Life’s a drag.

I decided to try drag in 2025.

Before I begin, let us come to a common understanding of what drag is. I’ve known people who are mystified at the idea of kid-friendly drag show: I make the analogy to a live comedy show. Most comedy clubs aren’t for minors, but there certainly are family-friendly comedians and comedy shows. Drag isn’t just someone dressing as the “opposite” gender. Drag is performance and entertainment with exaggerated gender expression. Drag is lip syncing, costumes, make-up, dance, burlesque. I was interested in putting together a drag persona and creating an act.

I read that drag is somehow both a love letter to gender and satire of gender. I started keeping lists of ideas like this one:

Positive Masculinity Ideas

Mr. Rogers. So kind. Actually bi? Sweater. “Won’t you be my neighbor”
Kermit. Practice voice. How not to make off-putting?
Benjamin Franklin. I’m Benjamin Fuckin’ Franklin. Sexy bald wig!!!

Dove and I started going to a lot of different types of drag shows. I sought out other nonbinary performers to watch. I loved the weird, the absurd, the silly-not-sexy costumes: here is a favorite moment of mine, right before a Transformer popped out of the cardboard semi-truck they were dancing around in.

This was in early 2025, at drag show at Gray Fox themed “Hear Me Out.” I’m not sure of the performer’s name.

Dove and I visited my brother in San Francisco and we saw the best produced drag show I’ve ever seen: it was drag wrestling, with choregraphed dance fights. Think Brittany vs Madonna, Mariah vs. Whitney Houston.

I made a lot of lists. I thought about what it means to perform masculinity: I had no interest in putting on a fake chest piece and being a smoldering heart throb. I started a playlist with few common threads. I adore kind masculinity, funny masculinity. How could that translate to the stage?

I spoke to my friend and drag queen, Mercury Poisoning. She gave me a lot of great tips for getting started, including: do songs that people know. That was tough for me. My problem is that I listen to weird ass music, like folk punk and speculative musicals and people warbling over a ukulele about gender and Mothman.

I opened up my Spotify and started scrolling.

I knew the moment I found him: my bastion of masculinity, the pillar of manhood with his mustache, curls and accordion. That’s right, I’m referring to the one and only Weird Al.

And thus Queer Al was born. I bought a Hawaiian shirt, a bedazzler, and made plans to first attend a “Rising Stars” drag show as an audience member, and return the next month as a participant.

Well, I did the first part of the plan.

I attended the Rising Stars drag show and I was blown away by the talent. But it happened at a 9:30 pm on a Thursday night. I realized, with horror, that I could barely stay awake just watching the performance and I had work the next morning. The idea of performing regularly that late? It wasn’t realistic for me. My body couldn’t do it.

And so Queer Al went on the back burner. I dressed up last year for Pride, as well as Halloween.

In February, I saw my chance: there was a Sapphic (and Queer) Talent show at a sensibly early time. I signed up and performed Queer Al, capering around the stage to Weird Al’s mash-up Polkamania!

As I stepped off the stage, I heard someone say, “I thoroughly enjoyed that.” I did too.

But I didn’t stretch ahead of time. I woke up the next morning and could barely move: my knees, my ankles, everything on my body was sore and screaming from me enthusiastically throwing my body around to accordion covers of pop songs.

I had fun. I could see myself doing this again. I’m interested in building a puppet, I have no idea what for.

Friendship is magic.

Robin Woods