Drag Walk 2017: Fishnets and Fur

Drag Walk is one of my favourite St Andrews events. It’s a time for the Barbour jackets and white converses to be safely tucked away, and for the lingerie, fur jackets and fishnets to finally see the glaring lights of 601, with all proceeds going to Scottish Trans Alliance. From the the electric pink fairy covered in glitter flitting around all evening, to the two girls who had decided to shackle themselves together at the neck, I couldn’t help but feel entirely underdressed and miserable that I hadn’t put in the effort.

Before the show began, the projector screens had the phrase ‘Out of the Darkness…’ emblazoned on them, which was to become the theme of the evening: what a shitshow this last year has been.  The host, Rujazzle, a St Andrews staple if you’re a fan of either DRAG or the fabulous Rocky Horror Show, strutted down the catwalk to uproar before launching into a beautiful speech about how Drag was bright in a world of darkness, a place where people got together to celebrate differences, and that by taking part we were holding a protest against those who act against minorities.

 

Then, to the deafening screams of a roomful of Clinton supporters and Leftists, the judges came in. I must say Charlotte Andrew walking down the catwalk in her red gown, only to slowly slide it down to reveal that she was wearing nothing but a sheer leotard, offers something that I hope will become a prerequisite of all future presidents: I’d pay good money to see Trump attempt it. The Drag Queens were announced, and if anyone has ever watched RuPaul’s Drag Race you know what sorts of things they had to do: one liners, throwing shade, catwalking; it was in turn hilarious and nail-biting if you knew anyone up there, but Rujazzle kept the atmosphere light despite one or two awkward moments.

The interval was probably the best part of the entire show: first, the raining champion of last year Gayvid Cameron (also known by Izzy Peek) performed a striptease for four girls from the audience with his ‘boy-band’ One Erection. I have to say, boys, if you do a dance class I’d sign up. The latter half of the interval saw Rujazzle’s Glasgow group, Mothertucker (who she was careful to say perform every Tuesday in Katie’s Bar). The sight of a heavily built Glaswegian in a bright pink wig jumping down into the splits is still making me clench in horror, with another later cartwheeling and backflipping in heels the size of my shins: honestly one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen.

Shoutout to Rujazzle who, for the second half, looked like a crystal in a Crash Bandicoot boss-level. I want to look like that every day.

The show didn’t really put a foot wrong and it was so much fun, so different and such utter genius that Saints LGBT+ should be highly commended. Even if the fact that someone had to dress as Carrie Fisher, had the girl next to me whisper under her breath, ‘too soon,’ with such abject horror that even ‘the death of Clinton’s career’ didn’t make her laugh. Well done to the worthy winner Saliva Plath, who through sheer exuberance lost her wig to the masses after beheading a Barbie and dowsing herself in glitter. The audience loved every second and I think I can say without a shadow of a doubt that the people on stage enjoyed it even more. I’m just going to have to come back up for next year’s show.

Photos courtesy of Melissa Leigh Church for Owl Eyes Magazine

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