Queer Immersions; Queer Excursion, Drag & Tracks, by Nick Aranda

Queer Immersions Queer Excursions

“There is no original or primary gender a drag imitates, but gender is a kind of imitation for which there is no original.”

(Judith Butler)

            I used to lock my door and do my makeup on long High School nights.  I would apply my new face and contour a better future behind the precarious pseudo-safety of my bolted door.  I never dared exit my room, I washed my face off—always—before unbolting the door.  I never performed any semblance of gender blurring in any public place except for the liminal space between me and my reflection.  Cailin Osborne, my housemate, did my makeup Thursday night.  She did my eyes.  She did my face, contouring my cheeks, highlighting my forehead, and shadowing the sides of my nose.  I felt nervous and excited as I felt the sponge trace the subtle and implicit lines of my face.  She did my lips and fluffed my hair.   My hair looked wild, messy, and dangerous, my lips were deep red.  I looked of fire.  My blouse, navy, swayed in front of my chest and waist—both of which were open and sensually exposed.  I sat and waited for Cailin to finish—the Uber Driver was pulling up as she was blending.  I took one look in the mirror—I felt beautiful. 

            With my nails painted, face contoured, eyes sparkling, and body exposed I climbed into an unsuspecting Uber driver’s vehicle.  He looked taken back.  I saw his eyes run me over.  He looked scared, perhaps bewildered.  Not taking off right away, he stuttered through the request, “Seatbelts, please.”  We took off slowly, throughout the drive he would steal glances at me.  Talk of Tracks was prolific and loud.  The Uber driver garnered, I assume, that he was transporting queer students to a queer place.  He seemed uncomfortable.  The conversation did not stray from queer issues and talk of kissing boys.  The car ride seemed to last forever.  The Uber driver eventually parked at Tracks, we left without saying bye. 

            Entering tracks was immediately queer.  I had the use the restroom right away—the restrooms are all gendered.  I took the stall of a beautiful Drag Queen.  I would later get a kiss on the check from this same Queen.  I left the restroom, but not before taking a long look at myself in the mirror.  I looked gorgeous.  I touched my face, astonished by the unfamiliarity of the glitter, color, and beauty.  A man approached the counter, and while washing his hands he caught me staring at myself with awe and confusion.  He said, “You look amazing, embrace it.”

            I danced until I felt numb.  I danced with boys and girls and those who were neither.

I felt liberated.  I forgot that I was wearing unconventional clothes and makeup of the brightest sort.