic sense of queer as “anti-normative” (Wiegman and Wilson 2015). In this, I am talking about RPDR’s mainstream appeal (and location within the socalled low brow genre of reality TV), its comfortable relation to capitalism and its penchant for political controversy. I’d like to suggest that its political potentiality is not despite these elements, but rather made possible through them. In this sense I am inspired by feminist Linnell Secomb’s (2000) assertion that a “community that challenges, provokes, threatens, but also enlivens, is a community of disagreement, dissonance and resistance” (p. 147). This resistance has the potential to be political if the political is defined, as Christopher Fynsk defines it, as “the site where what it means to be in common is open to definition”, and where “politics [is] the play of forces and interests engaged in a conflict over the representation and governance of social existence” (as cited in Nancy 1991, p. x, emphasis in the original). Using the work of feminist scholar Rosalyn Diprose (2000, 2003) in particular, I will argue that RPDR forces differently socialised bodies into productive collision, allowing a politics of contradiction and resistance to emerge.

READING – FOR DIFFERENCE – IS FUNDAMENTAL It’s now S3, E8: “Ru Ha Ha”. Mimi Imfurst and India Ferrah have “sashayed away”, and only six queens remain. With competition becoming ever fiercer, RuPaul introduces the only mini-challenge to appear on every season of RPDR. “In the grand tradition of Paris is Burning”, he hollers,

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“the library is OPEN!” This mini-challenge, called “Reading is Fundamental”, borrows directly from the Harlem drag ball culture made famous by Jennie Livingston’s documentary of the same name (Livingston 1990). In the Reading is Fundamental mini-challenge, RuPaul invites his queens to pay homage to this subcultural art form. With a new style of shades for each season’s readings (this year they are white and narrow and flare at the sides), the queens step up one by one to read their fellow contestants. This season’s readings, however, invite more frowns than kikis: the queens are unoriginal and read each other based on seemingly factual identity categorisations. Manila Luzon, who is part Filipino, and Delta Work, who is a plus-size queen, have their race and size relentlessly referred to, by each other and the other queens. Hands on hips, Delta asks Manila what she’ll do “when a hurricane hits all of Asia – you won’t have any material left!” to a chorus of “ooohs” and an “uh oh” from RuPaul. Manila, meanwhile, lowers her shades in the direction of Delta and announces that it’s “dinner time . . . and you are serving body-ody-ody”, at this point accentuating her own (absent) curves and adding, “well I guess that solves the problem with all those starving kids in Africa!” This time RuPaul is the only one who chuckles, while Delta simply raises an eyebrow. In a cutaway interview she laments that every queen so far has read her for her size: “If all they can read is my size”, she says, “that’s so obvious, now tell me something funny”. For Butler, reading is fundamental to the capacity for drag to “work”. “A performance that works”, she writes (1993, p. 129, emphasis in the original), is one that: cannot be read. For “reading” means taking someone down, exposing what fails to work at the level of appearance, insulting or deriding someone. For a performance to work, then, means that a reading is no longer possible . . . the artifice works, [and] the approximation of realness appears to be achieved.

Butler thus focuses her attention on the political potentiality of the drag performances in Paris is Burning insofar as they – despite their successful appropriation of the normative – evade hegemonic recuperation. Her hope, in other words, is that the queens enact a “parodic inhabitation” of these norms; that the “phantasmatic attempt to approximate realness . . . also exposes the norms that regulate realness as themselves phantasmatically instituted and sustained” (Butler 1993, p. 130). What Butler’s analysis misses, however, is that reading is fundamentally about the artifice

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of community, and that its success, or capacity to “work”, relies on the presumption of community amongst the reader and who is being read. In RPDR, for example, reading’s traditional relationship to essentialised commonality and community is undermined by the show’s efforts to reward those who honour one of the golden rules of reading: avoiding apparent “fact”. If reading is masterful insult, then reading a queen for her size or race is seen as boring, insulting and deeply inadequate. While eventual season winner Raja lazily calls Delta “fat”, Shangela, who wins this mini-challenge, instead reads Delta by pausing before her and declaring: “Mimi Imfurst”. Of course, Mimi is also a plus-size queen, and so Shangela’s reading still references Delta’s size as an identifying feature. The ultimate source of derision, however, is not Delta’s size, but the suggestion that she is as annoying as Mimi. With Mimi having been socially shunned by practically every other queen on the series, this insult works as an in-joke amongst the season’s contestants and viewers. Affective community is established not by way of sexuality, race or even size, but by shared bemusement at poor old Mimi. I would argue, then, that RPDR enacts a challenge to the presumption of sameness – particularly when it comes to identity categorisations – as a grounds for reading, and ultimately, for queer community. Reading is far from “free for all” by nature of the queens’ presumed common status as sexual (raced, or sized) outliers. Reading “works” in RPDR, and sets one up to win the challenge, when one explicitly undermines the capacity for the queens to be straightforwardly interpellated by their race, class, size and so on. This may necessitate what Diprose (2000) calls an “ethical” encounter with difference, whereby ethics can be defined as “the interruption of autonomy and the imperialism this implies . . . as a precondition to knowledge” (p. 127). Building on her own definition, Diprose (2003) argues that this means understanding that others are different in a way “I cannot grasp but that initiates my movement towards the other and towards the world” (p. 40). As such, to ethically encounter difference is to recognise that the Other is different to me in a way that cannot be accounted for by recourse to (simplistic) identity categorisations. Delta can’t be taken to represent fat queens in the same way that Manila can’t be taken to represent queens of colour: what is interesting about either is their own particular confluence of “set-ups” (Latour 2004) that for whatever reason “fail” at the level of normative approximation. Although reality TV often necessitates what might be read as a “tokenistic” spread of difference amongst its contestants, RPDR goes to show

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that both the show’s format – in terms of what defines success in this challenge – and the contestants themselves, have the capacity to resist such simple categorisations of difference. This might be the difference, then, between what Diprose (2003) theorises as a community of “shared meanings that at best tolerate difference” and a community that instead “lives from difference” (p. 36, emphasis in the original). For Diprose, a community lives from difference when one is able to recognise another’s difference while maintaining one’s movement towards them. This is unavoidable in a show where the queens are contracted to spend all their waking hours together; and is part of the show’s unique capacity to hold together difference in the name of entertaining and potentially productive collision. This is what makes RPDR a unique site for such an analysis of community, in that its effects are rarely replicated off-screen (where more often, such encounters are ceased or avoided before any politically productive collision can take place). Going forward, I argue that one such opportunity for political potentiality is in the online affective communities that form around RPDR.

THE “FEMALE OR SHE-MALE” CONTROVERSY Here, I consider an event that took place on season six of RPDR. The format remains largely the same with one tweak: for the first time ever the 14 contestants are split into two groups at the beginning of the season. After the airing of “Shade The Rusical” (S6, E4), however, it appeared that the political milieu of RPDR audience had shifted dramatically. This episode starts, as they all do, with a page from Mama Ru. A siren sounds to coincide with increasing excitement from the queens who know what’s coming; it is, of course, the iconic line that has been with the show from its beginning: “oooooh gurl, you got ‘She-Mail!’” The newsflash is a pun on Tyra Banks’ announcement to the contestants of America’s Next Top Model that “You’ve Got Mail!”. RuPaul (in drag) then appears on screen to give the queens a cryptic clue about what this week’s main challenge will entail, before he appears in person (and out of drag) to explain the week’s mini-challenge. In this episode, RuPaul provides the following disclaimer: “When you’re famous, people scrutinise every inch of your Charisma, Uniqueness, Nerve and Talent” (cut to Jocelyn Fox’s sleazily appreciative grin), “and when you’re a famous drag queen there’s even more pressure to be unspookable!” He then runs over the rules: the queens are to be shown an extreme close-up of a

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famous “she-lebrity” and will then have to guess whether she’s a “biological woman” or a “psychological woman”. “It’s time to play”, Ru announces in a high-pitched tone, “Female! Or”, this time in a lowpitched, gruff tone, “She-Male”. At this point we are simultaneously shown a graphic of a woman in either pink (an elegant font declaring this a “Female”) or blue (for “She-Male”). The game proceeds as explained: the queens guess – and often fail – to distinguish between cis women and drag queens (all of the “shemales” here are drag queens, with strictly no trans women appearing). The drag queens’ failure is largely due to the dubious and unconvincing performances of femininity highlighted by the cis women in these pictures: included here are “tan mom” (a self-confessed “tanorexic”); Chyna, female bodybuilder and wrestler (after the reveal, Courtney Act confesses: “I’m still not sure whether I got it right or wrong”); Tyra Banks (with a close-up of a failed blend between face makeup and hairline); and, regular judge, Michelle Visage (Delta proclaims, “That definitely looks like one of those cheap knock-off breast plates!”). Humour here is thus derived from the perceived insult of determining that the cis women are drag queens, and the game is set up so that the contestants inevitably commit this faux pas. Adore Delano clues in to this when shown the photo of Tyra Banks’ failed blend: “This could be a trick question!” The blend, after all, is a key tenet of drag prowess. During season three, for example, Shangela is constantly criticised for her poor blending, a weakness put down to her background in comedy rather than drag per se. Blending, then, is something drag queens quickly learn is essential to the successful approximation of femininity; failed blending is a sign of inexperience or poor attention to detail. In the images of cis women, failure is analogously determined by their excessive attempts to pull off normative femininity (tan mom’s over-thetop bronzing, or Visage’s obvious boob job) or perceived proximity to “manliness” (Chyna’s stocky legs). It was partly attention directed to so-called failed femininity that turned the reception of this episode into a veritable social and commercial media storm. Jonathan Doucette (2014) wrote that the segment was little more than “an opportunity for cis gay men to re-draw the very gender lines they claim to push against”, and many interpreted the policing of femininity as a slight on trans women, particularly given the use of the traditionally transphobic slur “she-male”. On

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the The Advocate website, Parker Marie Molloy (2014) argued that she-male as a term should be off-limits to drag queens: “Shemale” is a word that historically refers to transgender women, most prominent in pornography. The word originated with transgender porn and doesn’t have roots in “drag culture,” as some have argued is the case with the word “tranny”.

Molloy works to drive a wedge between drag and trans cultures; drag queens may only (potentially) argue for their right to resignify a word like “tranny” since it (arguably) has its roots in these scenes, whereas “shemale” “belongs to” (has been used to shamefully interpellate) and thus ought to be open to resignification by, trans women alone. A similar distinction was made between trans women and drag queens in Rafi D’Angelo’s (2014) blog on Slate. The segment was offensive, D’Angelo argued, because it conflated drag queens and trans women: Part of the problem with this little game is that a drag queen is not, in fact, a “psychological woman.” A drag queen is a drag queen . . . to put drag queens, who pretend to be something like women as a profession or hobby, in the same category as trans women – which is to say, real women – is offensive.

What is striking about these arguments is the efforts to which they go to define the drag community as mutually exclusive from the trans community. This is despite a history of two trans women having competed on RPDR (Carmen Carrera, S3, and Monica Beverley Hillz, S5) and, of course, the lack of distinction between the two “communities” in their formative past (Paris is Burning provides a clear example). In the outcry to this segment, then, the drag community becomes a site for exclusion and policing: a site for “border wars” about the legitimacy of one’s relationship to so-called “real” womanhood. This, I would argue, may have something to do with the increasing visibility of trans identities. Indeed, in her response to the segment, Carmen Carrera (2014), who transitioned after her appearance on RPDR, argued that: We live in a new world where understanding and acceptance are on the rise. Drag Race should be a little smarter about the terms they use and

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comprehend the fight for respect trans people are facing every minute of today. They should use their platform to educate their viewers truthfully on all facets of drag performance art.

Carrera thus draws attention to the changing landscape of queer communities, whereby transitions are increasingly common. What is interesting about Carrera’s account is that she suggests that this likewise changes the scene of “drag performance art”. RPDR, in Carrera’s account, becomes responsible for “educating” viewers on all facets of drag culture, its transconstitutive histories and the presence of trans women amongst drag queens today. Likewise, Monica Beverly Hillz, in her statement on the segment, argued that RPDR is “not just a drag show anymore. We have beautiful transgender cast mates paving the way for all transgender showgirls” (as cited in Reynolds 2014). As such, she argues that “some things need to be changed about the show” (as cited in Reynolds 2014). For both Carrera and Hillz, then, it would be arbitrary to separate out “drag” and “trans” communities, and it is on these grounds that RPDR can be held responsible for its perceived transphobia. In some commentators’ efforts to critique RPDR for this offense, however, contradictory and paradoxical claims to community are at play. On one hand, the discourse around this episode flags that trans identities have changed the nature of drag itself such that no easy way to separate out the two “communities” exists. On the other, it presumes that drag queens will never be, nor will ever understand the experience of, trans women, and so have no right to claim or re-signify terms like “she-male”. Such border wars over the nature of drag and trans communities, however, do little justice to a show that actively works against the presumption of unified, queer community. By this I mean not just the way that what happens on-screen works to challenge conservative understandings of queer commonality. Rather, I mean to draw attention to what happens off-screen too; to the way the show brings into being an affective network of viewers, fans and contestants that promotes conversation and a sense of community. It wasn’t only on news websites, for instance, that this segment was discussed; it was blogged about, tweeted, and perhaps most commonly, debated on Facebook. Carrera’s statement was released on her official Facebook page, after fans approached her and asked her to comment on the controversy. By nature of its social media presence, in other words, RPDR invites dialogue and debate amongst former contestants and fans, bringing people from an array of backgrounds and political

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persuasions into potentially productive encounters. It was in comments below Carrera’s status update that debate erupted amongst fans of the show about the potentially transphobic nature of the “Female or SheMale” mini-challenge, eventually prompting Logo TV to make a statement – via the RuPaul’s Drag Race (2014) Facebook page – that they would be making some significant changes to programming: We wanted to thank the community for sharing their concerns around a recent segment and the use of the term “she-mail” [sic] on Drag Race. Logo has pulled the episode from all of our platforms and that challenge will not appear again. Furthermore, we are removing the “You’ve got she-mail” intro from new episodes of the series.

This is an example of productive political change that occurs as a direct result of grass-roots conversation and debate, made possible by the affective network of social media that ties together fans of the show, its former contestants, and those with the power to make substantive changes at the level of programming (Logo TV representatives). The political potentiality of RPDR may thus lie in its capacity to bring into contact and proximity – both on and off screen – those whom we are unable to understand or agree with. As Diprose (2000) argues, thinking happens through the process of affecting and being affected: “the other affects me, gets under my skin, and that is why I am made to think” (p. 116). Whether or not one agrees with Logo TV’s response, the segment and subsequent controversy prompted a number of debates around the use of words like “tranny” in the context of the drag community. In an interview on the topic, RuPaul (as cited in Duffy 2014) argued that he was not offended by the word “tranny” and disagreed with the assessment that it was “offensive” to the trans community: No, it is not the transsexual community . . . these are fringe people who are looking for story lines to strengthen their identity as victims. That is what we’re dealing with . . . It’s not the trans community, because most people who are trans have been through hell and high water and they know – they’ve looked behind the curtain at Oz and went, “Oh, this is all a f**king joke”.

RuPaul thus provides another provocation to harmonious queer community. Controversially, he suggests that those who oppose the use of

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“tranny” are those with “fringe” politics, who may or may not be trans. For RuPaul, then, they do not “represent” the trans community in any clear-cut way. Doing the “right” thing, politically, by trans people, he implies, is about more than just taking these voices as indicative of trans experience. In addition, he muddies the waters of where the “queer”, “drag” and “trans” communities overlap by asserting his own right to use “tranny” as a slur that is directed at drag queens as well as trans people. To conclude, RPDR provides a challenging provocation to queer community since the political questions it raises, and the political changes it instantiates, come from the least predictably queer of places. I have just shown, for example, that by way of the affective network instantiated by a “low-brow”, reality TV program, many important debates and potentially productive political shifts take place. For some, RPDR is a site too “mainstream” and too “offensive” to be considered politically productive. In my reading of its challenge to unified community, exposition of its ability to draw together a diverse affective community and summation of the political debates and changes that arise out of this community and in response to the show, I hope to have gone some way towards combatting this perception; towards opening up “queer” and “queer community” to productive encounters with difference.

REFERENCES Bailey, F., & Barbato, R. (Producers). (2009). RuPaul’s Drag Race [Television series]. U.S.A.: Logo TV, Viacom Media Networks. Bailey, F., & Barbato, R. (Producers). (2010). RuPaul’s Drag Race: Untucked! [Television series]. U.S.A: Logo TV, Viacom Media Networks. Butler, J. (1993). Bodies That Matter: On the Discursive Limits of “Sex”. New York and London: Routledge. Carrera, C. (2014). Facebook update. 1 April, viewed 3 October 2014, https:// www.facebook.com/carmencarrerafans/posts/679959392050537 D’Angelo, R. (2014, March 19). RuPaul’s Drag Race Crosses the Line with “Female or Shemale”. Slate. Retrieved from http://www.slate.com/blogs/ outward/2014/03/19/rupaul_s_drag_race_and_transphobia_why_the_she male_game_was_offensive.html Diprose, R. (2000). What Is (Feminist) Philosophy?. Hypatia, 15(2), 115–132. Diprose, R. (2003). The Hand That Writes Community in Blood. Cultural Studies Review, 9(1), 35–49.

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Doucette, J. (2014, March 21) RuPaul Still hasn’t Learned his Lesson on Transphobia. The Daily Dot. Retrieved from http://www.dailydot.com/enter tainment/rupaul-controversy-transgender-backlash/ Duffy, N. (2014, May 23). RuPaul: “Fringe People” are Upset by Transphobic Slurs, not Real Trans People. Pink News. Retrieved from http://www.pin knews.co.uk/2014/05/23/rupaul-fringe-people-are-upset-by-transphobicslurs-not-real-trans-people/ Joseph, M. (2002). Against the Romance of Community. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Latour, B. (2004). How to Talk About the Body? The Normative Dimension of Science Studies. Body & Society, 10(2–3), 205–229. Livingston, J. (Director). (1990). Paris is Burning [DVD]. U.S.A: Lions Gate Home Entertainment. Molloy, P. M. (2014, March 18). RuPaul Stokes Anger With Use of Transphobic Slur. The Advocate. Retrieved from http://www.advocate.com/politics/trans gender/2014/03/18/rupaul-stokes-anger-use-transphobic-slur Murray, N. (Director). (31 January 2011a). Queens in Space [Television series episode]. In F. Bailey & R. Barbato (Producers), RuPaul’s Drag Race: Untucked!. U.S.A: Logo TV, Viacom Media Networks. Murray, N. (Director). (7 February 2011b). Totally Leotarded [Television series episode]. In F. Bailey & R. Barbato (Producers), RuPaul’s Drag Race. U.S.A: Logo TV, Viacom Media Networks. Murray, N. (Director). (7 March 2011c). Ru Ha Ha [Television series episode]. In F. Bailey & R. Barbato (Producers), RuPaul’s Drag Race. U.S.A: Logo TV, Viacom Media Networks. Murray, N. (Director). (17 March 2014). Shade The Rusical [Television series episode]. In F. Bailey & R. Barbato (Producers), RuPaul’s Drag Race. U.S.A: Logo TV, Viacom Media Networks. Nancy, J.-L. (1991). The Inoperative Community. (P. Connor, L. Garbus, M. Holland, & S. Sawhney, Trans). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. (Original work published 1983). Reynolds, D (2014, April 2). Trans Drag Race Alum Says ‘Some Things Need to Be Changed’. The Advocate, viewed 3 October 2014, http://www.advocate. com/politics/transgender/2014/04/02/trans-drag-racealumsays-somethings-need-be-changed RuPaul’s Drag Race. (2014, April 15). [Facebook update]. Retrieved from: https://www.facebook.com/rupaulsdragrace/posts/10152064385417828 Secomb, L. (2000). Fractured Community. Hypatia, 15(2), 133–150. Wiegman, R., & Wilson, E. A. (2015). Introduction: Antinormativity’s Queer Conventions. Differences, 28(1), 1–25.

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Kate O’Halloran holds a PhD in Gender and Cultural Studies from the University of Sydney and is the author of ‘Theory, politics and community: Ethical dilemmas in Sydney and Melbourne queer activist collectives’ (2015). O’Halloran is Academic Convenor of the Melbourne Research Alliance to End Violence against women and their children (MAEVe) at the University of Melbourne, and is a freelance journalist and sports editor at The Guardian.

PART III

RuPaul’s Drag Race, Globalization and Social Media

Digital Extensions, Experiential Extensions and Hair Extensions: RuPaul’s Drag Race and the New Media Environment David Gudelunas By most traditional measures, RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR) is not really a hit television series. The program’s 100th episode, also the eighth season premiere and one of the highest rated episodes ever, drew just shy of one million viewers according to Nielsen. By way of comparison, other reality competitions like America’s Got Talent regularly garners 12 million or more viewers while even less popular reality programing, like Big Brother, counts over 6 million viewers. Logo TV, the US broadcaster of RPDR, for the first eight seasons, is available in standard definition in only about 51 million US homes, or about 41% of US television households. In other words, most Americans don’t even have the option of watching RPDR. The show never attracted multiple national advertisers, and the product placement on RPDR wasn’t for Ford or Coke, but instead niche underwear brands and foam breasts. Of course, RPDR is a hit. Its catchphrases have entered the popular lexicon, the contestants have gone on to launch successful national careers, the popular press seemingly cannot get enough of all things RPDR related and, importantly, it has continually trended across social media. In short, RPDR has helped redefine what constitutes a “hit” television series in the

D. Gudelunas (*) University of Tampa, Tampa, Florida, USA © The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_16

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new media environment. In this new television universe, having a successful program is only partially about the actual medium of television. From its first season, RPDR embraced digital extensions across various platforms including social media sites, elaborate experiential events that brought the casts of various seasons to multiple cities, and other sustained brand experiences that made RPDR about far more than just an hour-long reality television program. This chapter considers how audiences, contestants, and the production team behind the series use social media and other extensions of RPDR. Included in this consideration is how drag culture, broadly defined, is particularly well positioned to push the boundaries of the new media environment in order to create a successful television franchise. The success of RPDR also demonstrates how social media and other elements of the new media environment function as more than an opportunity for “second screen” interactions or to circulate viral content that drives traditional viewership. Instead, these elements that exist beyond the hour-long television show engage fans in ways that challenge the very boundaries of the program itself. Ultimately, this chapter argues that the ability of RPDR to engage audiences as well as advertisers in platforms beyond the traditional television medium help to ensure the program’s success and longevity, despite modest traditional ratings numbers. The success of RPDR cannot be determined by Nielsen ratings alone. While the season eight premiere failed to capture even a million viewers, it is perhaps the other metrics that are more impressive: 1.5 million streams of the episode, a 205% increase in unique website visitors, and a 357% increase in page views at LogoTV.com (Walsten 2016). According to Logo, Twitter engagements were three times greater than the average industry standard with measured interactions (comments, retweets, etc.) at 18–19%. While there is still widespread disagreement in both professional and academic circles about just how to measure audience engagement and interactivity in the new media environment, it seems clear that traditional measures of simple viewership are inadequate (Buzzard 2012). Attempting to get audiences to engage with mediated content is nothing new. Nielsen ratings, after all, are fundamentally a measure of audience engagement. What is new is the current socio-technological environment that includes social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, new models of content delivery like Netflix, Hulu, and other on-demand platforms and patterns of viewing that are non-linear. In other words, audiences now time shift, binge watch, and consume television

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across multiple devices, many of which are not televisions at all. There is a long research tradition in communication studies of examining and measuring audience engagement, and rapid changes in the socio-technological landscape have shifted not just how we think about audience participation, but also how we understand the media environment in relation to production norms, distribution models, and content (Moe et al. 2016). Surveying this constantly changing landscape can be tricky business. Initial research on the relationship between traditional television viewing and social media use tended to focus on the idea of the “second screen”, or that viral content shared across new media channels would serve as a promotional tool to drive traditional television viewing (Proulx and Shepatin 2012). Second screen research is arguably more interesting and looks at how viewers interact with one another around television content through social media as they tuned in (Ault 2014; Buschow et al. 2014; Selva 2016). We now understand social media to be more transformative as opposed to simply additive, and it is perhaps more instructive to think about “integrated systems of watching” (Moe et al. 2016). Jenkins (2006) describes this new transmedia environment as part of a broader culture of convergence, wherein “every important story gets told, every brand gets sold, and every consumer gets courted across multiple media platforms” (p. 3). Within these integrated systems of watching, audiences are not simply amplifying content by re-tweeting or reposting. Jenkins, Green and Ford (2013) use the term “spreadable” to refer to content that is not simply shared among audience members but is instead shaped, remixed, reframed, and reconstituted by audience members. “Spreadable” goes beyond “viral” to highlight the ways in which audiences essentially remake and create content that is their own (see Henn et. al., in this volume). Key in this idea of spreadable media is the social way in which it is accomplished in communities. They say: “Audiences are making their presence felt by actively shaping media flows, and producers, brand managers, customer service professionals, and corporate communicators are waking up to the commercial need to actively listen and respond to them” (Jenkins et al. 2013, p. 2). In fact, one of the criticisms of participatory culture, which positions audiences as having the power to actively shape media through social networks and other technological tools, is that these arguments fail to account for the way that corporate policies, government regulations, and commercial interest also, at least partially, restrict the emancipatory potential of new media tools (Van Dijck 2013). In other

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words, social media may provide additional points of engagement for audience members, but they also ultimately commodify these audience members (Fuchs 2011). If audiences use social media, social media also uses audiences. Reality television, and in particular reality competitions, have proven to be prime examples of how watching television has changed in this new media environment (Godlewski and Perse 2010; Penzhorn and Pitout 2006). It should not be surprising, then, that RPDR, as a series that was created with an astute awareness of social media, would excel in pushing the boundaries of how to engage audiences in ways that move far beyond simple viewing. Since the first season (now known cheekily as “The Lost Season”), RPDR has leveraged not just social media, but various digital extensions like a “Dragulator”, which allowed audience members to turn themselves into virtual drag queens, Ustream video chats with contestants, crowd-sourced comic caption contests, and numerous other devices, intended to engage audiences and solidify a fan base. These transmedia experiences related to RPDR run deep. As an example, prior to the start of the seventh season, in February 2015, Logo held a SnapChat “scavenger hunt” that revealed the identity of the contestants, one-by-one, and in the process increased Logo’s SnapChat following by 300% (Fratti 2015). In the promotional build-up to the season, Logo also withheld the actual premiere date, frustrating die-hard fans of the show. When fans reacted as aggravated fans do – by turning to social media to complain, Logo quickly flipped the script and had drag queens read the complaints of the fans (poking fun at their complaints), and posted the now-viral content online. This clever take on “reading” placed fans of the show in a situation that allowed them to become targets of the longstanding drag queen tradition of comedic truth-telling. After the season premiere aired, the previous season’s winner and fan favorite, Bianca Del Rio and Alaska, respectively, re-watched the episode and added snarky commentary, creating in the process a parallel episode that had to be viewed online. Color commentary was carried throughout the season, such as when the previous season’s contestants did an online version of Sports Center – perhaps not cleverly retitled Drag Center – which offered weekly highlights. Dan Sacher, the then Vice President for VH1 and Logo Digital, told AdWeek after season four: “We’ve been actively listening to the fans and have leveraged social platforms to provide them with the ultimate additive experience to the show, including direct access with the contestants, as well as celebrating their enthusiasm by rewarding them

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with exclusive content and ring tones” (as cited in Edelsburg 2012). Sacher goes on to talk about “exclusive content” and “access points” that deepen and expand the program’s fan base – critically, not just during the season but also between seasons. Notably, these efforts to promote the show and engage audiences are low-cost in comparison with traditional advertising buys. The network and production team behind RPDR has also turned to social media to encourage audience members to become active in the competition by serving as a type of virtual judge. Beginning in season five, and during the penultimate episode of the season, RuPaul encouraged viewers at home to turn to social media to make noise in support of their favorite finalist. Exactly how this online activity factored into who was ultimately crowned the winner remains unclear, but the aim was more transparent: people should be talking about the queens and the program across multiple platforms. Salon even questioned whether the surprise announcement of a change in contest rules at the end of season five violated Federal Communications Commission regulations governing game shows. Notably, Salon concludes that the rules really weren’t changed: “Logo’s endgame is giving viewers a victor that they’re satisfied with. The only way an advantage can be earned is by winning over the audience with personality and talent – just as, in past seasons, how contestants were supposed to win over RuPaul” (D’Addario 2013). While the RPDR production team has successfully manipulated the new media environment for its benefit, the same technologies that have allowed for cheap promotion and buzz building have also proven to be unruly at times. Particularly vexing for content producers in the new media environment is how to keep global audiences from finding out about winners, losers, and other plot twists before episodes may be available within a given country or territory. Recently, a Melbourne drag queen was sent a cease and desist letter for using a Virtual Private Network to screen episodes of RPDR at the same time they were being aired in the USA, and six months ahead of when the Australian distributor of the program, Foxtel, aired episodes. The reason, according to the offending Melbourne drag queen: “Drag Race is so popular now that on the day of the screening, you cannot go anywhere near social media or you will have the results spoiled and ruined for you” (as cited in Duncan 2016). Recently, Netflix has made RPDR seasons two through six available in 224 countries and territories, but for these parts of the world just now gaining access to the series, the surprise is largely gone.

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RPDR isn’t the first or only television series to engage fans through multiple platforms. What is unique about RPDR is the way in which drag culture informs these engagements. Frequently described as a mashup of America’s Next Top Model and Project Runway, RPDR is more than a bricolage of reality competitions; it is instead a parody of them (Gudelunas 2016). Drag culture is inherently subversive and one of the most subversive aspects of RPDR is the way that promotional efforts are not a secret but rather an intrinsic part of the show. Critic Mark Harris (2010), writing in New York magazine, explains that RPDR has “managed to interweave a pointed and funny critique of the entire reality-competition genre into its own format. Anything that has ever struck you as slightly false on other shows becomes overtly, gloriously fraudulent on this one – an appropriate transformation for a show celebrating those who can pull off dishonesty with style . . . On other shows, endorsements are an undiscussed evil; on RuPaul’s Drag Race, they’re the whole point”. This comfort, or even celebration, of sometimes-crass promotional efforts makes sense when we remember the obvious: that RPDR is a drag queen competition. These contestants are not the “everyday” people that show up on Big Brother, Survivor, or America’s Got Talent; these are performers who have achieved some amount of notoriety and celebrity in their home town, whether New York or Roanoke. Self-promotion is part of drag culture and in order to be a successful queen – on the show or on the bar circuit – establishing a brand is critical and hence the focus of so many RPDR challenges. Writing for Forbes, Jackie Huba (2015) says succinctly: “The strategies drag queens use to market themselves hasn’t been studied or considered as traditional business marketing, but it should be”. As a mentor to these queens, RuPaul’s own history is instructive. Randy Barbato, who along with Fenton Bailey, heads up World of Wonder, the production company responsible for RPDR, frequently tells the story of RuPaul’s early ambition in the 1980s, during which she posted flyers of herself in Atlanta and New York that stated simply “RuPaul is everything” (Schulman 2014). Even before social media, part of the art of doing drag involves engaging audiences through multiple platforms – including paper postings. The queens of RPDR are practicing the art of drag during a different time, of course. They come to the show not only comfortable with performing for tips but also a social media following and a desire to achieve greater fame. As an example, Kim Chi, from season eight, is described by the Boston Globe as a celebrity because of her digital heel print: “The 28-year-old has been doing

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drag for only three years but has become an Instagram celebrity of sorts, making her a fan favorite even before the season started” (as cited in Stapleton 2016). While there is only one winner at the end of the season (and, spoiler alert, it was not Kim Chi), all of the queens stand to benefit from the exposure provided by the show. Some of the contestants on RPDR have found the exposure provided by appearing on the series can be a mixed bag. After being eliminated from the second season of “All Stars”, Tatiana explained: “I read all the comments when I was first on, like, “Oh, people are talking about me. I have to read everything!” Poor decision. Luckily no one hates me right now. The worst place to go for comments is YouTube. These are the kind of people who buy groceries at CVS” (as cited in Malice 2016). And, the queens of that have appeared on eight seasons of RPDR have a mixed track record when it comes to obtaining and maintaining follows across social media. The most popular queens across various platforms tend to be the season winners and those that have established a career post-RPDR that extends beyond a single city. Figure 1 shows the top ten queens in terms of combined social media following as of September 2016. The impressive social media heel print of many of the queens across social platforms is not just a source of self-validation, it has helped their post-RPDR careers. Contestants have gone on to a wide variety of postshow ventures – films, stage productions, RPDR-related spinoff television series, singles and albums – and even commercial work has kept many of the contestants busy even after they were kicked off the runway. Season five winner Jinkx Monsoon earned a “critic’s pick” and rave reviews, not to mention several extensions, for her show “The Vaudevillians” at the Laurie Beechman Theater in New York City (Genzlinger 2013). Willam, Courtney Act, and Alaska participated in a web campaign for fashion retailer American Apparel; Adore Delano and Bianca Del Rio filmed web episodes/promotions for Starbucks; and Facebook tapped Shangela for their promotional efforts. Adore Delano’s album “Till Death Do Us Party” sold 5,000 copies in its first week on the Billboard charts, the best debut to date for any of the drag race contestants (the previous music chart champ was Willam with his “Boy is a Bottom” single that debuted with 3,000 downloads). Delano’s album landed at number three on the Billboard Dance Charts and number 59 on the Billboard 200 (Caufield 2014). Notably, Delano, who as Danny Noriega, also competed on the US reality program American Idol, but it was his exposure from the far lower rated RPDR that got him onto the

328,467 21,957 60,844 130,963 681,866 170,480 346,878 32788 7554 14,846

535,846 479,931 507345 297,980 457,427 324,797 124,059 590129 553731 345,477

Bianca Del Rio (6)

Sharon Needles (4)

Alaska (5)

Willam (4)

Courtney Act (6)

Miss Fame (7)

Carmen Carrera (3)

Jujubee (2)

Jinkx Monsoon (5)

378,000

223,000

290,000

543,000

469,000

1,819

551,000

474,000

193,000

175,000

101,000

72,900

141,000

1

216,000

254,000

248,000

780,000 668,000

Twitter 237,000

Instagram

Fig. 1 Top ten RPDR queens by total social media followers

YouTube

FB Fanpage

Adore Delano (6)

Contestant (Season)

Vine

18,300

14,600

13,300

0

13,800

2,756

28,300

41,100

0

19,700

202

0

0

0

1,409

0

0

0

0

SoundCloud

6,615

4,382

6,300

0

15,039

0

0

0

92,130

21,150

FB Account

TOTAL

956,440

978,267

1,033,517

1,086,837

1,135,525

1,143,869

1,224,243

1,337,289

1,510,018

1,922,163

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music charts. There are countless other examples, but the point is that across multiple platforms the impact of RPDR extends far beyond the actual competition. Though acknowledging that these things tend to be cyclical, RuPaul told Vogue that we are currently living in a “golden age of drag”. Based on the widespread success of many former RPDR contestants, there seems to be evidence for this (Frank 2015). Playbill, the venerable Broadway magazine, points out the success of drag queens on Broadway in recent years in shows like “Pricilla Queen of the Desert”, “Kinky Boots”, “Hedwig and the Angry Inch”, and other big-budget productions. The magazine notes that the recent ascent of drag from dimly lit gay bars to the bright lights of Broadway has to do with two key factors: the popularity of RPDR and social media. Playbill says, “Exposure via Facebook and YouTube transports the late-night queen from the basement club, beyond the Broadway stage and into the home” (Cindric 2016). The queens and production team are only part of the RPDR social media story. The audience at home, of course, is a major player in creating this integrated system of watching television. Not unlike other television programs, and reality shows in particular, fans take to social media to support their favorite queens, trash their least favorite queens, and generally interact with audience members, not to mention the queens themselves. In the case of RPDR what is unique is how this integrated system of watching extends beyond the couch and into gay bars where “active audiences” takes on a whole new dimension. Official and unofficial viewing parties occur at gay bars across the USA, and oftentimes former or current cast members are hosts and performers during these events. If, as Playbill suggests above, RPDR and social media took drag queens from bars into the home, it also has delivered these same queens back to the bar – although this time, perhaps a stage with better lighting. While RPDR audiences certainly have the ability to time shift or watch the show on multiple devices, the popularity of the series in communal settings, in real time, is undeniable. Since many viewers in the key RPDR demographic, particularly in urban areas, are cable television cord cutters, a bar is the one place these fans can go to watch the show when it airs initially (Gudelunas 2016). While partial RPDR episodes are available as online teasers prior to the air date, and entire episodes are available online about 24 hours after the air date, there are few ways to watch in real time without access to cable or satellite television. And, while drag performances are certainly nothing

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new to most gay bars in the USA, it wasn’t until RPDR became a Monday night staple in many bars that a regular, mediated drag show was brought to the bar each week – what some have jokingly referred to as Monday Night Football for the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) crowd. At many bars, these nights are often just as raucous, interactive, and engrossing as the most hyped football games. Some of the viewing parties are connected not only to former (or in some cases current) contestants, but oftentimes sponsors, Logo, or other partners that turn the night into an experiential extension. Absolut Vodka, as an example, heavily promoted the first few seasons of the show by integrating product into the episodes, and then following through with audiences/ consumers at the point of sale – at the bar itself. There is interesting irony in that for all of the new media innovations and social media savvy bundled into the RPDR experience, the core audience still clamors for offline interactions. Since drag is so closely associated with gay bars, this shouldn’t be shocking, yet the tours that follow each season (see Rosiello’s chapter in this volume) and other realworld experiences are still noteworthy. One of the biggest offline experiences is Rupaul’s Dragcon, which much as it sounds, is a convention around all things drag modeled on the iconic ComiCon events. RuPaul said of Drag Con: “DragCon will give all of these like-minded people a chance to meet their tribe live and in person. . . . The idea that all of these people may recognize one another from social media and get the chance to meet in person is phenomenal. It will create a dialogue that no other convention could even come close to” (as cited in Horbelt 2014). Whether at conventions, in gay bars, or online, one thing is clear: RPDR audiences, contestants, and production team are all social. While the motivations may vary for the impetus behind this need for sociability, the result is the same: a dynamic and integrated system of watching that challenges how we define the success of a television series and what the boundaries of a TV show are. RPDR is about much more than the hour-long episodes that comprise a given season; it is instead about the ongoing interactions between audience members, contestants, producers, and advertisers that drive the success of the program. While measuring and monetizing these complex and dynamic interactions continues to be a problem for the television industry, it is clear that fans of RPDR are anything but passive. RPDR isn’t the only series to excel in the new media environment, but because the show is about drag culture it has an edge in pushing the boundaries of what constitutes successful television programing. Part of

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being a successful drag queen involves effective self-promotion. For contestants, the exposure provided by appearing on a national television series is just an additional tool in building a sustainable fan base. YouTube, Twitter, Instagram, and other digital tools are equally critical. That drag culture historically has been associated with balls and gay bars has an additional effect on the interactivity surrounding RPDR. While online forums and platforms are certainly locus of activity during and between seasons, audiences are further able to interact with each other and the show’s stars at real-time events. Ironically, for producers of the program hoping to sell commercial advertising blocks on the show, these public viewings may be detrimental to actual Nielsen figures. Of course, RPDR’s success cannot be measured by Nielsen numbers alone. The success of RPDR is seen in the post-show careers of many of the top contestants, the ability of the show to trend across social media platforms and the way in which the series has gained traction in our collective popular attention, even when hidden away on a standard-definition cable channel not available in most US households. RuPaul recently told ABC News that he didn’t think drag could ever go mainstream (Dawson and Valiente 2016). What’s interesting is that RPDR, and its ability to thrive in the new media environment, has upended what we even consider to be mainstream. There are many ways to attempt to quantify the success of RPDR – follower counts, head counts at bars on Monday nights, DragCon ticket sales, traditional viewers, or multi-screen viewers. None of these metrics, however, come close to perfectly encapsulating the new media environment where this series has exceled. Perhaps just like drag itself, the new television environment is about illusion and mystery.

REFERENCES Ault, S. (2014). Defining TV Viewers: Research that Measures Television-watching Alongside Social-media Use Finds Women more Likely to Talk about Shows with their Peers. Variety, 325(7), 31. Buschow, C., Schneider, B., & Ueberheide, S. (2014). Tweeting Television: Exploring Communication Activities on Twitter while Watching TV. Communications: The European Journal of Communication Research, 39(2), 129–149. 10.1515/commun-2014-0009. Buzzard, K. (2012). Audience Ratings in a Digital Age. Hoboken NJ: Taylor and Francis.

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Caufield, K. (2014, June 14). Adore Delano Sets “Drag Race” Record. Billboard. Retrieved from http://www.billboard.com/articles/news/6121126/adoredelano-rupauls-drag-race-chart-record Cindric, K. (2016, June 23). The Belle of the “‘Ball”: Drag Takes the Throne as High Art. Playbill. Retrieved from http://www.playbill.com/article/thebelle-of-the-ball-drag-takes-the-throne-as-high-art D’Addario, D. (2013, April 26). Social media will determine America’s next top drag queen – does it violate FCC rules? Salon. Retrieved from http://www. salon.com/2013/04/26/social_media_will_determine_americas_next_top_ drag_queen_does_it_violate_fcc_rules/ Dawson, D., & Valiente, A. (2016, May 12). RuPaul on Why He and “RuPaul’s Drag Race” Can Never Go Mainstream. ABC News. Retrieved from http:// abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/rupaul-rupauls-drag-race-mainstream/ story?id=39075322 Duncan, A. (2016), August 20. Aussie “Drag Race’” Fan Cop Foxtel Legal Threat for Hosting Streaming Parties. Pedestrian. Retrieved from https://www.pedes trian.tv/news/entertainment/aussie-drag-race-fans-cop-foxtel-legal-threatsfor/7eec44bd-edd8-49ec-a4ed-2a9bf946f1ce.htm Edelsburg, N. (2012, May 1). “Ru Paul’s Drag Race’” Success with Social TV. AdWeek. Retrieved from http://www.adweek.com/lostremote/ru-paulsdrag-race-success-with-social-tv/29470 Frank, A. (2015, March 2). “Drag Race” is Back! RuPaul on What Makes a Queen a Star. Vogue. Retrieved from http://www.vogue.com/12041424/rupauldrag-queen-race-interview/ Fratti, K. (2015, February 27). “RuPaul’s Drag Race” Social Team is Super Mean, And Fans Love It. AdWeek. Retrieved from http://www.adweek.com/lostre mote/rupauls-drag-race-social-team-is-super-mean-and-fans-love-it/50652 Fuchs, C. (2011). Foundations of Critical Media and Information Systems. London: Routledge. Genzlinger, N. (2013, August 12). A Duo Whose Personas Have Personas. The New York Times, p.C3. Godlewski, L. R., & Perse, E. M. (2010). Audience Activity and Reality Television: Identification, Online Activity, and Satisfaction. Communication Quarterly, 58(2), 148–169. doi:10.1080/01463371003773358. Gudelunas, D. (2016). Culture Jamming (and Tucking): “RuPaul’s Drag Race” and Unconventional Reality. Queer Studies in Media & Popular Culture, 1(2), 231–249. Harris, M. (2010, April 24). Accept the Inevitable; Product Endorsements aren’t Going Away, so you Better Work them. New York. Retrieved from http://go. galegroup.com/ps/i.do?id=GALE%7CA227185896&v=2.1&u=a04fu&it= r&p=GRGM&sw=w

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Horbelt, S. (2014, May 14). RuPaul Makes HER story with the World’s First-Ever Drag Queen Convention, DragCon. Frontiers. Retrieved from https://www. frontiersmedia.com/frontiers-blog/2015/05/14/rupaul-makes-herstorywith-the-worlds-first-ever-drag-queen-convention-dragcon/ Huba, J. (2015, June 1). Build Fan Loyalty Like RuPaul And America’s Top Drag Queens. Forbes. Retrieved from http://www.forbes.com/sites/jackiehuba/ 2015/06/01/build-fan-loyalty-like-rupaul-and-americas-top-drag-queens/6a1d2d4f65e9 Jenkins, H. (2006). Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide. New York: NYU Press. Jenkins, H., Green, J., & Sam, F. (2013). Spreadable Media: Creating Value and Meaning in a Networked Culture. New York: NYU Press. Malice, M. (2016, September 6). Getting the T With Tatianna. The Observer. Retrieved from http://observer.com/2016/09/getting-the-t-with-tatianna/ Moe, H., Poell, T., & Van Dijck, J. (2016). Rearticulating Audience Engagement: Social Media and Television. Television & New Media, 17(2), 99–107. doi:10.1177/1527476415616194. Penzhorn, H., & Pitout, M. (2006). The Interactive Nature of Reality Television: An Audience Analysis. Communicare, 25(2), 85–102. Proulx, M., & Shepatin, S. (2012). Social TV: How Marketers can Reach and Engage Audiences by Connecting Television to the Web, Social Media, and Mobile. Hoboken, N. J.: John Wiley & Sons. Schulman, M. (2014, February 23). In Drag, It Turns Out, There Are Second Acts. The New York Times, p.ST1. Selva, D. (2016). Social Television. Television & New Media, 17(2), 159–173. doi:10.1177/1527476415616192. Stapleton, J. P. (2016, April 29). Instagram star Kim Chi talks “RuPaul’s Drag Race”. The Boston Globe. Retrieved from https://www.bostonglobe.com/life style/style/2016/04/29/instagram-star-kim-chi-talks-rupaul-drag-race/ TQRHHr7a3943n0fK8RSG2N/story.html Van Dijck, J. (2013). The Culture of Connectivity: A Critical History of Social Media. New York: Oxford University Press. Walsten, J. (2016, March 14). Season 8 Premiere of “RuPaul’s Drag Race” Draws Nearly 1 M Viewers. Broadcasting and Cable. Retrieved from http://www. broadcastingcable.com/news/programming/season-8-premiere-rupaul-sdrag-race-draws-nearly-1m-viewers/154635 David Gudelunas holds a Ph.D. from the University of Pennsylvania and is dean of the College of Arts and Letters and professor of communication at the University of Tampa.

What Can Drag Do for Me? The Multifaceted Influences of RuPaul’s Drag Race on the Perth Drag Scene Claire Alexander In Perth, Western Australia, drag has historically been a marginalized act. Drag is rarely seen as an art form by the wider majority population, and is often relegated to an esoteric gay subculture. Though the drag queen influx has come in waves in the past, the practice of drag has largely remained the domain of the two lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer (LGBTQ) venues in Perth: The Court Hotel (The Court) and Connections Nightclub (Connections). Even given this limited set of locales, drag has recently become more widely accepted. This is largely due to the success of RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR) and the work the show has done in normalizing drag within a larger queer audience, as well as introducing the art form to the majority population. Competitions which are heavily modeled on RPDR have become more prevalent, and contestants from RPDR have visited the city as part of nationwide club tours (Fig. 1 & 2). A majority of the queens interviewed for this work are employed at either one or both of the two LGBTQ venues in Perth. The Court hosts a weekly amateur drag competition, “Drag Factory”, and often features drag as part

C. Alexander (*) Edith Cowan University, Joondalup, Perth, Australia © The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_17

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Fig. 1 11.30pm, Hannah Conda and BarbieQ outside Connections Nightclub after a performance by The House of Edwards, 2014.

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of their Friday night entertainment lineup. Connections has a weekly night called “Pop” dedicated to drag, and often also has elaborately staged drag shows on the weekends. The nationwide RPDR tour shows that feature contestants from the most recent season are presented in both venues and queens from the series also bring their own shows to Perth independently. Since 2012 I have immersed myself in the drag culture of Perth, initially as a documentary photographer, then as a hired photographer for the venues, and more recently as a photographer doing PhD fieldwork. As an anthropologist and visual ethnographer, I have lived, worked, partied, traveled, and talked with Perth queens about their lives, their culture, and the art of drag. In this chapter I use visual and ethnographic approaches to explore the growing popularity of RPDR, and its multi-faceted influence upon the local scene, which is arguably more geographically isolated than any other drag community in the world. I have conducted interviews with local drag performers and analyzed them to explore concepts of hybridity and essentialism, using the perspectives of local queens to discuss shifting public conceptions of drag as a result of RPDR. I interrogate local queens’ use of the internet and the ways in which they share ideas (makeup tutorials, blogs, recorded performances), and how this information is synthesized with Perth’s drag subculture to create new trends locally. In all, I discuss the changing face of Perth drag in light of RPDR.

SETTINGS

AND

DATA

The honesty and openness of the opinions presented in this chapter can be attributed largely to the professional and interpersonal relationships I have developed with the artists over several years. Primarily as the drag community’s photographer, but also as their ethnographer, our conversations take place in a variety of spaces: a dressing room before or after a drag show or during a production; a rooftop bar; a vacant private bathroom stall; or on drives home and between venues. Our meetings often included a few photos to document their “look”. They may be in drag, or boy drag, and the time may be anywhere between 9 pm and sunrise. My research is based on multiple sources of data, which I analyze using qualitative methods. Data is derived from semi-structured interviews comprised of open-ended questions supported by field notes. Discussion topics include a queen’s background, how RPDR has affected the Perth

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Fig. 2 8.48pm, Major Scales and Jinkx Monsoon at the Perth Fringe World Festival for their show The Vaudevillians, 2014.

drag scene and what, if any, changes have occurred in the way drag culture is transmitted between queens due to the onset of the show. My data analysis is informed by shifts in thinking and new trends I’ve observed and discussed with community members in the past few years, and is also informed by my work since 2012 photographing The Court’s Wednesday night shows and “Drag Factory” competitions (Fig. 3 & 5). In addition to these “local talent” performances, I have also documented the meet-and-greet sessions, performances, and backstage happenings at approximately 17 separate events with RPDR contestant/winners in Perth, involving some 25 plus visiting queens who have come to the city over the span of the past three years. My data indicate the value of using four critical lenses to explore how Perth drag has changed over the years, and especially in terms of its response to RPDR. Accordingly, this chapter draws primarily upon: participants’ personal history and inspirations; their general knowledge of drag history; perceived changes within the wider queer and non-queer community; and adaptation(s) made by Perth drag queens to “new ways” of doing drag.

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It is important to note that I do not argue that my data can be generalized beyond its context. Nor do I wish to suggest that the changes I refer to are solely a response to RPDR – some are likely to represent a concurrent evolution in the art of drag. These are complex inter-reactions. This chapter offers a snapshot of current opinions on the shifting face of drag in Perth in 2016. I use the term “boy drag” instead of referring to queens “in” and “out” of drag, as the natural-seeming coherence of gender is culturally constructed and performed, as suggested by Judith Butler (1990). This idea is also reflected in RuPaul’s exclamation “You’re born naked and the rest is drag” (RuPaul, 1995, p. 3). The bulk of the data for this chapter comes from interviews and discussions that I have had with nine key performers in the Perth drag community: Stryker Meyer; Champagne de Ville; BarbieQ; Feminem; Hannah Conda; Veronica Jean Jones (VJJ); Ruby Jewelz; Perri Oxide;

Fig. 3 10.55pm, Scarlet Adams, Hannah Conda (in boy drag), VJJ and Ruby Jewelz in between shows in their dressing room. These four queens are the current (2014–2016) hostesses of Drag Factory at The Court Hotel.

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and Harvest Dubois. Their participation in the Perth drag scene spans from 1983 to the present. Stryker Meyer is regarded as a legend in the queer community, having stepped onto the drag scene around 1983, when there were comparatively few drag queens. He [Meyer’s choice of gendered pronoun] played a pivotal role in the film Priscilla Queen of the Desert as Chief Drag Consultant, winning a British Academy of Film and Television Arts (BAFTA) Award in 1994, shortly after the film was released (Fig. 4). Champagne de Ville and BarbieQ are drag mother and daughter, having stepped onto the scene in 1993 and 1998, respectively. BarbieQ is the entertainment manager at Connections Nightclub. Ruby Jewelz started drag in 2009, and Hannah Conda in 2010, with Ruby being the first person to “whirl” Hannah a face. “Whirl” is a term used in the drag community to replace the verb for many actions. In this case, it refers to Ruby painting Hannah’s face for the first time. Another use might be “I’m going to whirl this outfit today”, where “whirl” replaces the verb “to wear”. They consider each other as sisters, and have been well known in the community since they

Fig. 4 8.38pm, Stryker Meyer backstage before a performance for Perth Fringe World, 2016.

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started. Ruby and Hannah are the self-proclaimed “lesbian mothers” of VJJ, who they note was already “a beyond amazing performer”, but whom they guided with makeup and styling beginning in late 2010. Feminem moved from Sydney to Perth, appearing on the scene around 2007, while Perri and Harvest are both relative newcomers, starting their drag identities in the post-RPDR era.

DRAG

IN

PERTH,

A

BRIEF HISTORY

It is necessary to go back a few decades in order to set the scene for Perth drag culture. Stryker Meyer notes that in the 1980s drag was a distinctly alternative art form. He recounts, “When I was young here in Perth, I was one of five drag queens, that was it. And then there was this wave of baby drag queens all of a sudden. And nobody knew where it came from, it just grew and grew and grew”. Champagne, a well-known and respected queen who became interested in drag in the early 1990s talks about what the drag scene was like when she started frequenting Connections in 1998: Years ago all we had in Perth was Wigs of Wesley, and their wigs were like 300 bucks! You either had to get something made, or try and make it yourself if you couldn’t get someone to do it . . . nothing was accessible. You couldn’t just go and buy jewels, you couldn’t just go and buy wigs.

Regarding the popularity of drag in the community, BarbieQ notes that in the 1990s it was still a fairly subversive art that not many people from mainstream culture knew about or appreciated. She says, “[Gay] People really loved it . . . but you know . . . as soon as you walked out of the door, you were just another homo in a dress. So there was a lot more street slinging you had to deal with back then, compared to now”. She also notes how much more visible drag culture has become in Perth: Girls, especially straight girls who watch RPDR . . . love having the “gay friend”. They love drag queens because they all think it’s fabulous. They love fashion, they love ridiculous clothes and hair, because they all want those things, but would never wear them [themselves]. So they can watch the TV and relate to it. [ . . . Back in the day] there was no connecting of the dots. Even walking up to the gay club [the girls] would have just thought “that’s a poofter going to the gay club”, they wouldn’t have thought – “oh, there’s a professional person going in to do a show and get paid money”.

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Arguably, the accessibility and international success of RPDR is part of the educational process that has led to new perspectives on drag in the broader (non-queer) community.

LACK

OF

KNOWLEDGE

AND THE

CONTEXT

OF

DRAG

While the general public is learning more about drag, it has been suggested that Perth’s newer queens lack critical knowledge about pioneers’ experiences. Older and more experienced artists suggest that this may be because RPDR is perceived as the be-all and end-all of drag by the younger generation. VJJ, Ruby and I discuss the topic after a night of them hosting “Drag Factory” at the Court Hotel. “Drag Factory” is a weekly amateur drag competition which serves as a place for Perth’s baby queens to first come out in drag, test the waters and be “discovered”. VJJ notes the importance of queer history education, and how it can benefit artists in their growth, even if it involves just watching an older film and reflecting on the themes. She attributes the lack of knowledge of queer history in the next generation of queens to the relatively new, precipitously rising trend which helps some talented newcomers to become almost instant drag queens: Watching Priscilla Queen of the Desert can inspire you, it can change your brain. It can change the way you look at drag again, change the way you see gay culture. It makes me wild, because there are a lot of young gays who are like “I’m not watching [Priscilla] Queen of the Desert, I’d rather watch Drag Race Season 6, because that’s my favorite season because Bianca WON!” And it’s so ironic, because Bianca is one of the most educated, intelligent, historically-grounded performers out there.

Ruby Jewelz’ view is that queens are taking longer to develop their own personae due to their mimicry of RPDR queens: “At the end of the day, it’s an art form [ . . . But] all you’ve seen is what you’ve exposed yourself to”. VJJ has the final word, “Yeah, [they] came into drag during the era of “I’m just going to be Beyoncé.” I keep telling them, ‘You won’t get gigs if you don’t adapt to each [flamboyant flourish] different [arm wave] style [high kick]’”. I ask Champagne whether she thinks that the lack of historical knowledge in the younger generation is a hindrance, noting that the live audience of RPDR’s Season 7 finale was treated to a history (or as RuPaul put

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Fig. 5 9.31pm, Hannah Conda prepares music for the night on her laptop before hosting Drag Factory at The Court Hotel, 2015.

it, “HERstory”) of drag. Champagne’s view is that there is sometimes a defiant resistance to an education about drag history: I talk to some of the younger drag queens, and I’ll quote a movie or a scene . . . and it’s a gay cult movie, and they have no idea what I’m talking about. So they don’t have that history . . . they don’t understand or even want to know anything previous to RPDR. [RPDR is] the only history they know. I’m not saying that negatively . . . drag used to be men in dresses having fun, being outrageous. Now it’s about looking a certain way, being contoured . . . and basically looking like you stepped out of RPDR.

Despite many of the queens holding this view, Stryker Meyer offers an alternative perspective: Really honestly, I don’t think they need to know the history of drag. That’s just going to slow them down. [ . . . ] I don’t think [education about drag] is necessary. [ . . . ] You’re learning all the time, even if it’s not off an older

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person . . . and whatever you choose to do with that is really valid. That’s what people need to know.

In addition to learning about history, and watching RPDR, people learn how to be queens from within their family (Rupp & Taylor, 2003). It is this aspect of drag culture to which I now turn.

PERSONAL HISTORIES

AND

FAMILY STRUCTURES

In the documentary Paris Is Burning (1990), the structure of “houses” is introduced and accepted as a legitimate version of the structure of drag families in the 1980s in New York City. This is also reflected in the contestants of RPDR, such as the House of Edwards. I ask VJJ, Ruby, Champagne, and BarbieQ to consider whether these influences are impacting upon drag families in the Perth context and the ways in which queens in Perth related to each other in the past, compared with now. VJJ attended a performing arts high school for five years and notes that “ . . . they taught me stuff about stage presence . . . commanding audiences, looking into people’s eyes, annunciating . . . ” She believes that the school made a big contribution to her becoming a drag queen: “ . . . I was doing drag, but I just wasn’t in drag . . . I was already building a character in a way, and finding my flamboyance in the theatre”. It was that flamboyance, however, that was preventing her from gaining mainstream opportunities: “I never got in. Everything I auditioned for . . . like The X Factor . . . they said the same quote. . . . “You’re too girly, you’re too pretty”. So I just kept thinking, ‘what does that mean?’ Then one day I beat my face [put on makeup], and I figured that one out quick!” (Fig. 6). Both Ruby and BarbieQ note the importance of multiple influences when it comes to forming a drag identity of one’s own. Ruby explains how she built her personal knowledge of drag: “I just talked to everyone as much as I could about drag and asked them . . . what got you started? What were your influences? [ . . . ] I think it’s important . . . to not ever limit yourself to one source, because that’s the gravest mistake you can make as an artist” (Fig. 7). BarbieQ offers a very specific genealogy for her drag persona: Champagne was my drag mother, she was doing lots of stuff down at The Court . . . I was also really good friends with Swish, so she gave me some help too . . . I loved Electra’cos she was very slender and tall, as I was back then,

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Fig. 6 10.50pm, Veronica Jean Jones during a smoke break in between performances at The Court Hotel.

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and she was the dancing queen. And [there was] another drag queen called Mindy Von Style, and she was probably the [same] kind of build as Nina Flowers, but choreographically smashed the shit out of it, because she was this big built powerhouse of a woman, who just smashed it out with the power of a man, but her dancing wasn’t masculine. And that’s what I loved.

During my years in the clubs, photographing shows, and backstage, I’ve noticed that as more and more queens join the industry, the influence of drag mothers has diminished, and the hierarchy has become less obvious. It is not as easy as it used to be to trace an individual’s drag lineage nor does it seem as apparent in the way individuals present themselves. Younger queens seem to engage less in apprentice-like relationships with older queens, and instead convene online with others of their age and experience to learn techniques and discuss drag in general. BarbieQ notes that in the early 2000s, if you had a drag mother, they might have done your makeup two or three times, “and that was it! You had to learn. There was none of this: I’m going to do your makeup every time you go out”. She remembers that costume lending was less prevalent too: “We had none of that, because back then, there were so many drag queens and only a few venues. Yes, you would have a drag mum, but they didn’t want you to get too good too quick, because their work was on the line”. She argues that due to the abundance of makeup tutorials online more recently, anyone can learn to look like a drag queen: People try to throw their makeup skills around and try to make everyone pretty so everyone can do it, and that’s just something that was unheard of back then . . . you had to work to get your position, why should it just be handed to you? And that’s still my opinion . . . Before I hire someone, [they] have to show me the mileage. I’m not just going to hire someone who’s been in drag three times to do a production show at the premier nightclub. There’s just no way.

Champagne, who took a 10-year break from drag (coinciding with the advent of RPDR), says that she saw a noticeable difference in the climate when she came back into drag in 2015 (Fig. 8). She argues that the increased visibility of drag due to RPDR has impacted young queens in Perth, despite the relatively small size of the town and its geographic isolation. For example I’m Barbie’s drag mother, and you don’t often get that anymore because people just see drag [as something that happens]. It’s so

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Fig. 7 10.32pm, Ruby Jewelz after a night of judging Queen of the Court at The Court Hotel, 2015. prevalent everywhere because of RPDR, and it’s all over social media, it’s so accessible, that [the new drag queens] just go and start on their own, and that’s that. They just meet up and form friendships [now], but years ago, someone virtually started you in drag, someone named you, and that’s the hierarchy of how you became a drag queen . . . [These days] that’s a little lost

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Fig. 8 10.08pm, Champagne de Ville at The Court Hotel, 2016.

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Fig. 9 2.42am, Feminem on the Drag Stars at Sea Cruise – Caribbean Adventure (2014). These cruises allow fans of RPDR to spend 10 days with queens from the show. and people start seeing that there are so many YouTube tutorials, and they see RPDR, so they just go and start on their own, they just start practicing. So yes, there’s a lot who don’t have that mentoring from people, which is a little sad. But unfortunately it’s just a sign of the times.

These perspectives provided by the queens indicate a shift in what many see as the traditional family structures of drag. As newer queens enjoy greater visibility and access to information, there seems to be a diminished role for the drag mother, a previously respected and revered role. I asked the queens how much they percieve RPDR to have influenced this shift.

THE RUPAUL COMPLEX When examining the influences of RPDR on the Perth scene, it is necessary to consider both the place of the show on television and its social media empire, which plays a large part in disseminating information.

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Fig. 10 6.43pm, Feminem and Hannah Conda hosting at Bianca del Rio’s 2014 show at The Court Hotel.

Additionally, queens from the series, both contestants and winners, have toured Perth clubs with their own shows. Perth’s queer community has embraced these tours with many queens (and non-queens) delighted to meet their idols in real life (Fig. 9, 10, 11). Given that many queens convene in organized online communities such as Facebook groups, VJJ argues that these virtual spaces have partly replaced the learning and networking that was traditionally done at the clubs: I really notice that on the Aussie RPDR page on Facebook, it’s like they don’t have real lives. They just go on the page, and chat a bit, that’s where they “go out”. I love that though, the enthusiasm behind that page. They really like it. I thought I liked RPDR, but it’s like it’s a fandom for them. It’s like Star Trek!

Regarding the factors that motivate people to become drag queens, VJJ goes on to say that these do indeed differ from just a few years ago, and that the

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Fig. 11 2.03am, Back row L–R: Hannah Conda, Rachel Discrimination, Milk, Flo Reel, Maude Mizelle. Front row L–R: Scarlet Adams, Yara Sofia, Feminem, Tarryn Yassup, Ginava, in Perth at Milk and Yara Sofia’s national tour, 2014.

time invested in working up to becoming a drag queen on the scene seems to have become shorter due to an apprenticeship being replaced by RPDR: Drag is very different [to when I started]. Ruby and I have this conversation all the time, [we call it] the RuPaul complex . . . I didn’t have that, Katya didn’t, Fay didn’t have that . . . because we all started drag with different intentions, do you know what I mean? A lot of young girls now, they start because they’ve seen it on TV. [ . . . ] they don’t have the 10 years of gay education behind them, they’ve just been gay and said “I want to be a drag queen now”, whereas when I was 8 . . . I already knew I wanted to be a drag queen. . . .

In pursuing a perspective on whether VJJ’s theory rings true for newer queens, I ask Perri Oxide to recount her experience in becoming a drag queen. A new member of the Perth scene, Perri started in drag around 2014 and quickly rose through the amateur ranks to win the “Queen of the Court” title in 2015 (Fig. 12). Her immediate predecessors, Alexas

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Armstrong (2014 winner), and Scarlet Adams (2013 winner), both work as professional drag performers in Perth’s LGBTQ venues. Is VJJ right? Do “you just see it on TV and then BAM!”? Perri and I try to find a quiet place in Connections Nightclub on a Thursday night. It’s one of the biggest nights for drag in Perth, thanks to “POP”, the weekly drag themed night founded by BarbieQ. There are drag queens behind the bars mixing discounted cocktails, and a show that starts around 1am. It is midsummer and, despite being past midnight, sweltering. Away from public view, we fan ourselves with cocktail napkins and Perri briefly de-wigs to allow for some airflow. It was actually my friend who wanted to be the drag queen . . . we started watching RPDR together . . . and [he] got the idea, he said [snaps her fingers] “I am going to be a drag queen”. We were like “yeah, yeah, let’s do this”. He saw the show and thought . . . well, everyone sees the show and thinks, “yeah, I could do that . . . ” Not the case. [Shakes head vigorously.] So we got some makeup together . . . I knew some stuff about makeup . . . and we sat him down, we looked at a tutorial [on YouTube] for brow covering . . . and we were like, “do you want to be this queen, or this queen or this queen [from RPDR]?” . . . and he just looked awful. He looked fucking awful . . . revolting. I was just like, “what have we done?” We tried another two times on him . . . and he still looked awful.

Despite their failure in effecting a RPDR-inspired transformation, Perri and her friends continued to watch the show (Fig. 12). Perri describes her experience of putting herself in drag for the first time: Something came over me halfway through 2014, and I was like [snaps fingers] “You know what, fuck it . . . I’m going to be a woman”. It was after watching the Season 6, and seeing Bianca Del Rio, and falling in love with [her] . . . and just like being like, “I will be a drag queen . . . I can lip synch to a song!” So after practicing my face a couple of times, whirled out [to Drag Factory], looked awful. You were there! You took pictures. I did “Chandelier” . . . I did both numbers in the same outfit . . . I kinda just whirled around on the floor thinking I was an absolute woman. The second time I did it . . . [I] still looked awful, but got second place. In contrast to many of the other queens who started earlier, Perri notes that she had very little to do with the drag community before she started performing. “Had I seen drag [in Perth] before I started?” she asks herself. “Yes, I went to Drag Factory once before becoming a drag queen”. Perri’s experience reinforces the idea that the drag mother plays less of a role

WHAT CAN DRAG DO FOR ME

Fig. 12 11.03pm, Perri Oxide, 2016.

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these days in the formation of a new queen. Indeed, as information becomes more available to new queens, a range of drag rites of passage are fading into the past, or being replaced. Similar to VJJ, Perri sees her performing arts background, and the fact that she’s a student at the Western Australian Academy of Performing Arts, as a contributing factor complementing her talent. “I’ve always been the overly flamboyant faggot . . . and I like to consider myself as (I hope it doesn’t sound egotistical) a jack of all trades . . . I can paint, draw, act, sing, write, play music . . . ” My discussions with Champagne also pointed toward the replacement of the drag mother figure with celebrities from RPDR. She notes, “They’re putting themselves in drag, and then they just latch on to someone that they idolize and then they refer to them as their drag mother. So [the process is] not a true reflection of how it was years ago”. Despite not actually calling Max (a contestant from Season 7 of RPDR) her drag mother, Perri’s story reflects this idea aptly. She recounts her experience of being drawn into Max’s aesthetic and identifying with Max because of her perceived shared experience of being misunderstood. Because [some older queens] and I got off on the wrong foot, everyone was like, “Perri has a bad attitude, she needs a smack”, but I was just like – No you don’t get my humour . . . But I felt so outcast and awkward. The new cast for RPDR was released, and the one that stood out was Max. Because she looked so different to everyone else. And I was like “Oh my goodness” . . . after all of the mockery [I had been through] and feeling like a full outcast like, she literally kinda drew me into her, because she was so ridiculously different to the rest of the girls, and really, any drag queen that I’ve ever seen. She was so unique.

Feminem adds that social media plays a large role in how people are becoming drag queens today: Social media has definitely influenced [my visibility]. When I first started, to get noticed, or to have people go crazy over you, you had to be in the club seven nights a week working it. Now, there are queens who are coming up who have these massive fan bases and people are going crazy over them, who’ve never set foot on stage or in a nightclub. They create their drag through YouTube, Instagram, all these different avenues. For me, I’ve always worked my fanbase at the clubs because I came up through the clubs, so.

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Hannah comments on the idea that newer queens have started to ask “what can drag do for me?”, further noting that she’s seen how contagious the idea of “fame” can be: A lot of people think that drag can give you this fame in the gay world. They think “people will know me” . . . They see all of these queens coming [through RPDR], and they see the effect it has on them, and they think “If they can do that, then what can I get from it?”, rather than thinking, “no, it’s not about the fame, it’s not about the money or what you can get from it . . . it’s about what you can give to it. It’s so important to keep grounded in that mentality . . . as much as you can get things from it, it shouldn’t be the reason that you’re doing it.

Social media and pop culture visibility are leading to the accelerated transmission of drag culture. The general consensus amongst the queens I interviewed is that the show has indeed influenced the drag scene in Perth greatly, but that these changes are not necessarily for the better or worse. For them, this is simply the way that drag is evolving, as a culture and as a community (Fig. 13).

“KEEPING UP”

WITH THE (NEW)

QUEENS

RPDR’s function as a disseminator of drag culture, and the way that social media accelerate the learning curve for newer queens, aren’t the only influences upon the changing climate in drag. Many queens note that the scene is evolving fast with a range of rich influences. VJJ notes that queens have to constantly keep up: [Older queens] have had to adapt to a younger vision. I’m the queen who came in at the very middle of the whole craziness of RPDR . . . I had no idea about the show until I was a drag queen. For me it was like: I really want to be a drag queen, but now I’m successful, and fuck I’m comparing myself to all of these other ones, I have to keep bettering myself as the show goes on because drag is just getting bigger. VJJ talks about how people’s intentions in becoming a drag queen have changed as a result of RPDR: My intentions weren’t to become a reality TV star, they were to become what I would see when I was in Thailand watching the ladyboys, what I saw on Facebook when I was watching the shows in Sydney. It was that sort of stuff that inspired me. And, just like drag queens from America, like Vahla Jean Merman, Hedda Lettuce, Sherry Vine, like New York queens, were the first ones I ever saw, and I realized “Oh My God, this is what I need to do”.

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Fig. 13 1.20am, Lani da Rose, Donna Kebab, Alexas Armstrong, BarbieQ and Latrice Royale at Connections Nightclub, 2016 after Latrice Royale, Jayiden Dior Fierce, and Mimi Imfurst’s show.

I talk to Harvest Dubois, a well-known newer queen, about her early experiences with drag (Fig. 14). Harvest started coming out in drag around two years ago, and has been working at Connections for a year. She competed in “Queen of The Court” twice and won second place in the Pop Princess competition. We talked at Connections before she went on stage to perform on a Thursday night. I’d always wanted to try drag, and when RPDR came on telly I was immediately infatuated by it. I absolutely fucking loved it, and then when I actually came to Connections Nightclub and saw a show, I was like “This is absolutely 100% what I want to do. 100%”. That’s all I wanted to do. Drag!

I asked Harvest about her future in drag, and where she sees herself in a few years from now.

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I really do want to get a lot bigger. I want to get more of a name for myself. As much as everyone loves doing shows and production shows in Perth . . . I just want to be able to have a name for myself. I want people to be able to say “Oh my god, that’s Harvest . . . ” [ . . . ] I just want people to know my name in the end, be able to pick me out from a crowd.

Harvest sees the RPDR-influenced shift in Perth drag as a positive one that inspires individuality: There wasn’t that much variation [in drag before RPDR], it’s like everyone had their staple to do. And then when Drag Race came along, everyone branched off into what they wanted to do. It wasn’t like a “this is drag, this is Australian drag, this is what you always have to do”.

According to Perth’s leading queens, RPDR has influenced changes in Perth’s drag scene in many ways. Most noticeably, according to my interviewees, the show has revolutionized the way drag culture is transmitted in

Fig. 14 10.02pm, Trixie Mattel, contestant on RPDR Season 7, interacts with local Perth queen Harvest Dubois during a performance, 2015.

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this geographically isolated city. Newer queens such as Perri and Harvest are rising through the ranks and getting work in clubs in accelerated ways, partly due to the high visibility of drag and the internet dissemination of tips and techniques. This dynamic also encourages more experienced queens to keep up with the game. In terms of how queens feel about their careers in this new climate, it can be safely said that more experienced queens have some serious concerns about the historical knowledge of younger queens, as well as the preservation of the art of drag as opposed to its pure performance. My aim here is not to make sweeping statements about the state of Perth drag, or predictions about its future. Reflecting on the limitations of this work, I acknowledge that many voices have not been heard, and that this chapter is by no means a complete picture. But it is a collection of voices of queens I’ve worked with and know well. As Champagne tells me, “ . . . We will share our little secrets amongst ourselves . . . People know as much as we want them to know, but they’ll never know the infinite things about us”. (Fig. 15).

Fig. 15 10.26pm, Lunar Sea, Vaboux, Jinkx Monsoon, Donna Kebab & Flo Reel. January 2016, at Jinkx’s show at Connections Nightclub.

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REFERENCES Butler, J. (1990). Gender trouble. New York: Routledge. Livingston, J. (Producer). (1990). Paris is burning. USA: Academy Entertainment. RuPaul, C. (1995). Letting it all hang out: An autobiography. New York: Hyperion. Rupp, L. J., & Taylor, V. A. (2003). Drag queens at the 801 Cabaret. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Claire Alexander is a Perth-based photographer with a background in anthropology and cultural production. A visual ethnographer and PhD candidate, Alexander researches queer communities, temporality, gender presentation, and the art of drag.

“If You Can’t Love Yourself, How in the Hell You Gonna Love Somebody Else?” Drag TV and Self-Love Discourse Chelsea Daggett The process of mainstreaming drag through Logo TV’s RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR) has also enabled online education through new media and increased touring and career opportunities for drag queens. As drag subculture becomes more economically vibrant, important discourses of selflove and community building for drag queens intertwine with questions about neoliberalism and authenticity. Reality TV competitions like The Voice, Project Runway, and America’s Next Top Model all feature personal narratives of tragedy and self-discovery. However, some affect appears more genuine. RPDR frames these narratives in communal moments to emphasize shared, universally held emotions. Most of these personal moments occur in the RPDR ancillary program, Untucked, which features behind-the-scenes moments that deepen the relationships between competitors and their relationships outside the competition (with lovers, family, etc.). RPDR raises an interesting question: can reality TV encourage thinking about identity politics by affectively engaging audiences in both authentic and parodic ways? Neoliberalism and drag subculture share a mutual interest in political communities built around celebrity and

C. Daggett (*) University of Colorado Boulder, Boulder, USA © The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_18

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consumption. This surprising affinity allows affect and ideology to be undermined from within through consumption of drag in different locations across media and in real-life queer spaces.

DRAG AND NEOLIBERALISM: SUBCULTURES AND CELEBRITY

OF

CONSUMPTION

Neoliberalism and identity politics rarely coincide. However, the origins of the drag style that underlies RPDR, the underground ball culture of the 1980s and 1990s, reveled in the pleasures of consumption and celebrity culture. Paris is Burning documents this culture and features the key term “realness.” Real-ness is “the extent to which a performance conforms to the standard by which it is being judged. In their performances, ball participants seek to appear as what they are not, be it female, straight, white or rich, through their behavior and dress” (Levitt 2013, para. 5). These performances undermine the norms of a variety of identity categories, including race, gender, sexuality, and class. Drag’s political potential, acknowledged by scholars like Butler (1993) and Harris (1995), lies in its destabilization of these identity categories. Transferring “real-ness,” as an approximation of reality into the audience-savvy “constructed” genre of reality television, offers an interesting and parodic twist. One critic commented that “seeing as this is drag, there is a streak of irony a mile wide running through [RPDR]. It almost acts as a satire of the whole idea of reality TV competitions. RPDR knows that you know how reality TV works. RuPaul delivers every product placement with a knowing wink” (O’Conghaile 2013, para. 3). Several articles have acknowledged that the show consistently pushes the boundaries of reality TV by self-consciously “jumping the shark.” Nothing about RPDR purports to be real, which separates the show from other reality television often claiming to be real despite audience suspicions about the format. In contrast, RPDR troubles the relationship between parody and “realness” as a badge of pride. This destabilization connects to drag subculture’s political and cultural roots. RPDR’s position as a parody of both gender and reality television complicates the dichotomy between consumption as neoliberal manipulation versus the potential of commodity activism. Reality television, as a genre, has been criticized for supporting ideas of self-improvement and self-regulation as a hegemonic ideology (McMurria 2012; Ouellette 2008;

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Lee and Moscowitz 2013; Allen 2012). At the same time, many of these researchers acknowledge that affect and neoliberal consumption share some sort of liberatory potential. RPDR certainly represents drag as a “branded” practice. RuPaul herself states that “‘I see RuPaul as a product’ [on the show] in order to maintain wide viewership and marketability, [as] the identities of the contestants are packaged as exotic and policed into dominant understandings of drag queens when they disrupt or challenge binary expectations” (Kohlsdorf 2014: 76). “RuPaul” is the brand driving this franchise, and Kohlsdorf’s criticisms about packaging drag queen personas demonstrate typical ambivalent attitudes toward reality television commodification. While Kohlsdorf acknowledges that drag still has liberatory potential in “other spaces,” her comments ignore the fact that drag personas are also brands in these other spaces as well (2014: 74). What are these other spaces? Can the extension of the RuPaul brand into these other spaces be better understood as reciprocally beneficial rather than oppressive and politically neutered? Despite the aggressively neoliberal discourse that RuPaul promotes in her work and on RPDR, her success and the success of the show enables a diverse set of drag styles, sexual and gendered identity, and racial identities to co-opt brand logics. Fernando Berns makes the argument that the show exposes a complex variety of drag queens through the arbitrariness of reality TV. He argues that “‘drag’ is still a blurred category. And if naming is power which imparts control over something, then this is not necessarily a bad thing” (Berns 2014: 97). These statements reflect the tactic of mimicry; a term meant to show how the colonized can co-opt the logics of the colonizer. Indeed, DragCon (a RuPaul sponsored convention that just celebrated its second anniversary in May) and other RPDR-connected events like Battle of the Seasons advertise to straight audiences as well, with straight audiences defined here as explicitly “non-queer,” and with queer working as an umbrella term for a broad spectrum of gender and sexual identities. Additionally, mainstream versions of practices represented on the show have recently appeared. For instance, Lip Sync Battle on Spike TV took RPDR’s concept of Lip Sync for Your Life and set it to straight pop music, in a straight-friendly space on the same network that broadcasts The Man Show. Homi Bhabha invoked the term “mimicry” to establish the importance of self-representation in redefining oppressive power dynamics. Bhabha defines this strategy stating “mimicry emerges as . . . a double articulation; a complex strategy of reform, regulation and discipline, which appropriates the ‘Other’ . . . Mimicry is also the sign of the inappropriate, however, a

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difference or recalcitrance which coheres the dominant strategic function of colonial power . . . and poses a(n) . . . threat to . . . ‘normalized’ knowledge” (1994: 122–3). The relationship between RPDR, neoliberal culture, and underground drag culture shows how lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (and/or questioning) (LGBTQ) subcultures have co-opted the process of product placement and advertising in a mainstream forum like television to increase representation and recognition of their resistant practices. However, a price must be paid for appropriating mainstream power structures to promote subculture. The RPDR brand has expanded into spaces besides television like YouTube, social networking, and real life. Therefore, reducing analyses of the show’s impact to the neoliberal sphere of television is insufficient. These expanded spaces maintain the “RuPaul” brand. However, they also produce an international network for drag subcultures. Lynn Comella states that “consumer culture [can act] as an instrument for . . . social change by imbuing . . . new kinds of cultural and political possibilities [and] creat(ing) a viable counter-public sphere” (2012: 242). These multimedia extensions of RPDR question assumptions that Logo TV is the primary space whereby drag queens inhabit and destabilize gender norms. Other increased sites of exposure to drag culture include the internet and increased access to performance spaces, the “other spaces” that Kohlsdorf refers to. Despite charges about harmful branding that exoticizes difference, the queens describe the experiences enabled by the show as positive and professionally, socially, and artistically liberating. The show has helped to reduce the stigma drag queens face for their interest in drag from both straight and LGBTQ cultures. A confrontation between colonizer (non-queer audiences) and colonized (drag queens) also must occur to successfully facilitate the process of mimicry. Concerns about drag losing its political potential long pre-date RPDR. Daniel Harris, an academic and former drag queen, describes drag’s historical fluctuations between reinforcing and undermining gender norms. He states that drag performers “reform(ed) a ritual that . . . embraced members of the mainstream . . . into an event that appeals solely to the [sorority] sisters. . . . [As a result] the relation between the man in drag and his audience changes from . . . an insider addressing an aroused outsider to . . . an insider addressing another unexcited insider, drag is neutered” (1995: 73). Indeed, the educational potential of drag requires outsiders. Without this audience, the gender norms that the subculture destabilizes disappear. The need for a confrontation between norms and destabilization

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also relates to Judith Butler’s work on drag as performance. Butler discusses how drag reveals that norms are actually fluid performances based on social constructions. She states that “[drag] implies that all gendering is a kind of impersonation and approximation . . . gender is a kind of imitation for which there is no original; in fact, it is a kind of imitation that produces the very notion of the original as an effect and consequence of the imitation itself” (1993, 313; emphasis in original). The work of drag is to reveal the lack of an “original” gender. In both these readings of drag’s importance, an encounter between the mainstream and drag must occur in order for political change to be possible. With RPDR, a new collective drag subculture engages “consumercitizens” in learning about LGBTQ history and in encouraging them to feel the same self-love that the contestants feel. Audiences develop affective relationships with queens based on their individual experience of these feelings. At the same time, the discourses of the show and the performers themselves insist that drag subculture plays a crucial role in their self-love. While all the disparate parts of the “RuPaul” brand complicate assumptions about the disjunction between neoliberalism and collective politics, the question still remains: how do all these spaces interact to support the potential for identity politics?

AFFECTIVE SPACES, TELEVISION,

AND

SOCIAL MEDIA

This chapter analyzes three different sites in the drag queen community: live shows, television, and social media. Tracking these sites connects the affective practices common to drag discourses, such as self-love and family, across traditional and new media spaces. I attended three different types of drag events in order to perform a participant observation about the similarities and differences between drag show spaces associated with RPDR (Rupaul’s “Battle of the Seasons” tour and a RPDR viewing party at the LGBTQ club Tracks in Denver, Colorado) and traditional drag shows (the long-running Dream Girls show at Denver’s Hamburger Mary’s, and the drag contest after-show at Tracks). I also watched all the seasons of RPDR and its ancillary program Untucked. Finally, I watched a variety of performances and YouTube shows associated with World of Wonder (WOW) Presents, the production company for RPDR. These programs included Raja Drawja, Alyssa’s Secret, Bianca Del Rio’s “Really Queen?,” Ring My Bell, RPDR Fashion Photo RuView, and Bro’Laska. These three sites gave me a broad and highly differentiated set of texts to analyze.

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The combination of these diverse media sites plays an important role in reflecting the process of mainstreaming a subcultural practice. Drag previously represented an underground community. Fans of RPDR inevitably have a variety of different experiences with the original drag subculture. These different combinations of audience practice represent the media ethnography principle of hybrid cultures (Murphy 2003). RPDR represents an important moment when the underground subculture of drag began to echo into hegemonic culture, while still maintaining many of drag’s underground practices. As this practice’s audience expands, so do the various media.

AFFECT, FAMILY,

AND THE

STRAIGHTENING

OF

QUEER CULTURE

I observed the discourses of self-love and family peacefully coexisting with the neoliberal discourse of advertising at live drag shows. At each of the shows I attended the importance of family support was highlighted. Some critics have privileged RPDR as a site of humanization for drag queens. O’Conghaile states that “The straight world generally sees drag queens as mentally unsound weirdos, obsessed with something they will never be . . . RPDR makes them . . . Living, breathing, crying, lusting, funny, sad, flawed, brilliant people.” (2013, para. 5). While these claims may overinvest meaning into the show, my experience at actual drag shows echoed these observations. Discourses of family and self-love were also used to humanize live performers. Most prominently, family was appealed to at all of the shows I attended. At Hamburger Mary’s the host Jackie Summers asked the audience who was attending the show with their family. One young woman was there with her family for her 21st birthday and Jackie applauded her parents’ open-mindedness. A similar encounter occurred at Tracks’ Ultimate Queen Competition, a RPDR inspired after show lip-sync tournament. One of the performers said that her act was special because her mother was in the audience. M/C Felony Misdemeanor exclaimed “We LOVE families!” and thanked the woman’s mother for her support. These moments were amplified at the RuPaul’s Battle of the Seasons tour. Several of the performers, including host Michelle Visage, performers Jinkx Monsoon, and Sharon Needles, made speeches about the power of drag to bring families together. Michelle Visage, a cisgendered woman and judge on RPDR, explained her personal connection to the drag underground of the late 1980s and early 1990s, stating, “it was the first

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time I felt accepted and normal.” She also called the drag queens her first real family. Jinkx Monsoon also made a case for how drag and, especially, RPDR was “bringing families together,” a phrase that RuPaul uses in the show often. Jinkx stated that they “feels inspired by meeting mothers who brought their daughters to the show and the meet-and-greet” and that, despite all the fears about LGBTQ individuals in this world, this progress gives them hope. Family, as expected from the history of drag, represents a common discursive practice magnified by neoliberalism. The second notable continuity across these performances was their dependence on sponsors and advertising. The Dreamgirls show at Hamburger Mary’s—despite being the most traditional of the drag shows—had the most references to its sponsor, Ketel One Vodka. In between every performance, Jackie would remind attendees to get another drink featuring this brand. At the other two performances, the only direct advertising was the promotion of RPDR itself through merchandising and the audience’s viewing. This observation calls into question the assumption that television depends on advertising more than the real-life drag subculture. The continuities between real-life drag shows and the discourses of RPDR lead me to several conclusions about the authenticity of these discourses and their relationship to neoliberal consumption. Drag subculture maintains an ambivalent relationship to commercial culture. While Michelle Visage applauded the familial mode that RPDR fostered in its audience, she also coded the drag show as an explicitly LGBTQ space by “welcoming” those that were formerly outsiders, including the straight families that Jinkx Monsoon referenced in their speech. This ambivalence draws again on mimicry. Michelle’s comments welcoming straight individuals into the queer world of drag warns against threats of co-optation through mainstream education about drag. Indeed, RuPaul’s Battle of the Seasons tour was a more educational environment than the local drag shows because it anticipated a larger mainstream audience. The show featured two educational short films about drag originally broadcast on RPDR. These coexistent acts of self-representation and the protection of drag’s underground legacy exist in constant tension with the desire to welcome outsiders into the subculture.

LOGO TV, MIMICRY,

AND

REPRESENTATIONAL RISK

Self-love and family act as discursive bridges across social space, television, and social media in drag culture. These discourses also affectively draw commonalities with straight individuals. Concerns about the risks of

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mimicry coincide with skepticism about self-representation. Based on the similarities in discourse and practice across physical and media spaces, drag subcultures are well represented by RPDR. Understanding self-representation through mimicry involves recognizing the risk to political potential when the straight world colonizes the practice by exploiting drag queens’ stories and acceptance of difference. At the same time, this address can draw attention to inequalities and historical struggles for LGBTQ visibility. The physical space of the Battle of the Seasons tour and traditional drag shows resist contextualizing drag performance for those outside of drag culture by policing speech and insider practice. However, the interpretation of televisual representations cannot be directed and narrowed in the same ways due to the commercial pressure to find a wide audience. The more the show appeals to a straight audience, the larger its audience will be. Working within the system means accepting certain political economic restrictions. John McMurria discusses political resistance to the industrial structure of television, highlighting aspects of Logo TV and VH1’s (the two networks that have aired RPDR) political economic position. Debates about profits and advertising miss the important point that inequalities in the political sphere have economic effects as well. For LGBTQ representation, “these industrial practices of multichannel television do not simply proliferate cultural difference through catering to viewer demands but constitute forms of inclusion and exclusion. Representations of ethnic and racial diversity on television are relegated to comedy and reality formats or placed on high-numbered channels in specialty ‘tiered’ packages” (McMurria 2012, 259). Indeed, the incorporation of LGBTQ representation on cable networks has limited the “value” of the LGBTQ community to middle-upper class white males with good taste, a disposable income, and an interest in party culture (Henderson 2013). One of RPDR’s biggest sponsors in early seasons was Absolut Vodka, an alcohol brand that targets LGBTQ club culture. The stories shared on RPDR represent LGBTQ struggles and, on many occasions, archetypal struggles with being different. This inclusiveness occurs through discourses of self-love and family as both a unique and humanized part of drag queen experience and a power dynamic typical of other forms of oppression. The show contains several mantras that encourage self-love: “Everybody say love!” and the phrase that ends each episode, “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?” Scenes of connection and self-revelation occur on

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RPDR, its behind the scenes program Untucked, and the confessional segments. Confessionals commonly highlight normalcy on reality television. In RPDR, this gesture returns extraordinary characters to an ordinary context. These moments also generally occur in a group or community setting and are simply expanded on in the confessional context. For instance, drag queen Trixie Mattel explains how she chose her drag name in a combination of confessional takes and interactions with her challenge partner, Pearl. After revealing that she grew up in an abusive home, she states, if I was being too sensitive or acting too feminine especially, [my abusive stepdad] would call me a Trixie. For years, that was like one of the worst words I could think of. So I took that name Trixie, and it used to have all this hurt to it, and I made it my drag name and now it’s something I celebrate, something I’m so proud of. (Murray; 2015; Season 7, Episode 8).

Trixie’s story mirrors many of the queens’ stories throughout RPDR’s seasons. Other contestants, like Jiggly Caliente and Phi Phi O’Hara, share similar stories about abuse. Drag has often been a way for gay men to overcome, challenge, and even accept the abuse, bullying, and stigmatization they experienced as a result of their feminine tendencies (Harris 1995, 69). Drag can become an act of self-love and empowerment. Here, we see that Trixie recuperated the word “trixie” from its insulting, abusive connotation, just as the LGBTQ community reclaimed the term “queer.” However, by moving from abuse into a specific drag practice with this story, RPDR reveals how wider social problems like abuse reverberate through iterations of LGBTQ and drag subcultures. Other queens have revealed histories of bullying, depression, drug abuse, HIV status, and gender confusion, and they all have commented on how their drag characters have helped them to express themselves. BenDeLaCreme discusses how his boy-self “can be more negative . . . I’ve struggled with depression . . . This character is somebody who helped me to be more positive” (Murray; 2014; Season 6, Episode 9). Sharon Needles’ gothic drag reflects her comment that “I’m not afraid to look bizarre and when I look bizarre, I feel beautiful” (Murray; 2012b; Season 4, Episode 3). All of these stories show how drag has helped gay men deal with past struggles and boosted their self-confidence.

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These emotional moments of promoting self-love affect the audience as a more authentic experience when juxtaposed with the general façade of the show. An affective connection is generally forged with reality stars through confessionals and personal stories, but in RPDR these stories serve a larger pedagogical and political goal. Some of the challenges and statements that RuPaul puts forth explicitly address the larger LGBTQ community and its desire for alternative kinship. The queens complete challenges to make a LGBTQ Pride float in honor of The Stonewall Riot, create PSA’s for individuals suffering from HIV, and stage a political debate that runs under the fictional drag queen “Wig” party. All of these challenges show solidarity between gay men and the larger LGBTQ community. At the same time, the instability of relationships between homoand heteronormative groups in a gender-queered environment leaves the possibility of injecting resistant politics open. While RPDR might promote marriage by uniting straight and LGBTQ couples on screen, the show also represents those that don’t support LGBTQ marriage. For instance, Sharon Needles repeatedly states that she “believes in gay divorce” as a way to undermine the importance of LGBTQ marriage and the institution of marriage more generally (Murray; 2012a; Season 4, Episode 7). When Sharon and her former partner Alaska’s (also a RPDR competitor) relationship is questioned by another contestant, Sharon responds, “my drag queen boyfriend is a straight up man!” (Bailey; 2012; Season 4, Episode 3). The ways that RPDR troubles politics is precisely by injecting this type of ambiguity into gendered relations. Although the show may attempt to present itself as politically innocuous, the fluidity and stigmatization that the queens discuss often undercut those politics without undercutting RuPaul’s discourses about self-love and family. The personal and emotional dynamics of affective politics are illuminated by RPDR. The show proffers mantras about family as well as selflove; it is “bringing families together”; “we as gay people, we get to choose our family”; “we are a family”; and we provide “a voice for the children.” What critics miss by focusing on the homonormativity of RPDR’s politics is the emotional effectiveness of personal narratives in the show, as well as the way these discourses about community reflect the history of drag to a broader audience. Many of the queens on the show have been a part of traditional drag houses, including the House of Edwards, House of Haunt, and House of Davenport. In every season, the queens label themselves as family, and in Untucked they receive videos from family members. Alternative kinships (like those in drag houses),

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healthy relationships with biological family members, and estranged family relationships are all highlighted on the show. Emotional moments often lead to reassurances that the drag community will support the queens outside of the show. These conveyances of emotion can lead to an affective form of political potential that represents blurred lines, rather than explicitly radical politics. Affective strategies such as these are safe for the dominant culture and insistently tied to drag subculture. Without RPDR’s double address, this potential would recede.

EXTENDED FAMILY: THE WOW NETWORK ONLINE A new venue that troubles the very political economic concerns that television exposure has brought to drag is social media. All of the queens use a variety of social media platforms, including Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Tumblr to promote themselves, and these platforms are referenced on RPDR. Most importantly, many of the queens create videos and post them online through the WOWPresents Network on YouTube. Some of these shows are created by WOW, such as RPDR Fashion Photo RuView, Bianca Del Rio’s Really Queen?, Bro’laska, Alyssa’s Secret, and Ring My Bell. The network itself includes a variety of performers, many of whom have never been on RPDR and have no obvious association with the show. YouTube’s MCNs (Multi-channel Networks) have raised concern about exploitation. YouTube describes these networks as “entities that affiliate with multiple YouTube channels, often to offer assistance in areas such as product, programming, funding, cross-promotion, partner management, digital rights management, monetization/sales, and/or audience development” (Kozlowski 2013, para. 4). These networks can be beneficial by offering financing, sales, and advertising help, or they can be harmful by siphoning off money and large percentages of profits from contributors. The WOW Presents Network adds its logo to shows it produces, but also carries independently produced shows by minor performers. Connecting the queens from RPDR on another forum allows them to display multiple talents and regain control over their image. At the same time, themes of self-love, family, and drag as an artistic process and subculture carry over into this space. The same discourses of self-love and family appear in these venues, and the queens that appear on social media form another national network that resembles a “family.” The fact that the queens cooperate outside of RPDR’s official production company shows how these relationships continue to form

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primarily in subcultural spaces. Raja Drawja, one of the independently produced shows on the WOW Network, relies on these relationships. If television erases the physical subcultural space of drag by allowing people to be spectators in a sanitized space, then the online space aggressively recenters the physical space. In Raja Drawja, the queens start by discussing physical subcultural space. Raja admits that her series is easy because “the cool thing about living here in LA is that . . . everyone lives here and we all have pretty close knit relationships and know each other pretty well” (2015, March 23). In the opening statements of her show, Raja asks performers about their experiences in LGBTQ bars and discusses the history of important drag clubs in LA, like Micky’s and Hamburger Mary’s. These episodes also reflect heavily on the new spaces that drag performers occupy in order to find audiences. The queens demonstrate a hyperawareness of the possibilities of new media spaces, but at the same time they discuss their experiences in traditional drag spaces. Observations of these discourses across all levels of media production and performance suggest that self-love and family hold historical significance for drag subculture. These discourses resist full incorporation into mainstream practice, even as they help to humanize drag queens and increase the size of their audiences. Bhabha describes how discourses operate within mimicry as “a discourse at the crossroads of what is known and permissible and that which though known must be kept concealed; a discourse uttered between the line and as such both against the rules and within them” (1994, 128). As a form of mimicry, discourses of family and self-love can exist as both authentic historical antecedents of drag culture and as discourses that appeal to a larger audience. Self-love also plays a role in social media forums because rejection by family and histories of harassment and bullying often make drag queens feel unloved. Drag acts as a reparative action for some of this emotional damage, and it gives RPDR’s “characters” renewed self-confidence. On Bro’Laska, Alaska proudly states, “I don’t have any least favorite [body parts] . . . I treasure every inch” (2015, January 16). This positive outlook and self-image rarely appears anywhere in US popular culture. Neoliberalism insists on constant improvement, but drag’s discourse of self-love rejects this premise. Trixie Mattel, the queen who experienced abuse growing up, tweeted, “If you’re not feeling my look I’m feeling it enough for everyone tbh” (twitter.com/trixiemattel). In drag culture, individuals often value their own skills, aesthetics, and character without any desire to fit in. Indeed, drag as a practice retains a stylistic ambivalence

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that negates the simple polarities of good and bad. Raja comments that at the Dream Girls Revue in L.A. there is no judgment because every performer has her own perspective. These statements show how creativity and individuality play an important role in drag culture as a source of empowerment and authentic performance. These online videos give performers a platform to express themselves outside of the manipulation of reality TV, and yet, these performers still reflect the dominant discourses of self-love and family so common in historical drag texts and in RPDR. This continuity suggests that self-love and family play an important role in maintaining the political potential of drag, even as RPDR mimics mainstream neoliberal discourse.

CONCLUSION: MIMICRY

AND THE

FUTURE

OF

DRAG

Using a multimedia ethnographic approach to discuss drag culture and the impact of RPDR on its future brings into question major assumptions made by previous research about the show. The continuity of discourses such as self-love and family that humanize and create an affective connection between audiences and drag queens across social, televisual, and online media spaces suggests the authenticity and historical significance of these discourses as drag expands into the mainstream. The use of popular media and consumer culture does not necessarily politically neuter subcultures, especially when parodying that culture is part of the subculture’s history. One commentator has observed that “while the radical particularity of queer culture risks being neutralized by the kind of commodifying gesture that this branding might imply . . . access to commercial culture is very much part of the way in which marginal social groups have come to negotiate and manipulate cultural hegemony” (Walsh 2009, 66). The double address of mimicry resists definitions of mainstreaming drag as an inherently depoliticizing and commodifying gesture. Instead, drag queens, as a marginal social group, work within the cultural hegemonic structure of reality TV to cultivate a wider subcultural base for practice, including performances in clubs and broad social media followings. These alternative spaces insist on the importance of drag practice as central to drag queens’ personal and affective journeys, as well as on a political project meant to increase LGBTQ acceptance. Threats from outsiders who might co-opt drag practice still loom in the form of “straightening” gestures, such as Lip Sync Battle. However, as long as RPDR refuses to straighten its practice, the show maintains political potential built through ambivalence, individuality, and mimicry.

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REFERENCES (2015, January 16). Bro’Laska with Alaska Thunderfuck & Cory Binney—Body Parts. WOWPresents. [Video File]. Retrieved from https://www.youtube. com/watch?v=4fqdPebq36A (2015, March 30). Raja Drawja—Alaska 5000. WOWPresents. [Video File]. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3hUoM1VGXvw Allen, K. (2012). Keeping it Real? Social Class, Young People and “Authenticity” in Reality TV. Sociology. 47(3): 1–17. Bailey, F. (Producer). (2012). Untucked: Glamazons vs. champions [Television series episode]. RuPaul’s Drag Race Untucked. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Berns, F., & Pagnoni, G. (2014). “For your next drag challenge,” You Must Do Something: Playfulness Without Rules. In J. Daems (Ed.), The Makeup of RuPaul’s Drag Race: Essays on the Queen of Reality Shows (95–112). Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland &Company, Inc. Bhabha, H. (1994). The Location of Culture. New York: Routledge. Butler, J. (1993). Imitation and Gender Insubordination. In H. Abelove, M. AinaBarale, & D. Halperin (Eds.), Lesbian and Gay Studies Reader (307–320). London: Routledge. Comella, L. (2012). Changing the World One Orgasm at a Time: Sex Positive Retail Activism. In R. Mukherjee & S. Banet-Weiser (Eds.), Commodity Activism: Cultural Resistance in Neoliberal Times (240–253). New York: New York U.P. Harris, D. (1995). The Aesthetic of Drag. Salmagundi. 108: 62–74. Henderson, L. (2013). Love and Money: Queers, Class, and Cultural Production. New York: New York U.P. Kohlsdorf, K. (2014). Policing the Proper Queer Subject: RuPaul’s Drag Race in the Neoliberal “Post” Moment. In J. Daems (Ed.), The Makeup of RuPaul’s Drag Race: Essays on the Queen of Reality Shows (74–94). Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland & Company, Inc. Kozslowski, L. (2013, August 30). Multi-Channel Networks 101. Forbes. Retrieved from http://www.forbes.com/sites/lorikozlowski/2013/08/30/ multi-channel-networks-101/ Lee, M., & Moscowitz, L. (2013). The “Rich Bitch” Class and Gender on the Real Housewives of New York City. Feminist Media Studies. 13(1): 64–82. Levitt, L. (2013). Reality Realness: Paris is Burning and RuPaul’s Drag Race. Interventions. 3(1). Retrieved from https://interventionsjournal.net/2013/ 11/07/realityrealness-paris-is-burning-and-rupauls-drag-race/ Mattel, T. [Trixiemattel]. (2015, March 5). If you’re not feeling my look . . . I’m feeling it enough for everyone TBH. [Tweet]. Retrieved from https://twitter. com/trixiemattel/status/573643059667320832

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McMurria, J. (2012). Pay-for Culture: Television Activism in a Neoliberal Digital Age. In R. Mukherjee & S. Banet-Weiser (Eds.), Commodity Activism: Cultural Resistance in Neoliberal Times (254–272). New York: New York U.P. Murphy, P. D., & Kraidy, M. M. (2003). Global Media Studies: Ethnographic Perspectives. New York: Routledge. Murray, N. (Director). (2012a). Dragazines [Television series episode]. In J. Wilson (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Murray, N. (Director). (2012b). Glamazons vs. champions [Television series episode]. In J. Wilson (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Murray, N. (Director). (2014). Queens of Talk. [Television series episode]. In F. Bailey (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. Murray, N. (Director). (2015). Conjoined Twins. [Television series episode]. In F. Bailey (Producer), RuPaul’s Drag Race. Los Angeles, CA: World of Wonder. O’Conghaile, N. (2013, March 14). All the shade, none of the heart: Has ‘RuPaul’s Drag Race’ fucked it up?. Dangerous Minds. Retrieved from http://dangerousminds.net/comments/all_the_shade_none_of_the_heart_ has_rupauls_drag_race_fucked_it_up. Ouellette, L. (2008). ‘Take Responsibility for Yourself’: Judge Judy and the Neoliberal Citizen. In C. Brunsdon & L. Spigel (Eds.), Feminist Television Criticism (231–250). New York: Open University Press. Walsh, F. (2009). Touching, Feeling, Cross-dressing: On the Affectivity of Queer Performance. Or, What Makes Panti Fabulous. In D. Cregan (Ed.), Deviant Acts: Essays on Queer Performance (55–72). Dublin: A Craysfort Press Book. Chelsea Daggett is a doctoral candidate at the University of Colorado at Boulder. Chelsea’s research focuses on adolescents and resistant subcultures in media, including bullying, online communities’ responses to mass shootings, true crime novels, and ethical issues.

“We’re All Born Naked and the Rest Is Drag”: The Performativity of Bodies Constructed in Digital Networks Ronaldo Henn, Felipe Viero Kolinski Machado and Christian Gonzatti In this chapter we analyze the ways in which RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR) has unfolded into digital platforms. We also analyze which performativities of the self and of genders emerge in processes branded by convergence and spreadable media. Our analysis focuses on material published on the official RPDR Facebook page and comments the page has generated, as well as on the Brazilian fan-created Facebook page “Ru Paula”. As a methodology, we adopted experimental procedures that we call the construction of meanings in digital networks. In the first part of this chapter, we focus on some theoretical trajectories. Thus, we work with the concept of performance inspired by notions of construction of the self, as proposed by Mead (1934), Goffman (1973), Taylor (1989) and Colapietro (1989). These contributions are complemented by the work of Butler (1990; 1993) and her ideas of gender as performance, or stylizations that are repeated on the body and then

R. Henn (*)
F.V.K. Machado
C. Gonzatti Sinos River Valley University (Unisinos), São Leopoldo, Brazil © The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0_19

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assumed in the character of something that becomes “natural” and therefore intelligible. We want to suggest that this performativity, when transferred to the context of media, especially narratives spread through social networks, intensifies their semiotic possibilities. That is, these are performances of the self that, in the context of social networks, break with a scenario of simulated normativity. The body, constructed in this space, thus becomes a sign for the self (Santaella 2006). In the second part of this chapter we describe the materials we selected for their respective analyses. We take into account the specificities of the media devices at play (television and social networks), with the understanding that each creates environments in which performativities are not just intensified but also create a fluctuating, multiple narrative that, even when inscribed by convergent tools, can behave in conflicting manners. There is an intense semiosis (Peirce 2002), in other words, that makes our contemporary semiosphere dynamic (Lotman 1999), and that can cause explosive cultural processes. The self is different from the body, and the body is perceived as a sign. Both the self and the body, mediated by the self (as a social construct), exist concretely as signs. From this perspective, we can think of the body as a construction. When it becomes a sign for the self, the body establishes a process of performativity. If, as proposed by Colapietro (1989), no sign can be reduced to its corporalization, then the body, as a sign, is constituted through multiple platforms in an uninterrupted flow of meanings and built through other possible framings. If the body can be comprehended as a construction, then it makes sense, as Butler (1990) proposes that, just like gender, sex is also a cultural construction. As Navarro (2008) points out, Butler does not limit her critique to radicalizing an anti-essentialist perspective. Rather, Butler reconsiders the opposition between nature and culture, and refuses the habitual transposition of nature with the gender system. “Instead of looking at the sex as a form of material passivity on which [ . . . ] gender characteristics would be built, [Butler] reconsiders the sex itself as one more place to question a genealogical perspective” (Navarro 2008: 113). The internal reality of gender is manufactured; therefore, gender is a fantasy that is replicated in bodies: it can be neither real nor false but is produced with the effect of a discourse that presides over a primary and stable identity (Butler 1990). Moreover, Butler discusses the reproduction of heterosexual constructs on homosexual cultures: “Thus, gay is to straight not as copy is to original, but rather as copy to copy” (Butler

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1990: 21). The most relevant example of gender construction that Butler discusses, however, is that of the drag queen. When playing with the distinction between the anatomy of the performer and the gender being performed, the drag queen implicitly reveals the imitative structure of gender. Instead of a heterosexual norm, on stage is the de-naturalization of gender through a performance that exposes the beginning of its construction. When a drag queen creates herself, she creates her body, showing how it is not natural and it is not unquestionable. She shows the total ability of construction/reconstruction of the body and, therefore, what we interpret as masculine/feminine signs (Butler 1990; Louro 2008). Drag queens make a parody of gender (with the possibility of being subversive), since when they exaggerate characteristics considered to be female they make explicit just how they are not authentic, and they remind us that, beyond the stage, we are all hostages to what Butler (1990) calls intelligible genders. “Bodies considered to be ‘normal’ and ‘common’ are also produced through a series of artifacts, accessories, gestures and attitudes that society arbitrarily established as adequate and legitimate” (Louro 2008: 87). In examining the role of the drag king, Halberstam (2008) questions why femininity is susceptible to staging, to depictions, while masculinity seems to resist it. Considering the general perception of the non-performative character of the male gender, Halberstam (2008) emphasizes how difficult it is to destabilize it, to show its fictional characteristics, exactly because of belief in its supposed neutrality. In this conceptual context, countersexuality (Preciado 2014) emerges as a theory of the body that places it beyond the binary (man/woman; heterosexuality/homosexuality) and sees sexuality as a technology and gender, beyond the performative, as prosthetic. These constructionist ideas about the self, the body, gender and sexuality overcome traditional oppositions between nature and culture, and gain special texture when situated in the media environment. In parallel, we can think of humans as having developed three technologies: utensils, instruments and devices (Rodrigues 2005, 2009). In the first two cases, these artifacts have very different demarcations in their material presence: from the pressure cooker we use to accelerate cooking processes, to the equipment we use to measure our blood pressure, utensils and instruments have certain functionalities that require respective sets of knowledge about how to use them. Devices function similarly to how the body functions. At

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the same time, their presence is not always completely noticed. When this happens, that is, when a device’s presence is noticed, it is likely because of a problem, because of a malfunction. The media are in the category of device. Specifically, they are a language of devices: they work in the same way enunciation does. As devices, the media act so we will not notice them. More than that, the media construct an environment outside of themselves. They create space/time constructions that are detached from physical time/space (McLuhan 1964). These foundational characteristics of the media mean that they have singular specificities, especially regarding interactions that tend to go unnoticed because of the very naturalization with which the media continually insert themselves into the public. There are performances that can only be established in certain ways because of the nature in which the media have been instituted. This line of thought can be extended into the following context: the body as a medium in the condition of a culture device. For authors such as Foucault (1982) and Nietzsche (2010), cultural values emerge as a result of an inscription on the body and this process; Butler (1993:130) renders “the body understood as a medium, indeed a blank page”. Butler advances this idea by proposing that an inscription, including the ways in which it was formulated, implies the destruction of the medium. We can understand this “destruction” as a kind of “naturalization of cultural values in a body that obliterates itself”. It is as if the body has disappeared. It only calls attention to itself in performances perceived as deviant or noisy (Butler, 1993). These are performativities that, in the context of the media, add singularities only possible in this environment––currently, through narratives spread via social networking websites, the semiotic power of performances of self and of culture intensify. That is, they become performances of the self with the power to break with an alleged picture of normativity. The “spreadable” is a concept developed by Jenkins et al. (2013) to classify content that is shared on the web. The concept arises in opposition to the term “viral”, which views the public as susceptible to contamination, as if spreading something over the web is an act which only lies in the hands of its producers who themselves are seen as able to dominate the public. The spreadable brings active action to fans who, according to Jenkins (1992, 2006), are protagonists in relation to consumable entertainment products. Fans create their own culture, an activity which has long been viewed with contempt by producers and society (Amaral and Monteiro, 2012).

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No longer content with the products offered, fans begin to create their own stories, to develop social groups, to discuss the narratives of, for example, films, series and games (Jenkins 1992). Thus, fans have an important role in the production of meanings. Moreover, the meaning of a cultural transaction is linked to the way a cultural product allows the public to talk about themselves and the world. Therefore, especially with the advent of digital culture, content began to arise that was modified by fans who spread it over the web by identifying with other publics, including other fans who establish their own relationships with that content. Today, it is common practice to develop contents using the characteristics of a given entertainment product. Fans take over scenes, episodes and movies to assemble their own videos, using music and other effects available through a host of software products. As Jenkins et al. (2013) argue, interest in videos that are shared on YouTube is based on affectivity more than on the financial values that could result from this transaction. Fans spread content through their social networks, crediting visibility for themselves and giving themselves power. Producers, aware of these transactions, promote transmedia narratives that can be spread across the web. The reality TV show RPDR exacerbates performativities in the television environment by disassembling naturalized hegemonic and heteronormative gender roles, and by taking advantage of the neutrality of codes present in media devices, to produce what Yuri Lotman (1999) defined as translation operations. By marking a unique performativity, RPDR is located in a border area that triggers the permeability of codes, signs and meanings. In this semiotic game, there is a transmutation in the nature of the text, enabling other semiosis and possibilities of meanings. The semiosphere is a space in which all semiosis is processed and metabolized (Lotman 1999). It generates systemic structures that organize cultures and their dynamics. While there is a tendency for conservation in the semiosphere, there are also transforming forces whose efficacy depends, among other things, on an opening of the system. To the extent that such self-organizational processes are established, and due to social, political and semiotic forces, extracts of these cultures can be expelled and come to inhabit extra-systemic spaces. Furthermore, invisibility zones, or forms of silencing, make up what Michael Pollak (1989) describes as underground memories, which can be linked to subcultural texts (Gelder and Thornton 1997) that intensify and/or retain their original potential.

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Codes of these extracts can cross the borders of the semiosphere, transmuting into texts that mix established with new information. The function of all borders is to filter migration from the outside. This operation becomes a translation process that constitutes the semiotization of what comes from the outside and is converted into information (Lotman 1999). Such processes obey different time frames. Sometimes they unfold in long, almost imperceptible, durations. In others, they burst into semiosis intense enough to significantly transform the semiosphere. The result is what Lotman (1999) called explosive processes: fragments from different cultures reconstituted impulsively, transforming the system. These are moments when, according to Lotman and Uspenski (1981), high semiotization of behavior occurs. As a result, there is a tendency toward accommodation in transgressor codes that can be revitalized with new, extra-systemic information. A scenario of convergence and trans-narrativity in contemporary media further intensifies media flows, increasing the negotiation of meanings in the semiosphere. The spreadable nature of RPDR over social networking sites, especially in the appropriation of its content by fans, increases the proliferation of non-hegemonic performative acts. Besides giving new forms to drag culture in media complexes, the spreadable quality of RPDR’s narratives has the potential to implicate larger changes within cultural systems.

PERFORMATIVITY

IN

SOCIAL NETWORKS

The official Facebook page of RPDR appears as a trans-narrative extension of the reality TV show. It provides a verification system that validates external pages also deemed official by way of a blue icon next (the Facebook logo) next to their names, contributing to the visibility of these publications created and followed by fans of the program around the world. Through videos of scenes from various seasons, discussions between fans, blog texts and websites depicting the drag universe, the Facebook page is a cybersocial space that brings together various performativities of RPDR fandom. There are other spaces, however, that are autonomous from RPDR’s official page, although they emulate it. One such space is the Brazilian Facebook page “RuPaula”, created on May 19, 2015, which consits of sporadic posts lacking any standard of frequency. On January 19, 2016, the page had 4,565 likes. The number of likes, shares, comments and posts on RuPaula also vary: some posts had over 150 shares, while others had

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none. This experience indicates the practices of fans inaugurated by cyberculture. Through the appropriation of RPDR content, whether the videos, songs or images that make up its canonical narrative, new products are developed on RuPaula that move and carry signs from various sources, filtered by the ways in which gay culture is constituted in Brazil. Such appropriation points to an exciting phenomenon in the communication realm of digital social networks. More specifically, RuPaula intersects with another site of appropriation, the television show, Glitter – Em Busca de um Sonho. Glitter arose from the increasing visibility of the drag universe, due primarily to RPDR, and is produced by a television station in Ceará, a state in northeastern Brazil (Moraes 2015). Employing idiosyncratic expressions and syntax, Glitter works as a translation process akin to parody. The codes used in Glitter, when transmuted into the environment of another culture, are enriched by singular textures and expand into directions other than those RPDR originally proposed. On RuPaula, for instance, shared scenes from RPDR are dubbed with speeches from Glitter, reflecting the transmutation process and bringing to the experience even greater complexity. The first video (RuPaula 2015a) shows an argument between drag queens Sharon Needles and Phi Phi O’Hara (S4, E4). The audio is appropriated from a Glitter scene, in which transvestites Rochelly Santrelly and Sangalo argue, using expressions common in Brazilian gay culture: “Bicha, a senhora é destruidora mesmo, viu viado?” (“Fag, the lady is a real destroyer, okay, queer?”). If, following Preciado (2009), queer performativity resignifies pejorative terms by deconstructing them, terms which emerge from the situational characteristic of a sign, then we can infer from this translation process that the semiotization of performativity increases, as does the queer texture involved in it. On the other hand, they are performativities that travel between complex constructions of the self, involving not only gender but also identity issues in a cultural space. The global trajectory of the drag queen, recognized and reproduced in different contexts, speaks through this appropriation of the singularities of a given location. In doing so, this translation operation enables bonds to emerge between fans who do not erase their regional specificities but rather stress on a macro level what is united in this process: the constructive and transgressive aspects of queer performativities. The video, in turn, enhances properties typical of digital culture: the possibility of handling various materials from different sources and arranging them in a juxtaposition of texts. This spirit of assembly enables signs, in crossing each other, to trigger other sensory factors located outside of

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their original places. Similarly, this process illustrates the constructive nature of any media product. If the environment of traditional media already reflects the enunciative processes that are part of being human, then these network operations intensify our experiences. By occurring within a social networking site, this act of appropriation also enters the logic of the spreadable with its power of disseminating sensory information in profusion. Through sharing, new bonds and performances of the self are initiated. The queer lexicon in Brazil has some important qualities. Among them, change in the spelling of words reveals different intonations for phonetically identical words. Additionally, a whole vocabulary indicative of gay culture in Brazil requires a substantive link with the culture itself. As part of a subculture, these specific forms of expression circulate in non-hegemonic environments and are transmitted through identity networks, often underground, to become sources for many other cultural texts such as movies, songs and television series. Social networking websites give even more traction to the circulation of this lexicon, resulting in its appearance in contexts where, otherwise, it would not have appeared, such as in primetime soap operas on Brazilian television. Comments on the video posted to RuPaula are exemplary in this respect. For example, in first post (Fig. 1), there is an emphasis on the term “kerida”, which means “darling” in the feminine. However, in Portuguese the correct spelling is “querida”. Since the letter “k”, here, is phonetically the same as “qu”, there is no ostensible transmutation of meaning. But the letter “k” is not used in Portuguese; thus its use in this lexical corruption speaks of identity meanings: of a self which presents itself in an essentially performative manner. This exchange demonstrates language in a state of subversion, close to the notion of continuous discontinuity, but with a break in the engendering of the subject of negativity as understood by Kristeva (1974). The mobilization of fans, which is also expressed in the construction of a specific vocabulary, serves to actively contribute to such language changes. This is because comments are sometimes answered in ways that bring expressions from other queer universes. In the second post Fig. 2),

Fig. 1 Problem

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Fig. 2 Britney Spears

the expression “socorroney” (roughly, “helpney”) appears, a term appropriated from fans of Britney Spears. These fans have created a space of fandom called Neyde. Its followers then began to add “ney” to the end of any word. There are several terms that are used and appropriated through remixing (Jenkins et al. 2013) on the RuPaula page (Fig. 3). Comedy prevails in the exaggerated drama of Glitter’s narratives, which are subsequently spread (see the second video, Rupaula 2015b). This scene from Glitter works in dialogue with the RPDR narrative in which Sharon Needles and Phi Phi O’Hara become archenemies (Fig. 5). Part of Glitter involves the challenge “Say That to My Face”, in which participants must choose a rival, stand in front of her, and state the reasons for her desired elimination. This is when Rochelly Santrelly chooses to face Sangalo. From their discussion, various expressions have emerged that are used by the Brazilian LGBTQ community in online comedy spaces today. Thus, the audio of the dispute between Glitter’s participants was dubbed over an original video clip of an argument between Phi Phi and Sharon. But instead of using the term “monster shock”, which in Glitter Rochelly used to intimidate Sangalo, fans played with the term “sharon shock” (Fig. 4), as Sharon

Fig. 3 Glitter

Fig. 4 Sharon Shock

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Fig. 5 Viado

Needles was seen as a gothic, scary drag queen and a “monster” amongst the other competitors, which in fact contributed to her winning season four of RPDR. In subsequent comments (Fig. 5), additional phrases used in the Glitter segment appear, signaling moments of appropriation and queer performativity. This illustrates the spreadable nature and consequent visibility of specific languages, such as a response to a tagging that serves as counterpoint for a fan who states a preference for the original argument on RPDR. Possibly, the original argument would not have the same significance for a Portuguese-speaking public without a reconfiguration of language barriers and the comic effect that emerges from this act of appropriation. This process of inter-semiotic translation in progress (Plaza 1977) operates on the border of established systems, in turn further energizing its power. Another original video clip captures a dispute between Alyssa Edwards and Roxxxy Andrews (S5, E7), following which RuPaul decides not to eliminate either queen after they Lip Sync for Your Life to “Whip My Hair” by Willow Smith. In the appropriation, however, the original track is replaced by a Brazilian funk hit by Inês Brasil, a popular figure on Brazilian social networking sites and a performer in Brazil’s LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bissexual, transgender and queer) establishments. The overlap of audio and visual materials from different sources, as in the previous video, produces a unique relationship of meanings. Semiotic layers emerge and submerge in its profusion of signs.

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In the first 29 seconds of the appropriated video the original audio is heard, with RuPaul addressing the nature of the dispute. Elements of the original conflict are also maintained through camera shots that capture RuPaul, in addition to the tension of the drag queens. When the elimination challenge begins, original and appropriated elements overlap, making it difficult for those not familiar with the original clip to understand that it is a remix. The first element is that of Roxxxy Andrews’ performance, in which she deconstructs her drag persona, first stripping off her skirt, which covers a bathing suit, then her dark wig, which reveals blond hair. The astonishment and respect of RuPaul and the judges are kept intact by the dynamic editing of the appropriated version. Their startled expressions could also pertain to the video soundtrack, which would only be recognized immediately by Brazilian audiences. This is where we arrive at the second element of surprise, realization that there are the overlapping layers of another body performing the number Roxxxy Andrews initially performed. Thus, another layer is added to this process of appropriation, creating a link between different cultural texts already hybrid in their origins. Brazilian funk, which became popular in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro in the 1990s, borrows from rap and hip hop genres created in the United States by African American musicians, who themselves blended soul, jazz, and rhythm and blues. In Brazil, funk acquired its own colors by incorporating Afro Brazilian rhythms associated with eroticized performances. At the same time, funk has come to represent a space of resistance and a political statement, as it provides a means of expression for poor segments of the Brazilian population (Vianna 1997). Funk is a predominantly male genre with heavy shades of sexism, but in the last ten years powerful female performers such as Walesca Popuzuda, Anitta and Inês Brasil have reshaped it. The LGBTQ universe has also appropriated funk, endowing it with new meanings, especially in productions geared toward social networking websites. In 2014, the transvestite McXuxu posted a funk video on YouTube called “Um Beijo” (“A Kiss”), which by January 2016 already had more than 1,750,000 views (Henn and Machado 2015). The chorus of McXuxu’s track is a mixture of English and Portuguese: “Make love, make love, é muito melhor, demorô” (“Make love, make love, it’s much better, let’s go”). Other parts of the track simulate orgasms and reference specifics of sexual acts. As accompaniment to the appropriated version of the Alyssa Edwards/Roxxxy Andrews challenge, the references in “Um Beijo” marry succinctly with the drag queens’

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performance of choreographed hair whipping, which involves bowing nearly to the ground. Cultural texts that invoke emerging drag cultures, funk and its hybridized elements, and performances of the self increasingly popular on social networking sites, including their questions of gender issues, social distinctions and aesthetics, can all be located in this video and its reflection of Jenkins, Ford and Green’s (2013) notion of remix culture. The comments that follow the video are playful. In the first comments (Fig. 6), the authors, one a fan of Alyssa and the other a fan of Roxxxy, dispute who performed the worst lip-syncing. In the second comments (Figs. 6 and 7, the performativity of a queer vocabulary is accentuated: “manas” (sisters or sirs), “bate cabelo” (hair whipping), “hairography”, “close” and “carão” (poker face). This online public reveals a way of performing that is specific to digital spaces in dialogue with the RuPaul universe. In a new set of comments (Figs. 8 and 9), we see acts that recur in these LGBTQ fan pages, the tagging of favored drag queens in tandem with Inês Brasil memes. The mode of talking about Alyssa Edwards also works in concert with a use of language unconcerned with the rules of grammar rules and, at the same time, entirely concerned with the assertion of identities within new layers of semiosis.

Fig. 6 Hair Whipping

Fig. 7 Inês Brasil

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Fig. 8 Make Love

Fig. 9 Satanists

The RPDR official Facebook page is not the result of fan appropriations, nor is it actively engaged with RuPaula or other queer online spaces. The latter, besides recapitulating what happened in the television program, deploy remix to accent certain performances. In another video

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(see third video, RuPaul’s Drag Race 2015a), RPDR queen Alaska (S5) appears at first wearing a horse mask and subsequently with no make-up or clothes. In the first scene, another drag queen comments, “The reason she walked in the room with a horse face is ‘cause she is a horse.’” There are two layers of performances of the self and body juxtaposed in this appropriated version. In the first, Alaska, in full drag, appears wearing a horse mask: a transformed body, jumping from drag to another form of masked composition, evoking imaginary places where the world is turned upside down and populated by hybrid, human/monster creatures. Bakhtin (1987), when writing about carnival festivities in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, discusses the duality of a world created by the working classes in opposition to a world established as official. Within online queer space, this duality is reflected, with everything inverted and with constant permutations between the high and low and between genders. This is a parody of ordinary life in which hybrid and profane images ascend to popular experience. Comments on the video reflect this imaginary world (Fig. 9), with the remarks: “Ru really seems to really love the Satanists”, which soon received the counterpoint: “Satanist? Have you been sniffing pixie stix’s again?” In the appropriated video and following Alaska’s horse-mask entry, she appears without clothes, preparing her drag costume. This reflects a different performativity of transposition: another body, apparently fragile, in and inside-out self that unfolds in a palette of performances. The brand of theatricality, as suggested by Louro (2008), is therefore highlighted. The doubling of the scene in this video reinforces a sense of counterpoint and dialogue. In another remixed video (see fourth video, RuPaul’s Drag Race 2015b), RuPaul herself performs a carnivalesque game by appearing before the contestants and laughing as witches typically laugh in fairy tales. This is a type of performance staged in aspects of gay culture, revitalized as a narrative and spread throughout a network.

THE SPREADABLE: FINAL CONSIDERATIONS The contemporary semiosphere is constituted by connections in digital networks. Even though the semiosphere makes visible issues within Pollak’s (1989) underground memory and generates intense constructions and disputes of meaning, it keeps beyond its borders volatile radical bodies not aligned with what Preciado (2014) calls social and heteronormative technology. RuPaul, throughout her media career and culminating

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in RPDR, forms part of a larger initiative to transpose these borders in a complex re-articulation of codes. In this context, performances of the self can constitute flows of multiple possibilities, and they can engender semiodiversity, that is, the coexistence of a vast diversity of cultural signs in expression of the self. Social network communication enables a rich set of performances that give more meaning to semiodiversity. Appropriation, remix culture, the spreadable and replication through memes and temes (Blackmore 1999) make this process even denser. In short, performativities enacted through social network appropriations of RPDR evoke cultural snapshots of different times and different experiences, which coalesce in the context of an event that both encourages processes of meaning making and remains disputed in contemporary society (Henn 2014). RPDR thus creates what can be seen, according to Lotman (1999), as an explosion within a specific semiosphere, exposing what Mama Ru herself says: “We’re all born naked and the rest is drag”.

REFERENCES Amaral, A., & Monteiro, C. (2012). “These rocker does not like: Like performance and music fans in the United Against Rock, page of Facebook”. In Revista Famecos, Porto Alegre, V.20, N. 2, pp. 446–471. Austin, J. L. (1962). How to do things with words. The William James lectures delivered at Harvard University in 1955. [Edited by O. James Urmson]. Clarendon Press. Bakhtin, M. (1987). Popular culture in the middle ages and the renaissance: The context of François Rebelais. São Paulo: Hucitec. Blackmore, S. (1999). The meme machine. Nova York: Oxford University Press. Butler, J. (1990). Gender trouble, feminism and the subversion of identity. New York: Routledge. Butler, J. (1993). Bodies that matter, on the discursive limits of sex. New York: Routledge. Colapietro, V. (1989). Peirce’s approach to the self: A semiotic perspective on human subjectivity. Albany: State University of New York Press. Foucault, M. (1982). Herculine Barbin: Being the recently discovered memoirs of a nineteenth-century French Hermaphrodite. Rio de Janeiro: F. Alves. Gelder, K. Thornton, S. (ed.) (1997). The subcultures reader. London: Routledge. Goffman, E. (1973). The presentation of self in everyday life. New York: Overlook Press.

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Halberstam, J. (2008). Female Masculinity. Egales. Durham: Duke University Press. Henn, R. (2014). Cybervents: production and semiosis. Barcelona: Editorial UOC. Henn, R., & Machado, F. V. (2015). ““But . . . and the kiss of transvestites?” In feliko and Clarina, the meanings produced in network and who can (and how to) kiss on primetime”. In Contemporanea, Salvador: UFBA. V. v.13 p.366–381. Jenkins, H. (1992). Textual poachers: Television fans and participatory culture. New York: Routledge. Jenkins, H. (2006). Convergence culture. New York: New York University. Jenkins, H., Ford, S., & Green, J. (2013). Spreadable media, creatin, value and meaning in a networked culture. Nova York: New York University Press. Kristeva, J. (1974). Introduction to semanálise. São Paulo: Perspectiva. Lotman, Y. (1999). Culture and explosion, predictable processes of social change. Barcelona: Gedisa Editorial. Lotman, Y., Uspenskii, B. et. al. (1981). Essays Soviet Semiotics. Lisboa: Horizonte Universitário. Louro, G. L. (2008). A queer body. Belo Horizonte: Autêntica. Mcluhan, M. (1964). Understand media: The extensions of man. Cambridge: The MIT Press. Mead, G. H. (1934). Mind, self and society. From de standpoint of a social behaviorist. Vol. 1. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Moraes, R. R. C. (2015). “Rupaul’s Drag Race and Fandom: A niche expanding”. In Revista Cambiassu, São Luís: UFMA. V.15, p.94–104 Navarro, P. P. (2008). Text to sex, Judith Butler and performativity. Barcelona: Egales. Nietzsche, F. (2010). On the genealogy of morals and ecce homo. Vintage. Peirce, C. S. (2002). The collected papers of Charles Sanders Peirce. Past Masters, CD-ROM. EUA: InteLex Corporation. Plaza, J. (1977). Translation intersemiotic. São Paulo: Perspectiva. Pollak, M. (1989). “Memory, forgetfulness, silence”. In Estudos Históricos, v.2,3, Rio de Janeiro, p.3–15. Preciado, B. (2009). Terror anal. In HOCQUENGHEM, Guy. Homosexual Desire. Madri: Melusina. Preciado, B. (2014). Contrassexual Manifesto: Subversive practices of sexual identity. São Paulo: N1 Edições. RuPaul’s Drag Race (2015a, 9 November). “Whatcha packin’, Alaska Thunderfuck?” [video archive] Available from: https://www.facebook.com/ rupaulsdragrace/videos/10153251120242828 Retrieved on: 23 August 2016 RuPaul’s Drag Race (2015b, 15 October). “At the end of the week like” [video archive]. Available from: https://www.facebook.com/rupaulsdragrace/ videos/10153214892602828 Retrieved on: 23 August 2016

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Rodrigues, A. (2005). The Score invisible. For interactive approach of language. Lisboa: Colibri. Rodrigues, A. (2009). “Preliminary conditions on the enunciation context of media discourse”. In Eco-Pós, V. 12, pp. 123–131. RuPaula. (2015a, 10 November). “Do you have any problem darling?” [video archive]. Available from: https://www.facebook.com/Rupaulaa/videos/ 1512449499073334/Retrieved on: 23 August 2016 RuPaula. (2015b, 10 October). “But if you are calling me for the war don’t call me because I will not go” [video archive]. Available from: https://www.facebook. com/Rupaulaa/videos/1500888910229393/Retrieved on: 23 August 2016 Santaella, L. (2006). “The anti-Cartesian concepts of self in Peirce and Bakhtin” In Cognitio. São Paulo. v.7, 1, p.121–132, January/June. Taylor, C. (1989). Sources of the self. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Vianna, H. (1997). The world’s funk carioca. Rio de Janeiro: Jorge Zahar Editor. Ronaldo Henn is a Ph.D. candidate in Communication and Semiotics at Universidade do Vale do Rio dos Sinos, Brazil, where he is also coordinator of the Cyberevent Laboratory. Henn’s research deals with the production of journalistic events in digital social networks, and he focuses on self-performances processes, such as those present in gender constructions. Felipe Viero Kolinski Machado holds a PhD in Communication Science at Universidade do Vale do Rio dos Sinos, Brazil. He researches gender, sexuality and generation in media and in journalism. He is also a member of the Cyberevent Laboratory. Christian Gonzatti has a degree in Social Communication and Advertising from Universidade do Vale do Rio dos Sinos, Brazil. He is a member of the Cyberevent Laboratory, where he works on web journalism, cyber events and cyber activism. Gonzatti also researches social networks, journalism, advertising, cyberculture, celebrities and gender and sexuality studies.

INDEX

A Absolut Vodka, 41, 124, 129, 216, 240, 278 See also Advertisers Adore Delano (contestant), 95, 151, 222, 237, 238 Advertisers, 232, 240 African American, 110, 217, 297 Alaska (contestant), 234, 237–238, 280, 282, 300 Alba, Jessica, 25 See also Judges Alexis Mateo (contestant), 65, 67, 81–82 Alyssa Edwards (contestant), 52–53, 96, 147, 157, 296–298 America’s Next Top Model, 2, 20, 64, 124, 168, 198, 205, 221, 236, 271 See also Reality television An American Family, 91 See also Reality television April Carrion (contestant), 108 Asian, 5, 65, 69, 71, 84–85

Audiences, 1, 3, 32–33, 48, 54, 56, 65, 86, 92, 124, 143, 147–148, 168–169, 172, 179–180, 182–184, 190, 192, 193, 197–203, 206–212, 232–236, 239–241, 254, 271, 273–275, 282–283, 297 Australia, 9, 75, 235, 245, 264, 267 Authenticity, 5, 29–32, 34–38, 109, 186, 204, 271, 277, 283

B Bailey, Fenton, 236 See also World of Wonder Barbato, Randy, 236 See also World of Wonder Battle of the Seasons, 135, 273, 275–278 See also Tours BeBe Zahara Benet (contestant), 6, 79, 81, 127 BenDelaCreme (contestant), 279

© The Author(s) 2017 N. Brennan, D. Gudelunas (eds.), RuPaul’s Drag Race and the Shifting Visibility of Drag Culture, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-50618-0

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306

INDEX

Bianca Del Rio (contestant), 135, 188–189, 203, 213, 234, 237–238, 260, 262, 275, 281 Black, 63, 94, 146, 153, 164, 174 See also African American Body image, 106, 114 See also Fat shaming Bratich, Jack, 19 Brazil, 8, 10–11, 43, 64, 167–168, 171–175, 177, 287, 292–297 Butler, Judith, 2, 19, 31, 92, 214, 249, 275 C Camp, 2, 39, 42, 51, 54–57, 96, 112, 126, 137, 143, 153, 170, 217 Carmen Carrera (contestant), 81, 223, 238 Chad Michaels (contestant), 35, 187 Charles, RuPaul, 3, 16–17, 97, 103 Cisgender, 276 Coco Montrese (contestant), 52–53, 147 Competition, 5, 10, 22, 26, 29–31, 33–35, 37–39, 41–42, 47, 49, 51, 64, 68, 70, 72, 92–94, 97, 99, 118, 143, 154–156, 164, 168, 171–172, 188, 213, 215, 217–218, 231, 234–236, 239, 245, 248, 252, 266, 271–272, 276 Consumption, 5, 7, 29–30, 32–35, 39, 41–42, 47, 106, 170, 177, 208, 209, 272–273, 277 Courtney Act (contestant), 189, 222, 237–238 D Darienne Lake (contestant), 109–113, 116 Delta Work (contestant), 67, 106, 108–109, 111, 118, 219

Detox (contestant), 50, 52 Dida Ritz (contestant), 35–36 Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, 2, 143 DragCon, 2, 45–46, 48, 240–241, 273 Drag culture, 3–5, 7–8, 10, 16–18, 27, 29–30, 33–35, 37, 39, 41–42, 93, 138, 153–155, 170, 172–173, 197–198, 201, 202, 204–206, 208–210, 223–224, 232, 236, 240–241, 247–248, 251, 254, 265, 267, 274, 277–278, 282–283, 292, 298 Drag family, 154 See also Drag houses Drag houses, 7, 153, 154, 164, 280

E Edgar, Eir-Anne, 17–18

F Fat shaming, 98, 114 See also Body image Feminisim, 78 Fishy, 4, 39, 96, 217 Foucault, Michel, 18–20, 22, 23, 24, 27, 156, 290

G Ginger Minj (contestant), 94, 96–97, 108–109, 111–113, 116 Ginsberg, Merle, 15 See also Judges Greece, 197–199, 201, 204, 208–210, 212 Griffin, Kathy, 15 See also Judges

INDEX

H Halberstam, Judith, 153, 289 Hall, Stuart, 17–18 Halperin, Dennis, 46, 55 Hegemony, 42, 62, 85, 114, 283 Hill Collins, Patricia, 94 HIV/AIDS, 18, 80 Honey Mahogany (contestant), 108 Hooks, bell, 20

I India Ferrah (contestant), 213 Interior Illusions Lounge, 215 Ivy Winters (contestant), 135

J Jade (contestant), 129, 170 Jade Jolie (contestant), 108 Jaidynn Diore Fierce (contestant), 94–97, 106, 109, 111, 118 Jasmine Masters (contestant), 46 Jenkins, Henry, 233, 290–291, 295, 298 Jessica Wild (contestant), 82 Jiggly Caliente (contestant), 86, 103, 109, 111–112, 116, 187, 279 Jinkx Monsoon (contestant), 95, 237–238, 248, 268, 276–277 Judges, 1, 4, 15, 21, 25–26, 32, 34, 36–37, 40–41, 53, 68–69, 78, 83, 85, 87, 92, 96–97, 104, 108, 113, 117, 157, 110 Jujubee (contestant), 21, 95–96, 133, 238

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K Kandy Ho (contestant), 148 Katya (contestant), 261 Kenya Michaels (contestant), 36, 82–83

L Latinas/os, 87 Latrice Royale (contestant), 35, 96–97, 106, 109, 111–112, 115, 118, 135, 187, 266 LeMaster, Benny, 54, 93, 170 LGBTQ, 1–4, 8, 40–42, 53, 55–56, 77, 114, 124, 126–127, 134, 138, 140–148, 154, 161–162, 167–169, 170–171, 175, 179, 180–181, 184–185, 190–191, – 195, 198, 200, 209, 214, 240, 245, 262, 274–275, 277–280, 282–283, 296–298 Lineysha Sparx (contestant), 50 Livingston, Jennie, 2, 20, 219 Logo TV, 1–3, 18, 45, 97, 124–127, 129, 132–133, 137, 148, 169, 171, 225, 231, 274, 278

M Madame LaQueer (contestant), 38, 82–84, 109, 111–112 Manila Luzon (contestant), 65, 84, 219 Mariah (contestant), 215–217 Matenopoulos, Debbie, 69, 84 Matthews, Ross, 96 See also Judges Max (contestant), 264 Mexico, 8, 63, 68, 179–182, 195 Milan (contestant), 36, 40, 83, 96, 187

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Milk (contestant), 113, 140, 144, 261 Mimi Imfurst (contestant), 109, 111–112, 118, 128, 213, 215, 218, 220 Miss Fame (contestant), 25, 95, 238 Monica Beverly Hillz (contestant), 52–53, 143, 151, 224 Mother Camp, 51 See also Newton, Esther Mystique Summers (contestant), 15–16, 108, 111–112, 114

N Neoliberalism, 271–272, 275, 277, 282 Newton, Esther, 51 Nicole Paige Brooks (contestant), 137 Nina Flowers (contestant), 83, 127, 256

O Ongina (contestant), 21–22, 130, 142

P Pandora Boxx (contestant), 21 Paris is Burning, 2, 7–8, 18, 20, 32, 51, 153, 155, 158–160, 214, 218–219, 223, 254, 272 See also Livingston, Jennie Pearl (contestant), 16, 22, 25–26, 95, 279 Penny Tration(contestant), 52, 110–111 Phi Phi O’Hara (contestant), 35, 85, 293, 295

Phoenix (contestant), 215 Pit crew, 40, 103–104 Project Runway, 2, 20, 124, 205, 236, 271 See also Reality television Puerto Rico, 36, 62, 69–70, 73, 81–82, 87

Q Queer, 1–5, 7–10, 17, 30, 32, 34, 40, 53–56, 65, 72, 75, 77, 94, 106, 119, 124, 137–144, 146–149, 151, 153–154, 157, 160–161, 164, 167, 170, 179–182, 185–186, 190, 198, 208, 213–218, 220, 224–226, 228, 240, 245, 248, 250, 252, 260, 272–274, 277, 279, 283, 293–294, 296, 298–300 See also LGBTQ

R Race and ethnicity, 6, 92 Raja (contestant), 68, 70–72, 85, 97, 108, 146, 220, 275, 282–283 Raven (contestant), 95, 133–134 Reading, 4, 9, 51–53, 119, 214, 219–220, 226, 234 Reality television, 2–3, 6–7, 10, 16, 19, 27, 30–34, 38–40, 42, 47, 75, 77, 88, 91, 105, 232, 234, 272–273, 279 Rebecca Glasscock (contestant), 127 Reddit, 45–46, 48 Roxxxy Andrews (contestant), 21, 52, 94, 106, 111–112, 157, 296–297 Ruiz, Mike, 103–104, 109

INDEX

RuPaul, 2–4, 6, 15–17, 21, 24–26, 30, 36–37, 39–40, 42, 46–47, 51–53, 56, 64, 67–69, 72, 79, 82, 84, 92, 94–98, 103–104, 107–108, 110, 112–113, 116, 127, 139, 153, 155, 157–158, 160, 162, 168–170, 172–173, 185, 188–189, 193, 201, 204, 214, 216–219, 221, 225–226, 235–236, 239–241, 249, 252, 261, 272–275, 277, 280, 296–298, 300 See also Charles, RuPaul RuPaul’s Drag Race All-Stars, 169 RuPaul’s Drag Race Untucked!, 47, 68, 169 RuPaul’s Drag U, 55, 92, 97, 169

S Serena ChaCha (contestant), 45–50, 55 Shangela (contestant), 84–85, 215–217, 220, 222, 237 Sharon Needles (contestant), 35, 95, 140, 238, 276, 279–280, 293, 295 Sizeism, 105–106, 108, 111, 119. See also Fat shaming; Body image Social media, 2–3, 5, 9, 46, 127, 130, 147, 172–173, 224–225, 231–241, 257, 259, 264–265, 275, 277, 281–283 Sonique (contestant), 143 Sontag, Susan, 54, 66, 170 Spanish (language), 36, 38, 50, 53, 64–65, 67, 69–70, 81–84, 87, 185 Stacy Layne Matthews (contestant), 108, 111, 114, 118 Stereotypes, 6, 49, 54–55, 61–68, 71–72, 77–81, 84–87, 92, 113, 117, 142, 145, 180, 184, 193, 207

309

T Tammie Brown (contestant), 130 Tatianna (contestant), 81 Taylor & Rupp, 93, 201, 204, 209, 254, 287 Tours, 2, 30, 124, 135, 240, 245, 260 Transgender, 1, 4, 46, 53, 75, 77, 92, 124, 138, 142–143, 167, 171, 185, 223–224, 240, 245, 274, 296 Trinity Kardashian Bonet (contestant), 142 Trixie Mattel (contestant), 25, 173, 267, 279, 282 Tyra Sanchez (contestant), 16, 22–23 V Victoria Parker (contestant), 111–112, 117 Viewers, 3–4, 8, 48, 65, 84, 104, 106, 108–110, 113, 143, 171, 175, 220, 224, 231–233, 235, 239, 241 See also Audiences Violet Chachki (contestant), 95–96, 144, 147 Visage, Michelle, 25–26, 36–37, 85, 96, 109, 135, 222, 276–277 See also Judges Vivacious (contestant), 140 W Weeks, Jeffrey, 53 Weston, Kath, 154 Wikipedia, 46 Willam (contestant), 35, 37, 39–40, 104, 109, 116, 237–238 World of Wonder, 1, 236, 275 Y Yara Sofia (contestant), 65, 217, 261