DIVA FEVER

I love Sunday nights out. Always feels like living slightly off the grid – and with the ferals away recovering from their ritual weekend invasion, it’s almost like we’ve claimed the strip back for a night.

So I finally caught the fab-tastic Arq Candy shows the other week. Well, I use the term ‘caught’ loosely – the night was a bit of a blur, truth be told. After starting out over an innocent coffee, we soon found ourselves audience to a number of shows in various venues – drinking too much along the way. Suffice to say; by the time we arrived, well I was everyone’s best friend – texting DJs and basically making a nuisance of myself.

I should probably thank said ‘best friends’ – especially the charitable folk who helped me up after my run-in with those damned turnstile-doors. Whoever you are, I’m sure we had a hwoot. But geez – if one more random asks me where to get pills, I think I might go postal! What’s that all about? Maybe it’s the baseball cap? Whatever the case, the answer is no! And while we’d all been joking about it, the highlight of the night would have to be my friend bedding a pilgrim – a hot one at that! (I even hear condoms were involved.)

I do recall poking or tapping a number of showgirls in passing though – which is a habit I’m trying to break. You see, I’ve always been fascinated with drag – and as someone said recently: “You’re like a big kid at Christmas – captivated by the sparkle and snappy banter”. I guess the colour and movement taps into my inner-queer-child. Or something. And as a friend remarked while I was busy tapping Cindy Pastel at Mardi Gras this year: ‘‘Stop prodding the drag queens, babe – you’ll get bitten”.

So if asked, I’d probably say drag isn’t dead – but it’s definitely getting its very own makeover. Now I’m no expert here – but it seems we have fewer shows about – with less comedy and more gloss. But I guess the main difference is that most performers can’t rely on shows alone, so are just branching out – whether it be DJing, writing or costumery. The list goes on (charity work notwithstanding).

Unless maybe you’re like the cashed-up Parisian showgirls I met in Heaven nightclub – who had me marked as trade – thanks to a practical-joke played on me by my partner. They didn’t speak a word of English and had jetted into the UK for the night – but that’s another story.

Let’s face it though; drag is a bit like queer-celebrity. Which brings me to the DIVA awards (congrats on the long-overdue induction, Mitz!) Now if, like half of Sydney, you’ve missed out on a ticket; maybe see if you can make it along to the after-party. Even if you’re not really into drag – after some of the ‘impromptu’ performances – I almost guarantee you will be.

Just remember – don’t poke the drag queens.

Damien Stephens

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