Just to get this out of the way right now, allow me to bastardize Margaret Cho-does-Karl-Lagerfeld: Of course I am a fag hag, dahling. I am fanning the flames of my fag-haggery.
Actually, my bona fide fag hag days are a thing of the past. No longer are the majority of my male friends gay, by natural attrition rather than any choice of mine. But fag-haggery is something a girl is born with; it’s part of her DNA, like hair color or pore size. It may change, but its always a part of you.
Note that being a fag hag doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll also adore drag queens. But if you have any flair at all for the creative and dramatic, they’ll capture your imagination like honey to a fly.
In my case, its more literal. I am a drag queen trapped in a woman’s sensible shoed body.
What I love most about drag queens is their humor, which is usually far more ironic and intelligent than it seems at first glance. But most of all, I love their to-thine-ownself-be-true-beeyatch attitude. Men, if you want to know what bravery is, live for 48 hours as a drag queen. (Or a woman, though that’s much less accessible.)
Here’s a clip of now-famous Hugo Weaving and Guy Pearce (Mitzi del Bra and Felicia Gollygoodfellow, respectively) strutting it. Not to mention the film veteran Terrance Stamp, who, it must be stated, makes the worst drag queen ever. Not a bad tranny, though.
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