Tag Archives: Drag King

Drag King: Timeline

One year ago I started this blog with the intention of putting my thoughts in order and share them, and also to leave a testimony of my road to the darkest depths of my identity.

So I decided, as a way to close one year of thinking and growing, to share this timeline of my story as a Drag King (click on the images to enlarge them).

I also would like to thank all those who have shared this process with me, whether in person or from the distance.

Enjoy!

June 2013

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Transformation: Rainy Morning

Lucy-Lucho

Today I’m bringing you a selection of pictures from a project I made with a friend. Click on the images to enlarge them!

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The art of spitting and walking

In the art of personifying the “opposite gender”, one can find a million subtle ways in which we are trained to perform a gender role.

In this post, I will focus on two of them, spitting and walking, because they illustrate two dimensions of gender differences:

  • Walking is an activity which men and women have in common, but execute in different ways, although that difference is usually invisible in our daily lives.
  • Spitting, instead, is an activity assigned to the masculine gender exclusively. Spitting isn’t “ladylike”.

We will therefore analyze these two actions from the perspective of gender social roles and my own experience as a Drag King.

The way we are, the way we walk

One of the most consistent examples of behavior which is learned, but generally deemed as “natural”, is the way we walk.

It’s something we do every day, hardly noticing we do it in a special way.

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First transformation

The beginning

It would take long to tell the story of how I decided one day to transform into a man. Until now, I only did so for a few hours at a time.

The point of no return was the moment I understood that gender, being a man or a woman, is little more than wearing a costume and acting on it.

I knew it instinctively, before reading Simone de Beauvoir or knowing about Judith Butler, although of course both of them helped me understand it in depth. I knew it through the living testimony of other people, to whom their identities was a daily fight against a world trying to drown them all the time.

I felt it in that inner trembling I could never silence, in that choking sensation followed by rage every time someone told me what to do, or how to be, for being a woman. None of them asked me if I wanted to be a woman, or if I had chosen to be one, and they probably never asked themselves what a woman is in the first place. They didn’t wonder how, they just knew it.

And that’s something I can’t stand. Continue reading