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I love drag. I have done drag. Many of my favorite celebrities are drag queens. If you asked me a decade ago what I thought of, say, RuPaul sashaying into a library in full sparkling evening gown glory to read a popular children's book to kids, I would have said it was hilarious. RuPaul's Drag Race did for drag queens what Will & Grace did for gays in the 2000s. I would argue most Americans can name a favorite drag queen at this point.
But something has also changed in how Americans see drag. Drag queens went from a favorite gif to add to a particularly sassy tweet to the manifestation of everything conservative Americans fear about LGBTQ activism, especially toward children.
It might seem easy to dismiss these concerns as an overreaction or even as an expression of bigotry, but conservatives are right about this one.
The art of drag relies on exaggerated sexuality and female stereotypes. Drag queens, through dazzling performances, over-the-top humor, and a cultural dedication to irreverent commentary, have long acted as a release valve for the LGBTQ community. They could say and do things that others would never dare to express, and their unpredictable and provocative personas have long kept audiences on the edge of their seats. With careful inflection, a hand on an over-padded hip and a wink, a drag queen can speak truth to power and make them laugh.
This, however, has always remained within the private walls of adult entertainment and for good reason. Drag queens take on the most absurd sexualized elements of female stereotypes and gay culture, and add a few cans of hair spray to make it even bigger and bolder. They strut out on stage and without a moment of hesitation or shame, unleash epic poems of intentionally offensive obscenity, all with a smile and a sense of style no audience can resist.
Although many have argued this charisma can be redirected into child-appropriate entertainment, education and advocacy, the reality demonstrates otherwise. Drag queens can't turn it off. Whether in front of a cheering crowd in a gay bar or a room full of kids at a library, the performance doesn't change. They cannot translate the magic so many of us enjoy on stage to something children can understand.
Worse, far too many have chosen to disregard the concept of appropriateness altogether, performing dance routines, wearing costumes and portraying the same bombastic, and overtly sexual characters in front of kids as they would in front of adults.
Rather than appreciate this distinction, activists have doubled down and declared their adult entertainment world not only suitable for kids, but necessary and educational. LGBTQ activism has distorted whatever playful and innocent fun a sultry and perfectly poised RuPaul could bring to the room into another act of social rebellion designed to mock and provoke parents and conservative America.
By its very nature, drag is already unsuitable for children, based on the culture it flourished in and the way the artform communicates to its audience. It barely translates outside of the LGBTQ cultural bubble. The more you remove these elements, the less it resembles drag and the more it looks like advocacy for something kids just shouldn't be exposed to. You take away the cursing, the sexual inuendo, the revealing clothes, the provocative dress and the sharp political commentary, and you are left with an adult man in a dress mocking women and trying to convince children he is an ambassador for an entire community.
It just doesn't work. It cannot work.
Some cultural experiences are simply meant for adults and drag is one of them. They are not clowns or cartoon characters. They are not educators or counselors. They are entertainers. Their job is to take obscenity and irreverent humor and make it as glorious and exaggerated as their wigs and makeup.
By taking away the adult nature of drag, you ruin it, and by forcing it into children's spaces, you turn it into something threatening and vile.
Leave the kids alone. They will have plenty of opportunities to discover the joy of drag when they are adults and old enough to appreciate it for what it is.
Chad Felix Greene is the author of Surviving Gender: My Journey Through Gender Dysphoria.
The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.
