Other Worlds are Possible - Week 2 Reflection
Supervised by: Kareem Khubchandani
Department of Theatre, Dance, and Performance Studies and Studies in Race, Colonialism, and Diaspora, Tufts University
Studies of Women, Gender, and Sexuality, Harvard University
“Drag is the sum (and sometimes more) of its parts, of technologies (land, architecture, décor, stage, costume, contour, flesh) and techniques (dance, pose, strut, flex, scowl, split). We have so many ways to conjure new worlds through the body! A decolonial approach to drag considers the histories and efficacies of these tools, balancing them to care for minoritarian life and to flaunt irreverence for colonial forms. Go on! Do it! — Kareem Khubchandani, Decolonize Drag, p. 180
LaWhore Vagistan ends this passage with a simple challenge: “Go on! Do it!” And so this week, I took that challenge seriously. I finished my first book for my literature review, Decolonize Drag; took my friends to their first-ever drag show; introduced myself to a legendary queen in Boston; and perhaps most unexpectedly, got into drag for the first time.
Throughout the week, LaWhore and Dr. Khubchandani’s reflections echoed through my experiences, providing a lens through which I could better understand the artistry, community, and complexity of the drag world I have begun to enter.
Thursday night, I attended ManRay, a gay club in Cambridge, for their Pride-themed drag show. For a Thursday evening, the crowd was relatively intimate. Under euphoric blue and purple lights, people danced, laughed, and mingled freely. Queer community was on full display. For a few hours, it felt like an escape from heteronormative reality and into a world built by and for queer people.
Then came the main event.
Mizery, a local drag legend, took the stage and embodied Cher's "Believe." She sold the audience emotion, resilience, and an unapologetic fierceness that seemed to proclaim, "I'm here. I'm queer. And I still believe in love." My friends, strangers, and I sang along as she worked the room, transforming a familiar pop anthem into something communal.
As I watched, I found myself in awe of how intricate the artistry of drag truly is. Drag is a constellation of literary, visual, musical, and cultural references. It draws from fashion, film, music, history, politics, and personal experience, weaving them together into something entirely new. Every gesture, lyric, costume choice, makeup look, and song selection tells a story about who a performer is, where they come from, and the worlds they wish to create. What appears effortless on stage is often the culmination of countless artistic influences, technical skills, and lived experiences.
Standing in that crowd, I began to understand more deeply what Dr. Khubchandani meant when he described drag as a collection of technologies and techniques used to conjure new worlds. Mizery was not simply performing a song. She was telling a story about heartbreak becoming resilience, strangers becoming community, and queer joy becoming the norm rather than the exception.
By Friday morning in Medford, I was headed to a photoshoot with Verna Felton, a Boston-based 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization dedicated to empowering LGBTQ+ individuals through the art of drag. Named after Verna Felton, the voice actress who portrayed the Fairy Godmother in Disney’s original Cinderella, the organization embodies the same magic of transformation and possibility. Verna Felton donates beloved, one-of-a-kind drag garments to LGBTQ+ community members who might not otherwise be able to afford them, recognizing that drag can be an incredibly expensive art form. Since the beginning of the summer, I have had the privilege of volunteering with the organization, supporting its outreach efforts while learning firsthand about the power of drag as a vehicle for self-expression, community-building, and accessibility.
Prior to nervously climbing into the Uber I had scheduled for 11:25 a.m. to ensure I arrived at Parachute Studios by noon sharp, I had spent much of the previous night and early morning brushing, setting, spraying, blending, and redoing my drag makeup. Wipe away the uneven eyeshadow. Apply concealer. Blend. Start over. Repeat. My bedroom mirror became a space where fantasy wrestled with technique as I attempted to transform myself into something beyond the version of Jayden I saw every day.
Despite my best efforts, the reflection staring back at me looked nothing like my inspirations. Absent was the flawless mug of Plastique Tiara, Vietnamese drag superstar whose beauty and precision have graced RuPaul’s Drag Race. Nor did I resemble Candace Persuasian, whose Beyoncé-esque stage presence, glamour, and confidence have made her a star of Boston drag. Instead, I saw smudged eyeshadow, patchy blending, off-centered contouring, and the unmistakable evidence of someone attempting drag for the very first time.
Luckily, the studio was graced by Rose, a guardian angel, a.k.a makeup artist. She “beat the mug — a very drag-y expression for applying makeup to the face — and as she worked, she shared tips on the art of blush placement, the surprising versatility of the T-zone, and the near-supernatural powers of a luscious pair of lashes.
After the makeup was complete, Scottie, the founder of Verna Felton, became my very own fairy godmother. First came the wig. He taught me the two-finger trick for putting one on when someone else is assisting you: tilt your head forward, place your pointer fingers on either side of your forehead, and use them as guides so the wig lands exactly where it should. Then came the outfit, a beautiful denim vest and matching shorts adorned with pearls that felt like a drag version of Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter album. Next came the five-inch stiletto heels, which Scottie patiently helped me navigate as I learned to balance, wobble, and eventually walk. Finally, he draped a sparkling crystal necklace around my neck.
Piece by piece, brushstroke by brushstroke, accessory by accessory, I witnessed what drag does best. As I stared affectionately at my reflection in the mirror, I felt so beautiful. I felt so confident. And most noticeably, I saw the birth of Jayda Fantasy.
I was incredibly nervous, anxious, and excited all at the same time. At the beginning of the photoshoot, the nerves were impossible to ignore. I had never been in a professional photoshoot before, let alone one where I was dressed in drag. I knew little about lighting, posing, or which angles worked best for me. For the first few minutes, I felt self-conscious and a bit too painfully aware of the camera.
Fortunately, Mia, the photographer, possessed a gift for making the unfamiliar feel natural. Part photographer, part hype woman, she guided me through every pose with patience and enthusiasm. A tilt of the chin here. A hand on the hip there. With every encouraging "Yes!" and "Shut up, you’re gorgeous!", the camera became a little less intimidating, and Jayda became a little more confident.
Then Ariana Grande's "yes, and?" came through the speakers, and something shifted.
Maybe it was Ariana's Glinda reaching through the playlist, but suddenly I remembered that drag is not about minimizing yourself. It is about taking up space. As the music filled the studio, I stopped listening to Jayden's apprehensions and started listening to what Jayda was trying to tell me: you are the queen you've always dreamed of becoming.
The poses became bigger. The smiles became more natural. The nerves slowly gave way to confidence. My hips swayed a little further. My hands found their places. And the complexion? Fierce.
However imperfectly, I was beginning to discover Jayda's aesthetic. A homage to my Vietnamese heritage. A love letter to my Southern roots. A celebration of femininity. A political critique. A little camp, a little glamour, and a little bit of delusion. Not yet fully formed, but becoming. I was slowly piecing together who Jayda might be and what she had to say in place of Jayden.
Saturday, I dragged my friends to their first-ever drag brunch, Pride Below Deck, at Shore Leave. Between double-dipping tater tots into spicy mayonnaise and debating which performer was our favorite, we found ourselves immersed in the wonderfully diverse world of drag.
The hilarious Harry Ballz, my first drag king I had ever seen perform in person, delivered satirical commentary on the MBTA that had the entire room laughing. Hazel, visiting from Florida, commanded the bar top with undeniable confidence and sex appeal. ANX, a Filipina dancing diva, poured her heart into every movement as she performed pop anthems with infectious energy. Candace Persuasian served Beyoncé realness, embodying the superstar's undeniable stage presence and beauty. Meanwhile, LaWhore Vagistan captivated the audience by weaving elements of South Asian culture, humor, and storytelling into her performance.
What struck me most was how different each performer was. No two artists approached drag in quite the same way. Some leaned into comedy, others into dance, glamour, cultural celebration, or pure spectacle. Yet each performance felt distinctly authentic to the person behind it. Together, they demonstrated that drag is capacious—a medium expansive enough to hold humor, politics, culture, fantasy, critique, and joy all at once.
More than anything, drag invites people to imagine that other worlds are possible. Worlds where gender is playful rather than restrictive. Worlds where difference is celebrated rather than hidden.
When I first opened Decolonize Drag, I thought I was reading about drag. By the time I closed it, I had started participating in it.
For me, those worlds no longer feel distant or theoretical.
They feel real.