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The
Mirror Newspapers Supplement Magazine 'M' - Review on the Drag Olympics
(Saturday 10th May 2003 issue)
GOOD
SPORTS
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Ooh,
we love a bit of glamour here at the Mirror, so we made Jane Brum dig
out her stillies an join the best-dressed sporting event. But is she woman
enough to survive it?
It's murder on the dance floor at the WayOut Club
in the City of London. DJ Titch is winding up his crowd with a high-energy
version of Like A Virgin. It's wall-to-wall gold sequins, diamante and
leopard print, and if you're not here to see and be seen, you'd better
retire to the bar with your handbag. There are screams as someone in 12inch
heels does a Naomi Campbell and lands spreadeagled on her back. It's 1am
and we are only an hour away from the 2003 Drag Queen Olympics. The WayOut
is a cosy basement club with a small dance floor and a friendly clientele
who range in age from 19 to 90. The contestants, like all true athletes,
are preparing themselves for the gruelling trial ahead. All nine of them
are cutting a rug in front of the crowds, hoping to whip up their fans
and attract the eyes of the judges. With instant fame and £150 in prize
money at stake, the competition is fierce.
Vicky
Lee has been running the WayOut Club since 1993 has been the Olympics
organiser for the past four years. A transvestite forever, she is demurely
clad in a floaty black number tonight, with flawless make-up and hair.
'
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Compere Steffan
does some essential adjustments |
This
club is a very special place,' Vicky Lee says. 'Everyone is welcome here
- trannies, transsexuals, gay or straight. Lots of trannies bring their
partners, it might be the only place they can be themselves. The Olympics
are just an excuse to have a party. There are no rules, we allow transvestites
and transexuals to enter, so whether they've had surgery or not they can
compete. They do have to be wearing heels though, so the obstacle course
is a real challenge.' The competition is divided into three sections -
limbo dancing, the trannie high jump and the assault course, so each queen
gets their chance to shine. 'I have a theory that when a drag queen goes
to perform somewhere, she has certain hazards to face,' explains Vicky.
'We get the worst changing rooms - usually a toilet - we have to navigate
beer crates on our way to the stage, step over puddles, squeeze past fans,
do our bit for the audience and all this while looking a million dollars.
We've based the assault course around that, so it's a true drag queen
challenge. These girls are athletes!
Backstage
in the changing room the ladies are nervously gathering for a bit of last-minute
lippie application, re-glueing false eyelashes, checking their socks are
still in their bras and their meat and two veg are securely tucked away.
Less is definitely more when it comes to Olympic drag dress codes - a
lot less. There's no way I could get away with their strappy tops and
tiny skirts that leave acres of leg on show, let alone the teetering 12inch
stilettos, but then I remind myself why the queens look so good - men
don't get cellulite. Goddamn them.
|
Oops,
she's lost her egg......
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Debbie,
from Manchester, and Kate, from York (in case you're wondering, the queens
won't reveal their 'man' - hush, don't say that word - names), are still
in two minds about entering. 'If the press are here, maybe I should phone
my wife and tell her I'm a trannie first,' wonders Debbie, who stands 6ft
5in in her heels and blonde curly wig, as I gasp at the revelation. She
starts fumbling in her copious clutch bag for her mobile, but then she and
Kate dissolve into burly laughter and I know I've been had. There is no
Mrs Debbie, phew. They've never entered before and they're both very nervous.
The favourite to win this year is a vision of Brazilian beauty called Miss
Priscilla. She is living proof that although money can't buy you love, it
can buy you the best pair of surgically enhanced boobie-dos in South America.
Priscilla is the Elle Macpherson of the drag world, complete with the sleekest
of bronzed thighs and flowing brunette locks. Next to her I feel like Bob
the Builder. floor. The Body is just about dressed in a gorgeous filmy number,
slashed right up to a G-string the size of a tea bag. This girl knows how
good she looks, she doesn't stop posing, flouncing or pouting for a moment,
whether she's backstage or on the dance floor, casting the odd sneering
glance at her stilettoed rivals. The competition is about to start when
contestant no 3, the only lady here under 6ft, sidles up to me. |
Ooh,
such a Lady ! .....
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Laura
is understated in a red velour top and black leather miniskirt, both bought
from Debenhams, one of the most TV-friendly high-street stores, apparently.
'You'd never guess it,' Laura giggles, patting her glitter-sprinkled black
wig with a hand of gammon steak proportions, 'but the rest of the week I'm
a panel beater for London taxis. Everyone I work with knows about me dressing
up, they all think it's hilarious. To be honest, I'm not confident about
my chances tonight, I feel like a stock car in a Formula 1 race.' I remind
her she has size on her side with the limbo competition, but silently agree
with her - she's not butch, but there's a touch of Les Dawson about her
stockinged thighs.
Compere Steffan, a supremely glamorous blonde in sequinned leopard spots,
quietens the crowd. The limbo competition will sort the men from the boys,
or the girls from the queens... or something. It quickly becomes clear that
heels and skirts and limbo-dancing are a combo fatal to a queen's dignity.
Legs akimbo, skirts up around their armpits, the ladies are gamely trying
to wiggle under the pole, only to collapse in a gusset-revealing heap on
the floor. |
Oh
It Looks So Easy ! .....
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Miss
Jiggly Puff, an elegant middle-aged lady and the only trousered contestant,
makes the best job of things. It's the trannie high jump next, and Vicky
announces bonus points will be awarded for the most inventive way of clearing
the knotted together elastic bands. Let's face it, a statement like that
is a sequinned, diamante- edged, red rag to a drag queen.
Debbie ups the ante with a Mission Impossible-style somersault, from which
she saunters away, wig and earrings intact. The Body knows she has to pull
it out of the handbag now. True Drag Olympic sportswoman that she is, she
takes a measured run up to the jump and leaps into the air. Unfortunately
she gets her dress caught on an umpire's Pat Butcher-style earring mid-jump
and the elastic bands, aka the pole, get caught between her legs. She makes
the most of the situation and slides up and down the bands while tipping
the crowd a saucy wink.
My heart goes out to Laura who attempts a crazily ambitious scissor jump
which wins her cheers but little dignity. As the high jump gets higher and
the audience get rowdier, the queens become more bold. |
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Contestants
& Hostess |
The
assault course has to be completed in the fastest time, with the added impediment
of having to carry a huge green egg on a spoon. No one seems to know why,
but then again, no one seems to know why not. Each queen starts on a podium,
which they must dismount with the decency of a convent girl, then they must
snog a bemused-looking, but game, man for ten seconds, pick their way through
a beer crate minefield, mount another podium and mime to whatever pop tune
comes belting out of the speakers. Then there are two hoops to be stepped
through elegantly and a further podium to mount. Remember that throughout
all of this, they have to carry the egg and spoon, keep their wigs and falsies
in place and smile at the judges.
Miss Minnie, the saucy young Irish entrant with a brunette wig and heavy
black eyeliner, sets an excellent time of 45 seconds. She shimmies through
the beer crates in her knicker-hugging Chinese silk dress, mimes to Dancing
Queen and keeps her egg in place for the whole course.
Kate, a good-looking, broad-shouldered brunette in
a strappy cocktail dress, won't leave the volunteer snogger alone. When
she climbs off his lap, his eyes are crossed and lip gloss is smeared all
over his mouth. The crowd are totally hyped now, egging on their favourites.
My money's on Miss Minnie. |
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Priscilla
floats effortlessly through, a glitzy stick insect with the elegance and
ego of a supermodel. It's all over in 45 minutes and, to the bated breath
of the entire club, time- keeper Pandora De'Pledge declares Priscilla
the winner. I can't help feeling glamour has won out over talent, since
Priscilla didn't actually come first in any of the events, but the crowd
seem happy. There's no crown or medal or even a podium, but Priscilla
can't restrain the urge to mime along to Whitney's One Moment In Time
(well, who could?) when her fans stream forward to carry her aloft.
"I'm
really happy... I love all the attention. But now I must dance"
The 2003 Olympian queen, Miss Priscilla
I
catch the Olympian queen backstage for a few seconds, where she is yet
again retouching her already perfect make-up. 'I'm really happy,' she
says, in her breathless Brazilian accent, 'but I did expect to win. I've
been on the front cover of Utterly Fabulous (the WayOut's magazine) and
done lots of photo shoots. There's been a lot of interest in me and I
love all the attention. But now I must dance.' She rearranges her dress
and her pout and oozes back out to the adoring crowds.
Vicky Lee is backstage looking as fresh as a daisy, even though it's 3am.
She's happy with how the evening has gone and is ready to party until
the club closes at 5am.
Meanwhile
Laura is collecting her handbag and looking a bit downcast at her performance.
I tell her I enjoyed the show and she gives me a quick once-over. 'You
know,' she says, tapping my arm, 'if you made yourself look a bit more
glam, there's no reason why you shouldn't enter next year.' Now, I know
I'm quite tall for a woman, and I do have broad shoulders and a strong
jaw, but this is the first time I've ever been mistaken for a drag queen
in the making, and it doesn't do a lot for my ego. I just smile and tell
Laura I'm sticking with the day job - high jump never was my forte.
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