dRAG WALK: Season Six invited the students of St Andrews to the table, and when the food was finally served, the host stood up and said, “Tuck in!”. On the menu? Fish. Now, typically, I am somewhat closeminded about Club 601, but the audience of Saints LGBT’s dRAG Walk was rather more clothes-minded, and consequently the event was a glorious phantasmagoria of colour, sound and campy behaviour. With a purple Pablo in each hand, the honorary drink of RAG Week, my friends and I (severely underdressed) tenaciously approached the catwalk, curious about the evening’s paw-sibilities. Following a quick succession of risqué tunes, see Khia’s My Neck, My Back (Lick It), and a pastiche of slut-drops and flexible hip gyrations, the time had come for the kings and queens of St Andrews to offer up their filthiest, fiercest fashion for consumption, in the style of this university’s most glamorous fashion extravaganzas; riotously proving their wit and intellect are just as sharp as their contour.
Enter: The Duke, Aquaphina Marina, Al Luring, Oscar Gone-Wilde, The Fairy Drag Mother, Agave Maria, Amy Crackhouse, Georgia O’Queef and Glitter Bitch. To say I was proud of these few strangers would be a gross understatement. They shamelessly flaunted their bodies and their drag personas, offering scathing reads of one another, whilst devotedly supporting each other with theatrical reactions and feeding the audience gaudy runway walks and plenty of John-Waters-style filth. This selection of drag royalty was strengthened by a farcical presenting duo – a highly Slavic Vladimir Putin and a surreal Liverpudlian incarnation of everyone’s favourite lunchtime haunt: Pret a Minge – bolstered further by an esteemed panel of judges; special considerations should be given to ZoëRuki’s Mark Fuck-Your-Bird and Josh Stevens’ Anne R. Key, who performed as part of The Boyz and Theresa May, respectively. In the words of RuPaul, the American drag queen, actor, singer and television personality, arguably credited with launching the current mania around the art of drag, “Safari, so good-y!”.
Included in the bargain eight-pound ticket, were the headline acts – Rujazzle and the Mothertucker Queens. The troupe, consisting of October Fist, Petite Mort, CJ Banks and Lawrence Chaney, delighted hordes of hollering students, with shrieks of glee erupting at every physical stunt, spin, dip, roll, twist, stretch, contortion, duckwalk and mime. The highlight for me? A toss-up between Ru’s lip-sync rendition of the iconic classic, Bohemian Rhapsody, which had the entire audience belting out the universally exalted lyrics or Lawrence Chaney’s hilarious lip-sync to an exquisitely eclectic audio spectacular!
Following passionate displays from all the kings and queens it was Amy Crackhouse and Georgie O’Queef who clawed their way to the final two. Cue a merciless, dog-eat-dog lip-sync to Fergie’s London Bridge and two wig-snatching (quite literally both queens lost their wigs) performances later, it was Amy Crackhouse who claimed the title of St Andrews’ Next Drag Superstar – look out for her performance at Glitterball! The Fairy Drag Mother was christened Miss Congeniality, while Oscar Gone-Wilde takes home my award for the most chuckle-inducing literary reads of the other queens and kings.
dRAG Walk didn’t conform to any stereotype. The event was diverse, filled with traditional drag queens, drag kings, bio-queens and members of every part of the LGBTQ+ community, on stage and in the audience, and my friends and I, LGBTQ+ or not, felt truly accepted. Sometimes, as students we forget that a successful night-out in St Andrews doesn’t need to come at the expense of your bank balance. dRAG Walk is, I would argue, a more enjoyable night of raucous debauchery than any typical, extortionate night in St Andrews; a night of experience and acceptance, with an overwhelming welcoming message that proclaims, “You are valid. Express yourself. But, most of all, don’t f*** it up!”. Suffice to say, the organisers of this event definitely did not.
Photos courtesy of Saints LGBT+ on Facebook.