Yes, that's right, drag queens
A friend wonders about the mention of drag queens in the interests section of my blogger profile. (Thanks, N.P., for the idea, I was at a loss for something to write about today.)
He wonders what this means, why would someone like me possibly be interested in something like them, interested enough to put it in a profile. First of all, those profiles are really stupid, and generally, the blogger profiles seem self-indulgent and a bit too much like personal ads for my humble, bashful, why-would-anyone-care-about-that, shallow little self. I just wanted to put something in there that would throw a bit of humor and color into the mix.
More importantly, though, drag-queens are the exact polar opposite of me, and the interest not so much interest as...admiration. They are wonderful, colorful, exotic beings, who clearly go to great lengths to put their looks together, primping, shaving, binding-things-up, tying-things-down, making-up, decorating, and just mind-bendingly time-consuming preparation to be seen. And the result is sometimes hilarious, but most often just amazingly gorgeous. I mean, look at RuPaul. Just LOOK at her. There is also an emotional flamboyance that goes along with the visual, that I clearly do not possess. Christ, I'm female and it's all I can do to get up and get to work in the morning with eyes open, shoes that match, with my wallet and keys, and my boobs both pointing in the same direction, and roughly the same level. Never mind when some rare occasion happens that I have to dress up.
God, I fucking hate dressing up.
He wonders what this means, why would someone like me possibly be interested in something like them, interested enough to put it in a profile. First of all, those profiles are really stupid, and generally, the blogger profiles seem self-indulgent and a bit too much like personal ads for my humble, bashful, why-would-anyone-care-about-that, shallow little self. I just wanted to put something in there that would throw a bit of humor and color into the mix.
More importantly, though, drag-queens are the exact polar opposite of me, and the interest not so much interest as...admiration. They are wonderful, colorful, exotic beings, who clearly go to great lengths to put their looks together, primping, shaving, binding-things-up, tying-things-down, making-up, decorating, and just mind-bendingly time-consuming preparation to be seen. And the result is sometimes hilarious, but most often just amazingly gorgeous. I mean, look at RuPaul. Just LOOK at her. There is also an emotional flamboyance that goes along with the visual, that I clearly do not possess. Christ, I'm female and it's all I can do to get up and get to work in the morning with eyes open, shoes that match, with my wallet and keys, and my boobs both pointing in the same direction, and roughly the same level. Never mind when some rare occasion happens that I have to dress up.
God, I fucking hate dressing up.
posted by Andraste at 1:30 PM
3 Comments:
Your vision on the blogger profiles is perfect. You have a passion to write form the darker side. You intrigue and inspire, now your 4th loyal reader! What lessons in life can you share next to educate the colony of fools in Boston?
Frank
Dressing up is bullshit. I am completely incapable of pairing a pair of shoes up with an outfit. I own tons of shoes because I buy them constantly in hopes that they will still seem appropriate when I get home. But then once I'm dressed, none of my 9000 pairs of black shoes is quite the right shade of black. Don't even get me started on wearing stockings.
You TOO? I tell my more girlie-girl friends that I finally understand the shoe thing...and it's not because I WANT to own a million pairs of shoes, it's because they have to fucking MATCH the look, fabric, feel, fucking GESTALT of the rest of the outfit. It's too much to be tolerated.
<< Home