The Mirror Newspapers Supplement Magazine 'M' - Review on the Drag Olympics
(Saturday 10th May 2003 issue)

GOOD SPORTS

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. '

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.

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.