It started off as a bet.
No, a dare.
A blood-oath!
Okay, it was more of a brainwashing obsession.
Years ago, before there was such a phrase as "It Get Better," a semi-popular 90s talk show host
received the opportunity to create a new reality show.
Well, not so new that it wouldn't be compared to America's Next Top Model,
but so good that it would surpass its relevancy in the queer community.
This show, of course, is RuPaul's Drag Race.
With each passing season,
the show has gained notoriety,
from gay and straight fans alike.
The transformation of a man into a woman
really seems to intrigue straight audiences,
the straights in my house being no exception.
In fact, a fantasy league was created
for the season this year.
But when that finished,
and only the finals were left for us to watch
- the Superbowl of Drag, as some have called it -
there seemed to be a new energy in the house.
Within a week we planned our own drag night.
Yes, straight men and women, gays, and lesbians
all dressing as the opposite gender.
[The term for a woman dressed as a man is drag king.]
But we couldn't just make a night of it.
Like all things in our house,
it had to become a competition.
No prize. Just honor and glory.
I couldn't have been happier about it.
For two years, I've wanted to dress in drag
for Halloween or other costume parties.
Sadly, I never struck up the gull to try.
But with a group of us all trying it for the first time,
it was easy not to back out.
I mean, we had a month to prepare.
One week before the competition,
one of my roommates and I finally
managed to drag ourselves to the mall.
Procrastination isn't just a college sport.
Allow me to thank God for Payless Shoe Source,
because a size 12 footed man could only hope
to find a size 13 heel in a hopeless place.
I consider myself lucky to have had the option
between two pairs of basic heels.
My size 10 roommate, however,
was blessed with variety.
I loathed him so as he slipped his tiny foot
into a sparkly strapped heel.
My envy only subdued as I worried
what the cashier would think when we checked out.
That's when she walked up the aisle
and handed us a coupon for 20% off.
Needless to say, check out was judgment free.
She even threw in heel guards for a dollar.
Wig shopping was also fairly easy the next day.
My size 10 roommate found a small shop that sold $20 wigs.
$20 wigs, I know. They must have been so ratty.
And most of them were.
That's because the wig shop was actually a hair boutique,
but we found nice pieces to feminize our manly faces.
The owner only paused fixing a lady's updo
to receive payment and wish us a good day.
My shopping with size 10 ended there.
It turned out he already had a team (his high school friends)
helping him with padding, dress, and makeup.
If it hadn't been clear before,
it was obvious he, nay, she - Cherry (Aki) Chopstick -
would be my greatest rival, the Gray Oak to my Ash Ketchum.
Cherry is his drag name, if you hadn't figured it out.
Drag names are occasionally puns,
because puns are a drag queen's best friend.
However, my drag name is just Nia Salem.
I actually created the name in my teens a year after my other alter egos
because I felt a need to add a female character in the bunch.
Nia came from Nia Long.
I was never really that big into her work, I just thought it was a cute name.
Salem (pronounce Sa-leem) came out of nowhere as far as I can remember.
I think I just wanted it to be a pain to pronounce so I could correct people.
Four days before the competition
and I still only had a wig and shoes.
I looked at myself in the mirror and patted my gut.
A corset was definitely in order if I was gonna pull any look off.
I took to Amazon, found one that was my waist size,
and ordered it Prime, like the boss I am.
It arrived Friday.
Two days left.
When I woke up Saturday morning,
a look came to me.
I would wear one of my white collared shirts
under my corset with my bra exposed.
All I need was a skirt. And the bra.
My best friend was nice enough
to drive me back to the mall after she got off work.
I was foolish to wait until a Saturday.
H&M was swamped with basic bitches
far as the eye could see.
I didn't know how to approach any of the female clothing
without catching a bit of side eye.
I tired not to care, but social norms are hard to shake after 24 years.
Luckily, my friend noticed me panicking
and led me to Forever 21 across the hall.
As a man, I have never stepped into Forever 21.
The amount of linen pantsuits I saw was ridiculous.
Is that the hot new trend?
If so, it's gonna be an interesting summer in Baltimore.
But among all the pantsuits,
a dress I mistook as a skirt caught my eye,
which my friend informed me I could fold it into a skirt.
After agreeing an extra large was right for me
and awkwardly trying on a large bra over my clothes,
we headed to the register.
My luck continued as we found
enough makeup to beat my face with
while waiting in line.
I never realized Forever 21 was the Walmart of women shopping.
When we reached the front of the line,
my friend pretended the items were hers
as I paid for it, posing as her boyfriend or sugar daddy.
I prefer sugar daddy.
She's a good friend.
While a good friend, she did not want to compete as a man.
She preferred to be a drag queen because it was "more fun."
I couldn't dispute her.
However, by Saturday night, three competitors backed out.
Either because work was too hectic that they didn't have time to prepare
or they just wouldn't have their materials ready.
Clearly, they were disappointments,
but in the end, it just meant fewer people to take down.
Finally, Sunday arrived.
I shaved my body.
I looked like a baby without my fur,
but it was all in the name of drag.
Applying my own makeup was actually the best part of dolling up.
I felt like my face was an art project.
Did I use too much bronzer to cover up my five o'clock shadow?
Probably.
Was the white line down the bridge of my nose too noticeable?
Absolutely.
Was my eye makeup heavy?
Duh, I was becoming a drag queen.
Clown realness is the name of the game.
Did I make myself proud?
Ya damn right.
I was the last contestant to walk downstairs,
but that's how a lady makes an entrance.
I turned the corner to find my fellow drags in the "green room."
Two drag kings, three drags queens, and me.
Cherry Chopstick gagged when she saw me.
I was happy to hear her admit she liked my outfit better than her own,
but I knew she still planned to take me down.
There were three challenges that night:
1) The Runway
2) The Dating Game
3) The Lip Sync
Scoring would be left up to the audience,
a crowd of our friends and family.
Because the order was alphabetical,
I would be the last to perform in the first and last challenges.
Perfect if you ask me.
I was hoping to close the show.
I have no idea how good or bad any of the other drags' runway went,
but when I exited the "green room" to walk that catwalk,
I turned it out.
I stomped the ground with a vengeance
and dropped it low at the edge of the stage
as Yonce by Beyonce played.
I slayed.
The Dating Game was my downfall though.
Thinking on the spot to answer dating questions
with witty responses and puns can be challenging.
I held my own, and made the crowd laugh,
but Cherry clearly had the advantage.
I went backstage knowing she was likely in the lead.
With only the lip sync left,
I knew it was it time to turn it up.
Whether the performers ahead of me were good or not,
all that mattered was that I close the show out right.
So when Damaged by Danity Kane played for me,
I gave it my all.
So must sweat.
But I knew when it was all said and done,
I impressed them enough.
It took our host a while to tally up all the scores,
so all six drag kings and queens danced
to one last RuPaul song before the winner was announced.
In third place was Billie Holidaze, one of the drag kings.
The fourth through sixth placers were announced,
leaving only Cherry Chopstick and myself.
Only 3 points separated the winner from second place.
We held each others hands in true pageant style.
......
And yes, I won!
I couldn't have been happier.
Well, I would have been happier had I beat Cherry by a larger lead,
but there's always next time.
Because there will most likely be a next time.
Too many people were upset they missed their opportunity for us not to do another.
Besides, I own heels, wig, and a set up makeup now.
I can't just lay Nia Salem to rest.
Word.
