A Thank You Letter To Drag Queens
The confidence reeking from this fantastically feminine woman was not only astounding, it was jealousy-inducing.
I was walking to dinner when a flamboyantly florescent woman careened in front of me. Given her broad shoulders, overly-fuzzy arms, and commanding jaw line it was easy to recognize he was a she for the day. Living in Seattle, one forms an almost “I see dead people” sixth sense about such things. Wearing a hibiscus pink sundress, spiked pink stilettos, and intricate stockings so confusing it almost hurt, I couldn’t help but stare.
The way she owned the sidewalk didn’t help either.
The confidence reeking from this fantastically feminine woman was not only astounding, it was jealousy-inducing. In the time it would take for me to differentiate between Ron Paul and RuPaul, I was comparing myself to the fabulous creature before me. From every sway of her hips to every eyelash batted, I was genuinely longing for an ounce of her daring delicacy. Her hair perfectly brushed, her make up perfectly applied, and her body perfectly complimented, I started to feel like a masculine mess in my sweatshirt, messy bun, and non-existent make up.
Which is when I realized, all too often are Drag Queens’ layered foundations and applied eyeshadows ignored. Rather regularly are their perfectly manicured toes and baby-smooth legs overlooked.
Atrocious.
Drag Queens highlight the best of femininity, boldly and without remorse. They embody the fierce soul behind Adam’s rib, the beauty born from temptation, and the defiant middle finger every woman ends up using. While I loathe the morning routine of primping and pruning, Queens look forward to the hours they’ll spend applying and curling and waxing and drying. What most women take for granted, they cherish.
Drag Queens are a constant reminder that being a woman can, in fact, kick ass. When, all too often, we hear about impeded women’s rights and victim blaming and lower wages and legitimate rapes, the Drag community reminds us that there’s a group of men out there who love women so much they choose to dress like them.
Leaving dinner, I walked a little taller that day. I know now it’s because he decided to walk tall. In stilettos.
From one straight mess of a woman to the entire Queen Nation,
Thank you. 
