Drag is more than just a fun night out

by Chris Anton

Long before the days of RuPaul and the Lady Chablis, when trans referred to a system of public transportation, and before the glitz and glam of cross-dressing hit the clubs of New York, I had my first mini-experience in drag. I was sorting laundry for my mom. Just a little tyke (yes, that is a 'T'). I put two balls of socks down my shirt, and donned a pair of heels that were large enough to hold my entire life's possessions at that point. After the hysterical laughter ended, my mother warned me to hurry and change before my father saw me.

I call it a mini-experience because, as I came to learn more about drag, I realized just how much of an art form it is. Breasts and some nice pumps aren't even close to capturing the art of drag. It's like calling yourself a musician just because you can sing the ABC's.

So fifteen years later, over this past fall break, I decide it's time to start shopping for the Ball. Standing in the midst of a Salvation Army in the wonderfully not gay town of Augusta, Georgia, I decided to try on a dress for the first time ever. Why yes, now that you mention it, they are still prone to lynch gays in the south but it's my home, and I love it. This wouldn't have been such a bold move, except that the dressing room was actually nothing more than a shower curtain dangling from a circular ring in the dead-center of the store. Not that its location was a big deal. Not nearly as big of a deal as the fact that the curtain didn't even come close to reaching the floor.

So here I am, with my selections, nonchalantly making my way to the dressing room, oblivious of everyone around me. One guy in khakis goes in. Two minutes later, the khaki pants and brown sketchers are replaced by hot pink, pastel yellow, and navy blue dresses respectively. I can only imagine what the middle-aged women are telling their bewildered children at that moment. And carrying them to the counter to pay was even more fun. I made it out alive, and am sure that somehow, I'm a better person for living that moment.

To quell a common misconception, not everyone who's gay is into drag, much like not everyone who's into drag is gay. That in mind, I'm staring into my closet at a full-length navy slip, with matching ivory shoes and wig, wondering what in the hell I'm doing. I've never wanted to associate myself with the stigma of being a Drag Queen or even being 'queeny' for that matter. I certainly don't have the attitude or the extroverted personality type necessary to pull it off well. For some reason though, even with that lurking in the back of my mind, I couldn't stop myself from running out and buying Nair, fake nails, hair dye, and pantyhose. Why??

Maybe it's about something Oberlin lacks. Back in high school, you'd get all dressed up for homecoming or prom, just so you could go spend a well-dressed night out with your friends, then watch all the people who thought they were cool prance around in a tiara. As painful as some of that was, overall, it was still a good experience, because there was a sense of community. You knew who your friends were, and ultimately, you knew you'd make out better in life than the I'm-cooler-than-you-because-I said-so-prick-turned Prom King. Oberlin needs that. We need the opportunity to come together, drop all of the politically correct bullshit, and just have a good time. And if there's ever been an event that's not p.c....baby, this is it. We need a night where the straight guys can cruise without getting a load of feminism thrown at them, a night where lesbians run free (oh wait, that's everyday), and a night where even the most asexual of beings takes on a sexually loaded persona. Welcome to the Ball.

Much like everyone else, after the Ball's over, my dress and heels will be gone, my leg hair will grow back (won't it?), and it'll be about another year before I dare to try such a stunt again. I'm not going to throw the "it's a learning experience" ball onto the court, even though it very well is. It's the opportunity to see life through someone else's eyes. That aside, for some, it's the first chance to be bold. To do something so far-fetched, and so outrageous, but to do it safely. There's no way in hell I'd spend my Saturday night roaming out and about in a dress anywhere but on this campus, for this event. It's that security blanket that makes it all the more feasible.

Drag Ball's that chance. The one opportunity to be whoever or whatever you want; to be completely uninhibited by any social standards. It's not about any deep dark perversions. It's cocaine for weak of heart. That fix. That's what it's about. If even just for one night, it's there.

Queen of hearts: Drag Ball allows Obies to walk on the wild side. (photo by Laren Rusin)