words: Tomek Mossakowski
Drag Shows – O M actual G – they are SHIT. Shit and UNCOOL.
Don’t get me wrong: I ain’t no homophobe. I actually happen to be a massive bender myself. (Not fat, just massive).
Picture the scene:
We walk into a random bar, I’m poppin’ back the ol’ G+Ts (slimline obv) with my cuz, having a chat about weddings and other cuzzes, when suddenly 6ft Kylie waltzes out into the middle of the floor, mic in hand.
“AH LUURRVVEEE NEEEWWW YOORRRKKK AND AH’M A TRAAAAMMMMPPPP!”
Her bloodcurdling war-cry – I shit you not – smashed three glasses. The feedback from the cheap speakers smashed another six.
I suddenly felt terrible for my cousin, who’s more innocent than Innocent smoothie (who are in fact, the least innocent corporate dragons in the history of consumer fire-breathers. Have you seen their terms and conditions?!)
We didn’t mean for this. We didn’t even realise we were in Soho. The giant Maitre D’ at the entrance should have been our first clue. Dang.
No conversation is possible. Least of all because now, Kylie is attempting her second number.
“HAAAAAH’M EVVERRRYYY WOMAN, IT’S ALL IN ME!!“
Drag shows are fun, when done right. Apparently in the US they’re an art form. Over here, they’re the artistic equivalent of Quavers.
And then there’s the grip-the-table terror that Kylie might come over for a chat.
“Please…God… I know I’m in a gay bar but …….” I prayed.
I don’t do well with audience participation, it gives me constipation. I get unnaturally scared. So much that I have to screen all public events before I RSVP!!
What was COOL, was the bar, Lo Profile. If you avoid the Drag Show (avoid it, avoid it I’M TELLING YOU) then the rest of the time it’s a swinging 50s diner with cute staff and even cutesier booths.
The show finished with a dragged up nun– yep – doing a mighty rendition of Oh Happy Day!
*Lo Profile is on 84-86 Wardour Street.