by RuPaul
Foreword
I wrote this book because I wanted to reveal my soul to the world.
I wanted to show the human being that lives inside of me, the human being that lives inside us all.
And I particularly wanted to do this because, as a drag queen, people generally see me as some kind of thing or freak with a sex fetish. I’ve never understood why people find it so hard to recognize the real person inside of me.
Drag for me is showtime. That’s entertainment! I don’t go shopping in a bra and panties, and I don’t vacuum the apartment in high heels. So when I go to work, it’s no different than a businessman wearing his three-piece suit on Wall Street. I’m like a nurse, a fireman, or a cop onthe beat—they all wear their uniforms to work, and I’m no different. And, like all professionals, I love my uniform.
After all, whether we are at work or at play we are all wearing masks and playing roles all the time. Like I’ve always said, “You’re born naked and the rest is drag.”
But when I give out my job description, people always attach “Sex Fetish” to my career choice. No one ever thinks twice about the priest in his robe or the Supreme Court justice in his gown. And if you ever went up to a motorcycle cop and asked if he was into leather and domination, you would probably be arrested.
Whether we are in uniform or not, it’s easy for people to label and categorize other people; in this way they make them small, trite, and ultimately inhuman.
But I will not be ignored. The soul that lives inside this body will not be ignored. I am here to stay. And I am here to say that we are all gods and goddesses, each and every one of us.
With all humility, I think the universe is using me to express that message in a fun, colorful way—so that people can get it instantly and connect with it emotionally instead of having to think about it.
In this book I’m going to show you that I am just like everybody else. I hope when you are done reading this book, you’ll put it down and say, “Oh my God! I’ve just read my own life story.” That’s what I mean by letting it all hang out.
One of the questions I am so often asked is, “What do I call you? He or she?” And I say, “You can call me he, you can call me she, you can call me Regis and Kathie Lee, just so long as you call me.” It’s important not to get caught up in formalities. Some people try to avoid calling me anything at all, as if they are afraid of something; is it drag queens that they are afraid of, or is it themselves?
Sometimes I think they see the reflection of themselves when they look into my eyes. Most people are afraid of what lurks deep inside of themselves. They spend a lifetime running away from it or smothering it with food, sex, drugs, or alcohol. One of life’s biggest challenges is tolook in the mirror because there’s really nothing to be afraid of.
Most men don’t do femininity well, mostly because in our culture it’s forbidden. But I think everyone—just once in their lives—should wear a dress, work a wig, and slip on some pumps!
It’s always interesting to see someone transformed by the glamour of drag. You see an aspect of their personality that you would not otherwise see. To this point you’ve only seen half the story, now you’re getting to see the other half: the flip side of the coin, the dark side of the moon. Now, for the first time, you can see the whole person, the god and the goddess inside of everyone. It’s a revelation.
It’s really no different from when the little boy puts on a cowboy outfit for the first time and starts acting big and tough like John Wayne. You see, clothes aren’t just things you wear—they bring out the flavor of the person, magnifying hidden areas of your personality that spend most of the time cooped up in the cellar of your consciousness. From time to time you need to take them out for a walk around the block to stretch their legs.
I’m an old pro; I was doing Revlon commercials in my mother’s bedroom at the age of eight. I got my first Barbie doll when I was five years old. The fact that I sawed her breasts off had more to do with that boyhood destructive thing than misogyny. Other than that slight hiccup, exploring my feminine side came very easily to me, because I grew up in a house full of women.
My immediate family, who were my role models and heroes, were all feminine. They were showing their emotions and wearing them in the same way they wore their clothes; when they were sad they cried, when something was funny they laughed out loud, and when something confused them they asked questions. I’ve always found strength in that, and comfort in my own femininity. I’ve always loved it, expressed it, lived it.
And that’s why I do it so well, and why people react to it so well. I’ve never had to talk in a woman’s voice or put on airs, I’ve always been myself. So it’s never been thisweird thing where people look at me and go, “That guy is trying to act like a woman.” People are usually very comfortable with me in drag.
Because it was so natural to me it took me a long time to figure it out, but I can explain it like this: “The reality is that I am a man. The illusion is that I am a woman. But of the two, the illusion is truer.”
But now that’s changing too. Ironically, just as the world is getting to know me in my female extravaganza, I’m getting to know my own personal maleness.
As I write this I am not wearing a wig, I am not wearing a pair of high heels, and I have not lost my mind. I’m looking gorgeous in Timberlands, oversize baggy pants worn down low, and a homeboy flannel shirt. Just as I have explored different female looks—black hooker, gender fuck, and supermodel—now I am exploring different drag male looks—J. Crew preppy, sexy home-boy, and executive realness.
Just as when I am in drag I feel totally at ease with my feminine side, now, for the first time in my life, I feel totally at ease with my masculine side. It’s not just the way I look, it’s the way I feel that I am projecting. In fact it has more to do with what’s coming from the inside than things on the outside, like my goatee or my baggy pants. And I’m loving it! It’s almost like I’ve found a long-lost twin brother and been reunited with something that, until now, was just a shadow in my life.
This is such a revelation to me in terms of my growth as a human being. And it’s very much a part of my work. I want to present a whole and complete picture—the yin, the yang; the black, the white; the boy, the girl; the sane, the insane. Because we are all Everyman—a rainbow of different roles and different people.
Exploring the colors in myself and in others is my life’s passion. There is no such thing as normality—each and every one of us, if we dare to be whole, is a gorgeous peacock.
Whether you believe we have one life to live or hundreds, there is no reason not to spread your wings and fly!
Going to work is not just a question of putting on some lip gloss and a little underarm deodorant. I don’t care whether you’re a high-class hooker, supermodel, or a tired old drag queen, every night is the big night. You have to look your best for your public, whatever you’re selling. And I know what people expect of me—nothing less than perfection.
It’s gonna take nothing short of a miracle for this to happen in just three short hours, and that’s what a queen is —a miracle worker. The first thing I do is say a little prayer. I go to my vanity and pray to the gods of Charles Revson, Max Factor, Flori Roberts, and all the other patron saints of beauty. Then I run a hot bubble bath with gorgeous bath oils from Origins—because I’m a natural queen. I unplug the phone, light some incense (Jasmine Extravaganza), and select the music that I will be listening to: something by Diana Ross, Donna Summer, or Barbra Streisand. This particular night I will be listening to Cher’s Greatest Hits, which includes “Save Up All Your Tears,” my fave Cher song of all time. It has become the theme song for my transformation. All that pain and suffering for great beauty. It hurts, but you must
n’t grumble and mustn’t cry—big girls don’t cry.
After testing the temperature of the water with my toe, I tell my faithful intern Juan, “No matter what happens, or what you hear, do not open this door for the next three hours.” Then I lock and double-bolt the door, and slowly begin to shed my manly disguise. I toss the clothes into a corner, where they watch discarded and miserable, unable to believe the transformation they are about to witness as the Goddess is born. I slip into the tub and before I move another muscle I soak for a good fifteen minutes. Then, very slowly, I take my loofah sponge and scrub my skin. The skin must be clean and supple, with every pore exfoliated, every dead skin cell removed before I can begin the process of shaving.
I start by putting lather on my head, my face, my beard, mustache, and neck. I shave with disposable razors and shaving gel. I shave my face closely so that if by chance that evening a fan should brush a hand against my cheek, they’ll feel the silky smoothness of a baby’s bottom. I used to shave upwards but no longer recommend this because it irritates the skin. I also shave my head so it’s a chrome dome. Having had a mohawk for years as a teenager, I’m a virtuoso with the disposable razor. I go in a row like a farmer with his crops, from the front to the back, from my sideburns to the nape of my neck. Then I stand up in the tub and put the lather on my chest, stomach, and bikini line and shave it all off. At this point I’m shaving downwards to avoid the curse of ingrown hairs. Then I shave under my arms, and my legs. If the Goddess is required to reveal herself at a photo session, I’ll also shave my arms, my fingers, and even the hair on my toes. The last to go are my eyebrows. Once that’s done I’m like an artist’s canvas, ready to beat my face into a masterpiece worthy of hanging in the Louvre. Paris, France, baby.
By now the water is good and funky, so I get out of the tub, rinse off in the shower, and immediately moisturize my whole body. I cannot stress enough the importance of this next step. This is something my mother told me from the time I was ten years old. She said, “Ru, moisturize, moisturize, moisturize.” I use any type of lotion. I don’t believe in paying more than ten bucks for a bottle of moisturizer, because a cheap queen can still be a beauty queen.
Before beginning on my face I do some odds and ends; check my face and reshave any telltale stubble so that my skin is smooth as marble. Then I put on deodorant—one that is strong enough for a man, but made for a woman. I floss and brush my teeth for a minimum of two minutes, light another stick of incense, and let my body relax for a minute. I have found in the past that if you bum rush the transformation, you get a less than stellar result. Breathing, relaxing, being calm—this is half of what it’s all about. The transformation is both physical and mental. The Goddess is as much a state of mind as a look.
Then I slip into my blue and white robe that I “borrowed” from a hotel in Japan to start on my makeup. The robe is necessary because I don’t want to get makeup powder all over my shoulders which will, in turn, rub off on the couture gowns I will be wearing that evening. I sit myself down in front of my mirror and line up all the tools I will be using to create this living work of art.
My mirror is brightly lit because I only use 100-watt bare bulbs. Now I know that nothing is more vulgar than a bare bulb, but I won’t have anything else in my bathroom.
If you’re a performer whose gonna have your picture taken, you have to make yourself up in the brightest light possible, because often your beard stubble can shine through the flash of a camera and cause unsightly discoloration. When I’m on the road I find that a lot of hotel lighting is really bad for makeup, so you have to carry your own light show. To get the features and the shadows right, you need the light coming at you from the top of the mirror and just above your head.
I start by putting some lip balm on my lips, and perhaps a little more moisturizer on my face. Then, I put on my foundation. Now you wouldn’t build a building without a good foundation, and I am here to tell you that it is no different with constructing a face. The foundation must be solid. This is the biggest problem I have with makeup artists who are not drag queens—they don’t slap that stuff on thick enough. If you have a makeup artist who’s only used to doing real girls, it just doesn’t work. Most real girls don’t have a beard. I also have a face full of freckles, and even though I love Sissy Spacek, I am not featuring her. That’s why I love Mathu—my stylist and makeup fave—because he understands these things. The foundation I use is Mac Studio Makeup N7. Not only does it give me the full coverage I need, it is totally cruelty-free and has not been tested on animals—other than men. First I apply it all over my face, sparingly and evenly, and then I go back over it with a spatula and plaster it on like stucco. It’s important to use expensive sponges because they don’t crumble.
While the makeup is still wet, I take Mac Studio Makeup N3, which is the same tone as my base but lighter, and highlight the areas that I want to bring forward; under my eyes, out to my cheekbones, the bridge of my nose, and up into my forehead. I’ll put some light on the top inner socket of my eyes and a dab of light on my chin. These are the points that the light will hit and it will make them come forward.
Then I take Mac Studio Makeup N10, which is the same tone as my base but darker, and put it under my neck, right under my cheekbones, and above my temples on the side of my forehead. I contour my nose by putting some dark on either side, which both straightens and thins it—a la Michael Jackson.
What I’m doing with these combinations of shadows and light is sculpting my face, bringing out the cheekbones and minimizing the masculine parts of my face. If I’m wearing a low-cut outfit I’ll also put makeup on my chest. I will contour that so it’s darker in the center of my chest, lighter where the tits are, so that when I put my push-up bra on it looks like real cleavage. And it does. I blend all that in so it’s a nice even tone, and looks somewhat natural. But natural ain’t got nothing to do with it.
The last thing I do before I fix the whole beautiful creation with powder is shape my eyes. I’ll do my eyebrows in the dark brown pancake. I’m not very good at doing eyebrows, so if I make a mistake I can wipe them off, reapply the makeup, and start again. If I did this after I had powdered, I would be up the creek, past the point of no return. It’s difficult to get the right line, because you have to see your face the way a makeup artist would see it, from slightly above and about three feet away. Now that is not an effect you are going to get by looking in the mirror, so it’s guesswork. But if the eyebrows don’t fit your face, if the curve isn’t quite right, the rest is useless—unless you’re going for the look of a snaggle-toothed hag, which is a look that I have found useful in the past. Once all the shading’s done and I’ve got my eyebrows perfect, I take my translucent powder, which has a touch of tawny or caramel in it (my natural color), and powder the whole face to matte it. For an added touch I’ll take a little white powder and brush it up over my cheekbone and under my eye, for a little more accentuation.
Then I start on my eyes. I take some light vanilla eye shadow and put it over the inside of my inner lid, and close to the nose on the outer brow. Then I take a light brown shadow and put it in the outer creases of my eyes—not in toward my nose, but out toward my temples. I blend that nicely, but not too much. With some dark brown I’ll go over my eyebrows again. I’ll curl my eyelashes—my real natural eyelashes—and mascara them. Next I’ll apply some liquid eyeliner on the top lids. Then I’ll put the false eyelashes on the top lids only. I use dark tone eyelash adhesive, because it dries black. I use orange mango matte blush for my cheeks plus a little bit on my forehead, and perhaps if I am feeling perky, some on my chin.
The lips are next. First I look in the mirror and say “I have beautiful lips.” Then I take a brown eyebrow pencil and “perfect” the lip line, improving on nature’s own handiwork by going a little bit over the top, because my top lip tends to disappear when I smile. Then I apply my lipstick. My lips are higher on the left than on the right, so with a lip brush I even them out. I’ll even put another, l
ighter color on the inner bottom lip, so that it pouts more.
With the lips done I can begin to see the big picture—the glamourous concoction that will soon make dogs bark in the street, birds sing arias, and traffic screech to a halt. All the time I’m thinking about how gorgeous I’m gonna look, how this is all gonna be worth it, because in drag you feel like a superstar. You get addicted to the attention. There are times when I haven’t been in drag for a long time and I really begin to miss it, and long to be a vision of foxiness again.
At the same time I’m also thinking about how long I’m going to have to keep it all on for, and how long it can hold up under the baking stagelights and the glare of public scrutiny before, like a melting Polaroid, the whole vision collapses.
Just as every sentence needs a period at the end of it, so every face is enhanced by a beauty mark—it is almost like the artist’s signature and it is always the last thing I do.
Then I start getting dressed.
THINGS YOU NEED TO BE A DRAG QUEEN
- Flawless, fierce attitude
- Disposable razors
- Shaving gel
- Body lotion
- Full coverage pancake makeup in light, medium, and dark
- Translucent loose powder, plus a compact for your purse
- Makeup sponges that don’t crumble
- Powder puff pads
- Mango blush
- Brown, black, and vanilla eye shadow
- Black mascara
- Eyelash curler
- Black false eyelashes
- Black and brown eyebrow pencils
- Lipsticks: red, blackberry, and purple
- Tweezers
- Makeup applicators and brushes
- Black cake eyeliner (add water)
- Dark-toned false eyelash adhesive
- Lip liner brush
- Tucking panties