Why I hate drag (and still love it)
Hello, my lovelies. This is going to be a weird one. Last night when driving home from the show, I had to laugh at myself for the bullshit I put my body through to do drag — I was hurting from head to toe. So I thought I would compile a list of all of the reasons I sometimes hate drag. I will also list some things that I used to do that I grew out of for the betterment of my body.
First, of course, is tucking — i.e., hiding my junk “down there.” Usually it is not a problem, but last night I tucked in a hurry. I yanked it back a little too far and yanked my gaff (a gaff is like a dance belt that holds everything in place) up a little too tight. I am way too hairy down there to ever use duct tape as panties.
The next few sentences are kind of graphic so some of you may want to skip to this paragraph: The thong part of my gaff literally spent the night tight against the head of my peen and damn near split it in half. It was fine while it was on, but when I removed it…let’s just say my dick is not happy with me today. He is usually so cute, but now he looks like a domestic abuse survivor with one black eye.
Next is the pain from my toes. I’ve been doing drag long enough that I know how to put on tights in a way that won’t kill my tootsies, but last night I guess I rushed. I put four pair of tights on and they put a lot of pressure on my little pigs. Once again, everything was fine until I took them off and blood rushed back into my feet. Plus heels are the devil. I have small feet, so I can have my pick of fabulous shoes, but I usually tend to wear the same few pair because they are less painful to parade around and dance in.
I used to glue my wigs down or wear them really tight, but after years of headaches from the band in the back of a wig or the rip of skin when you removed a glued-down wig, now I just barely sit that bitch on my head like a hat. A stiff wind could blow it off my head. Not to mention how hot wearing a wig makes you. Your body releases heat out of the top of your head, so when you keep it covered, you are basically baking your brain.
I wear the biggest eyelashes I can find and then double them up, so when you see me, I’m sporting two pair of 301 lashes glued to my eyelid. I know how to do it to keep from ripping my skin off every time I remove them, but I learned that the hard way. I put a thick coat of base and eyeshadow on my lids so that I am basically removing just the makeup when I rip those fuckers off. Before I started doing that, after a few nights in drag I would remove skin when I took my lashes off. My lids would swell, and I looked like bees had stung me in my eye. And it hurt … especially when I would have to do it all again the next night.
Now let’s talk about earlobes. I know a lot of girls that use Super Glue to adhere earrings to their ears; I used to. How else do you think we get those big-ass beauties to stay put? Doing this is very bad for you, though. It turns your earlobes into hamburger meat. Valerie Lohr was told by her doctor that she had glue poisoning. That’s a real thing. My ears are pierced so now I only wear earrings for pierced ears because I am fishy like that. They still hurt my earhole but not as bad as ripping glued flesh.
I wear the most sickening corset. It makes my fat ass look like I have a nice female shape. I aspire to be curved like the Mississippi River but will settle for Jessica Rabbit. My corset does that. I love how it looks. I honestly don’t feel like I am in drag unless I can barely breathe. I can’t even put it on myself — I always need someone to cinch me in it. No, it is not comfortable. I am sure my organs are in the wrong places from years of waist-training. Sometimes I think it would just be easier to lose weight but then, you know … tacos.
Back in the day, I would contour the hell out of my chest and use duct tape to push up my chesticles so that I looked like I had real breasts. I loved confusing people and letting them think I had had that procedure. Bitch, my mama would kill me if I ever got titties. I would tape from armpit to armpit in a smile shape to get my little man teets to look like big ol lady boobs. It looked great but was a bitch to get off. Ripping it off fast like a Band-Aid is not the way to go when removing duct tape from your chest, you will remove flesh. I rarely tape now days because as I’ve gotten older, I figure my breasts have started to sag a little. I am all about realism.
I get made fun of regularly for not wearing nails. I love how they look, but back in the day the only choice was to Super Glue them to your own nails. I would do it for pageants or getting photos done, but it would ruin my boy nails. Once, after doing Miss Texas, I wore nails every day for a week, and it messed my fingers up. Two of my fingers got a painful infection that took forever to heal. I decided then to never wear nails again. I don’t care if I get called “man hands.” Nowadays they have these great press-ons that actually stay in place for the most part and don’t ruin your nails, but I am set in my ways and couldn’t care less about wearing nails. Truth is, I can’t do anything for myself once I have nails on. You don’t realize how much you use your thumb and forefinger until you can’t use them because you don’t want to lose a nail.
I don’t know what it is about getting out of drag that makes me sneeze, but every night post-show, I sneeze at least seven times. I am sure my lungs and insides are 80 percent Coty powder. The day after doing drag, I always wake up to black crusty eye boogers. It is very glamourous.
Drag will also ruin your home. My shower and tub are already a hideous shade of beige, so you don’t immediately notice the years of hard-to-clean makeup remnants. Getting in drag at home always leaves a light dusting of powder in my bathroom. I probably don’t need to make such a mess, but I have a process when I power my face that can get ridiculous. Thank God I have my dressing room at the club. Wig hair is magic. Once a hair leaves a wig, it magically reproduces and gets everywhere. I find wig hair in the craziest places, including in my husband’s storage shed where my wigs have never been. I think they come to life and go out on adventures. Eventually I am sure Disney will do an animated feature film about my crazy, sassy wigs and their epic quest to become styled once again.
I know this must sound like drag is the worst thing in the world and sometimes it does hurt. But pain is beauty — beauty is pain, blah blah blah. I feel bad for the girls that use tape on their junk. They use Goo Gone to get the residue off of their “below places!” That shit has gotta burn. I guess doing drag feels like a constant STD flare up.
Seriously, though, I put myself through all this bullshit because I love what I do. Driving home last night, in pain from head to toe, I still thought of myself as lucky. You know, hashtag blessed and stuff.
Remember to always love more, bitch less and be fabulous! XOXO, Cassie Nova.
If you have a question of comment, email it to AskCassieNova@gmail.com.
This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition August 18, 2017.
