Considering the Gender Illusion (as a Cisgendered Woman)
“We’re all born naked and the rest is drag.”
Did you read that to the exact rhythm of RuPaul’s song? I did as I was typing it, and I’m delighted that it’s taken up residency in my mind.
During the past couple of months, I’ve had RuPaul’s Drag Race streaming nonstop, filling up my home with lip syncs, death drops, snatch games and library sessions in the great tradition of Paris is Burning. I’ve grieved the judgments that I fundamentally disagreed with (Detox was robbed not once but twice, and Monet X Change should have received the only All-Stars crown). I’ve harmlessly stalked my favorite queens on social media (Aquaria, Jujubee, Raja, Bianca del Rio, Adore Delano, Shea Coulee, Alaska, to name a few). In short, I’ve devoted lots of time and channel subscriptions to this program because I can’t stop watching. I’ve fallen a little bit in love with it.
Of the many contributions that Drag Race has given to pop culture over the past decade, I’m most intrigued by one of RuPaul’s signature phrases: “We’re all born naked and the rest is drag.” Hear him describe it in an interview below.
I can’t help but appreciate the possibilities that lie in wait when someone is introduced to that idea. We’re all born naked, we’re all born human, and everything that follows is a construct of gender. I’d learned in college that being born female shouldn’t force you into femininity or girlhood, being born male shouldn’t force you into masculinity or boyhood, and there are identities and expressions outside of this binary. Over the years, I’ve learned that gender is fragile, and when it’s dismantled, it becomes possible to self-liberate. When gender structures crumble at large, the politics that create inequalities follow suit. This video offers a helpful overview of gender expression and gender identity. Here’s an infographic, too.
I am, certainly, aware that my personal perspective of drag, gender expression and RuPaul’s signature phrase impact me differently as a cisgendered woman. How the world sees and treats me differs from the performers on Drag Race in many ways, and I do my best to respect those differences while also celebrating their work and taking in their stories as fellow humans. With this post, I don’t aim to co-opt or represent a culture that isn’t mine to call home. I know and respect that I ought to stand on the periphery of this space. The format of Drag Race as a television show leaves the door open to spectators of all kinds, and there’s something very eye-opening that folks like me can consider simply because of its manner of distribution.
As a viewer, I’ve thought a lot about the idea that we’re all born naked and the rest is drag. Here are my thoughts.
I didn’t grow up with open-ended permission to think of myself as anyone other than a cisgendered woman. But I wonder how differently I would have viewed myself and the world at large had more permissions been available.
I think of myself as a true-blue millennial, having been born in 1989, embodying a plucky kind of optimism about making the world a better place, and viewing Barack Obama as my generation’s Ronald Reagan. The suburban community that I grew up in was privileged in manys and also conservative in many ways: It was generally safe and offered many opportunities, but it was close-minded and people didn’t take to change or difference very easily. I first adopted neo-liberal ideas as a teenager in an unintended deviation from my peers, and my politics have evolved past neo-liberalism since then thanks to critical discourse and the impact of social change.
When I think about coming of age as a cisgendered woman, I remember the kind of anxiety I felt in response to implicit expectations of being a feminine straight woman. Even with the benefits that come with being cisgendered, I still felt pressures that made me feel terrible and terrified:
Why is it unsafe for me to be on my own in certain places?
How do I attract a boy, and what parts of myself do I need to change in order to do so?
What does it say about me if and when I fail to attract a boy?
Why am I the only woman in this class? Why am I ALWAYS the only woman in this class?
How do I adopt the language and attitudes of the men who outnumber me in this class so that I don’t cause tension while also receiving an education?
Why am I not quiet enough or coy enough to be an acceptable, non-threatening presence in the workplace?
Why do I need to fear men but also trust them and make allowances for them?
What do I do to survive in the world without sacrificing my sense of self?
What kind of power would I have if being a woman wasn’t so damn hard?
I know that these pressures pale in comparison to the challenges that others have faced, and that I’m afforded a great deal of ease, comparatively. I can only speak for myself and follow the strings and threads that may relate us to one another. Wouldn’t it be lovely if our differences could be related to our own choices and not the social pressures that make us feel like we’re doing something wrong?
Had I grown up embracing the notion that gender is an illusion, I wonder if I would have explored my expression any differently during formative years. I also wonder if adopting a different gender identity would have changed the way I saw the world and how the world treated me in return. Would I have been more comfortable in certain spaces? Would I have prioritized my character over my looks? Would I have owned more aspects of my personality, instead of squash them? Likewise, would I have treated boys differently, making more room for vulnerability, understanding and compassion?
Admittedly, while growing up, friendships and relationships with cisgendered boys were always very rocky — some bullied me, some caused me physical harm, some threatened me with sexual violence, some traumatized me. In return, I spit flames, hid behind the safety of my older brother, cried a lot, changed myself a lot, and determined for a long time that boys are just collectively very cruel. I wonder, had gender been taught as an illusion and had everyone been playing by those rules and had permission to be more authentically themselves, if these experiences would have been part of my development at all.
Are these experiences directly related to gender identity or gender expression at all? I’m honestly not sure. There are most certainly scholars who can provide thoughtful responses to that. What I do know is that we can’t rewrite our own stories, but we can use what insights we’ve made to do things differently in the future.
I look at how easily Gen Z embraces the ever-evolving spectrum of gender fluidity, and I feel optimistic (if not a little envious of them). Say what you want about this generation, but you can’t deny that they embody the philosophy that we’re all born naked and the rest is drag. It seems to come so naturally to them, and they have more tools than ever to explore and express themselves. You kinda can’t take your eyes off of them. They’re shattering norms, breaking old rules, and liberating themselves. This teenage TEDx speaker’s presentation sums it up nicely:
Loosening the bolts that hold structures of gender in place feels like an incredible opportunity. You can freely develop yourself and strengthen your character on nobody’s terms but your own. You can deepen your connection with the truest parts of yourself and enjoy the practice of creating, unbound by norms and pressures that tell you who and what you ought to be. That kind of space seems so limitless and powerful.
I get that sense of limitlessness when I watch Drag Race. On top of it being just the most fun I’ve ever had watching television, it’s a space that’s full of joy, humor, artistry and authenticity.
The program is not without its criticisms and complexities, which I read about here, here, here and here. Many of these opinions come from a perspective I don’t have, so I don’t feel comfortable forming an opinion myself. But from the periphery where I stand, I appreciate being introduced to RuPaul’s philosophy. I’m glad that I’m able to consider gender as an illusion and that drag as a concept (not the actual performance of drag within its own culture) is something we’ve been doing all along without realizing it. It’s freeing and, dare I say, catching.
Other important concepts and ideas I learned during my research:
There’s a difference between gender identity and gender expression. Likewise, there’s a difference between gender identity and sexual orientation. Oftentimes, these phrases are used interchangeably and incorrectly. The second video above, “What is Gender Expression?” covers these differences.
Straight women have a tendency to co-opt the spaces of drag shows and LGBTQ+ bars out of a desire to “let loose and have fun because there aren’t any straight men here!” I totally see that. Wooping it up and taking over the space because the threat of straight men’s harassment isn’t omnipresent is something I’ve seen a number of times. But these spaces aren’t designed for us — they’re not our getaways. There’s a difference between enjoying the drag show as an audience member and just taking advantage of an atmosphere. Respect the space and the folks who call it home.
Some view the success of Drag Race as a gateway for LGBTQ+ visibility, while others view the show’s mainstream status as a threat to the culture of drag. The structures of gender-based assumptions (adopted and enforced by those who learned it) didn’t allow for differences to thrive. As a result, drag culture (and ballroom culture) was born and its authenticity has been preserved and protected by many folks within it. I wonder if it’s the fear of losing what makes it exceptional that contributes to disappointment or skepticism in mainstream immersion… Alas, just like everything, it’s complex, and the viewpoints abound.
