GLAM

On the planet Glam, we don’t subscribe to your labels, only to our own. On the planet Glam, men dress like your women and women dress like your men. On the planet Glam, we beat our faces until they look nothing like our own, softening cheekbones, pencilling mustaches. On the planet Glam, we bind our chest and draw on cleavage. On the planet Glam, we allow read each other for filth and help our sisters and brothers better their crafts. On the planet Glam, we celebrate all styles: fishy, masc, campy, douchey, geeky, spooky, pageantry, and more. On the planet Glam, we compete to see who can be the most convincing, the most entertaining, the most boundary-breaking. On the planet Glam, we compete year round. On the planet Glam, we crown a new winner every year. On the planet Glam, we welcome you, outsider, to join our tradition. On the planet Glam, we invite you to stay with us the entire orbit around our star RuPaul. On the planet Glam, we anticipate how you’ll genderfuck us all. On the planet Glam, we await your androgyny.