The Rest Is Drag
Chronicles of a man who wore a dress once
Yesterday, I went out wearing a dress.
It was a fairly basic blue one-piece with shoulder cutouts that I got from a thrift store that same day. It wasn’t high fashion, and I certainly didn’t look like a woman. I didn’t wear any makeup, or a wig, or any padding. I was just a man in a dress.
I’m a cisgender man, and I see myself staying that way for the foreseeable future. I’m fairly comfortable with my body and my gender identity, with perhaps a slight inclination to be more masculine-looking and acting. I suppose I’d long been peripherally aware of drag queens and crossdressing, but it wasn’t until much more recently that I became familiar with them in earnest. Two years ago I could maybe name two drag queens. Now I can name the winner of every American season of Drag Race—both original and All Stars.
When it comes to men and dresses, we are far behind. While it has been common for me to see women wearing pants in real life and media, it has been quite rare for me to see men wearing dresses or skirts. The exception is in special spaces, like gay bars and drag shows. But I can’t remember the last time I saw a man in a dress walking down the street. And I have certainly never seen a man in a dress in a professional setting. One of the first times I can recall being exposed to men wearing dresses in-person was when I went to an LGBTQ+ gathering in college. In addition to catching a glimpse of a couple of local drag queens, I saw a number of male-presenting individuals wearing dresses/skirts. And I remember feeling weirded out by it, weirded out by the idea of wearing a dress out in public, weirded out by the idea of being a man in a dress myself. Remembering and reflecting on that moment, the gut reaction I felt was at odds with what I truly believed, which is that it is perfectly okay for a man to wear a dress in public. And I’m a pretty open person who believes deeply in celebrating individuals who break from conformity, so I can only imagine what many other people feel about the idea of a man in a skirt.
By contrast, it is common to see women wearing pants in all circumstances, at least where I have lived. From sports-playing to casual outings to workplace settings, pants are by and large seen as appropriate for men and women alike. But this was not always the case. In 19th century America, it was quite uncommon for women to wear pants in public spheres. It was only in 1960s and 1970s America that women wearing pants in all areas of life was established as being appropriate. I’m quite glad that the women’s rights movement pushed for this cultural change, because it opened up a great deal of freedom of self-expression for women. For example, you’d never see my sister in a skirt or dress, and you’d never see her in makeup. Not because she wants to be a man or anything like that, but simply because skirts and dresses are not her style, and makeup is a hassle. And as far as I know, pretty much no one has given her trouble for that. Less than a century ago, most people might have been very disturbed by that very same behavior.
I believe that, in general, people are not concerned enough with protecting their own liberties and are too concerned with restricting the liberties of others (without good reason). Gender and sexuality policing is a case in point. There is no rational reason at all that some pieces of fabric are deemed to be for males and others are deemed to be for females. Clothes all serve the same function of protecting against the environment and covering up genitals and other “private parts”. At the end of the day, we’re all born naked—and the rest is drag.
Recently, I and a friend of mine watched the latest season of We’re Here, a show that follows drag queens who go to rural and conservative towns and support the queer communities there. And though I had heard about legislation to restrict and ban drag, crossdressing, or any other form of dress or performance considered “indecent”, I was shocked by how bad the situation was in some places in America. Queer people suffered from violence and the threat of violence just for being queer, and too often, law enforcement condoned these behaviors. One gay man got severely beaten just outside a gay bar, and the criminals were not punished. A queer activist found a bullet lodged in the wall of his bedroom, and police did nothing. The drag superstars themselves were threatened with violence when they advertised a pride event. Of course, the show is not a representative sample of all rural conservative towns in America, but it lines up with what I know and see, which is that there are some places and environments in America where it is dangerous to be queer or even to be suspected of being queer.
What was quite incredible through this is that queer individuals and groups were able—sometimes with some help—to take steps towards being their authentic selves. Trans and non-binary individuals were able to come out to friends and/or loved ones. One trans woman was able to look at herself in the mirror after having put on a dress and heels and affirm herself. I know all of this must have taken a tremendous amount of courage. However much I had been conditioned to be averse to deviation from gender and sexual conformity, the people in We’re Here must have been conditioned many times more. Some had doubtless heard threats of hellfire and brimstone for LGBTQ+ individuals from their own pastors. Some may have faced rejection, ostracism, or violence for being who they were. Unlike in my case, where I was never faced with the possibility of real danger, these individuals had to contend with the reality that the fears they had were, unfortunately, not entirely irrational. So for these individuals to face up to the trauma they had endured, to push themselves to open up in ways they may never have dreamed of, and to share that journey with the world was incredibly inspiring.
What I was also inspired by was the importance and power of allyship. Sometimes it was little things, like a shopkeeper agreeing to keep a rainbow flag in one of their mugs. Sometimes it was bigger things, like bearded, middle-aged, gruff-looking straight men agreeing to get in drag. Sometimes it was an individual just saying that they supported the queer community and giving a hug or two. Each of these expressions of allyship mattered. What it showed to me was that love and acceptance was truly more powerful than hate and rejection. There are so many more people who are supportive and loving than we think there are, and so many fewer people who are truly hateful and bigoted than we think there are. I believe that most people who are conservative and religious and who for one reason or another disagree with queerness are not hateful and bigoted. I respect their efforts to be tolerant and loving despite their beliefs and upbringing. It is important to differentiate between these individuals and truly hateful and bigoted individuals, who would use violence and force to compel submission. But when the hateful voices are the only ones that are saying anything, it’s hard not to fall into believing that all the world—or even all of one’s small town—is hateful. In this way, a hateful minority can terrorize a decent majority into silence. But when a vocal minority of individuals challenge the hate with love and acceptance, I believe more often than not that love wins. Because at the core of so much hatred is cowardice, which crumbles as soon as it no longer gets the attention and submission it feeds off of. And the core of true love is courage, and courage in one inspires courage in others.
I think seeing the power of courage and allyship was the final push for me to start crossdressing publicly. If people who were in real danger of ostracism and violence could do it, then so could I. I would be sending a signal that I was in support of freedom of dress and self-expression. The perfect opportunity came along when I was going to dinner with a friend. I had just bought the blue dress, and the friend I was going with is queer, and we were going to a nice vegan place which was quite queer-friendly and liberal in my experience. So I slapped on the dress, took a breath, and went out.
I was definitely nervous about how people would react. My mom and sister were mildly shocked that I was going out in a dress, and I thought I saw people looking at me as I drove and walked. But no one said anything, except for a girl who screamed “I love your outfits” to me and my friend from a passing car. While I felt out of place wearing the dress at first, it became more and more comfortable for me. By the middle of our dinner, I was barely thinking about it. And I pretty much didn’t think about it any more after that.
Hopefully, me going out in a dress is a meaningful protest against restrictions on self-expression and a sign of solidarity in the queer community. But this experience was also valuable for me personally. It was useful for opening up the possibility of wearing dresses and skirts, something I’d wanted to do because there are some very beautiful outfits out there which it would be a shame to miss out on. It was a good challenge for pushing myself out of my comfort zone by boggling the traditional conceptions of gender and seeing the reaction I got. Perhaps most importantly, it helped me to understand better what it could be like to be an individual who doesn’t conform to traditional gender norms. I understood the anxiety that came with looking at and picking out dresses at the thrift store. I understood the wariness of watching to see who was judging you, that feeling of a spotlight shining on you for being different. I understood the struggle of not feeling as if you passed as a man or a woman and feeling strange because of it.
In this time where there has been a surge of anti-drag and anti-trans legislation, it is important that we show our support for authentic self-expression through our words and our actions. I challenge everyone to take a deep look at their feelings about crossdressing and nonconformity to gender binaries. Wherever you’re at is okay, but it’s important for you to be honest with yourself. Maybe you will find, like I did, that you feel averse to the idea of a man in a dress. That’s okay; I think we all have these sorts of implicit prejudices and biases in one form or another. The challenge is to act opposite to those feelings to affirm your support for authentic self-expression. In particular, I’d like to challenge all my male friends out there to wear a dress at some point or another. I promise it won’t kill your masculinity, and it’ll be a service to society—and maybe to yourself, too.