Therapy for drag performers

I attended my first Pride in London in 2008. I’m young enough that the first big city prides I went to were already overrun by corporate floats. Yet I’m also old enough to have been in community with many people who remember a life pre-pride parades. While after-parties attended by twinks in tiny vests and shorts took place at Heaven and Ku Bar, I retreated to the comforting queerness of Bar Wotever at Central Station in Kings Cross. There I spent time with people of all ages and gender expressions, many competing as performers in the most supportive talent show environment 

Later, when Bar Wotever moved south of the river to the Royal Vauxhall Tavern; its home to this day, I became involved in the cabaret scene there as a lighting technician, spending time with performers between shows in the cosy booths or tall tables on the main floor, smoking outside in the little archways, or squeezed into the chaotic two-person-maximum cupboard that acted as a changing room. 

The beauty of Bar Wotever was that I, in my late teens, was getting an education from elders within the queer community. There’s not many places where cross-generational exchanges happen like that. My queer identity grew with a great understanding of, and respect for, the importance of drag as an art form, act of resistance and place of protection and safety for the community. 

In listening to older people, queer history wasn’t something that happened long ago. It was stood in front of me in the form of older drag performers who recalled stories of police brutality, the bombing of the Admiral Duncan pub, and instilled the importance of never forgetting what Stonewall was actually about. These people were why the slogans I heard chanted at Pride; “Pride is a protest!”, “Stonewall was a riot!”, “Liberation not assimilation!” made sense to me by the time I went. 

At Bar Wotever, the drag performers were not just Queens. While Drag Race is still struggling in terms of varied representation now, our Tuesday nights were filled with the widest variety of gender expression you could imagine. Through drag performance I learned about butch culture, prison politics, ancient history, sex, racism, misogyny, feminism, bodies and more. 

This variety extended to the clientele too. I learned the true meaning of never judging a book by its cover. Every Tuesday evening without fail, I’d see a person my friends and I nicknamed “Superhuman”. I never knew their name but they’d arrive in a suit with their briefcase, go into the toilet and change into the most fabulous sequinned outfits, dance the night away then change again before going home. I met people who worked the most mundane jobs who I realised had these beautiful queer lives outside of work. There would be regular whip-rounds for charitable causes; people who needed help with their asylum claims or living expenses, people who were raising money for private hormones or surgery. I was also donated a bunch of swimming costumes for the trans youth swimming events I was running at the time. The community always provided. Many came to Central Station and the RVT on those Tuesday evenings to watch some drag or cabaret, but we stayed because of the community. 

It’s this rich, layered connection to drag culture that has inspired me to launch Therapy For Drag Performers. Incidents such as the passing of Cherry Valentine and The Vivienne, among others who aren’t as well known, send shockwaves through the community. Drag performers are increasingly targets of political and physical attacks. They’re also increasingly commodified and commercialised which comes with its own challenges. 

I don't think I'll ever be a performer, but as a therapist I can use my little corner of the world for good. This is what led me to conceptualise Therapy for Drag Performers. I’ve seen projects using drag as a therapeutic tool for self-exploration, but nothing talk-therapy based to help our most targeted and protective community members. My hope is that I can pay back a little of what the drag performers of years gone by taught me. I’m able to combine my passion for culturally attuned therapy with my knowledge of drag history and importance. 

As a drag performer, there’s no expectation to only discuss your drag career/hobby. You might decide to use your sessions to discuss related topics such as work scarcity, gender identity, sexuality, sobriety, frustrations with the scene, online hate, physical safety, health, creativity blocks, loss of passion for drag etc. Or you may be a performer who needs to focus on other aspects of your life with an awareness of how they intersect with drag. Either way, if you’re interested in chatting about options, send me a message via this link. Therapy for Drag Performers is available within my existing fee structure, with pay-it-forward, full-cost, low-cost or free options.