Being Conchita

by Conchita Wurst

  Perhaps I should have seized the opportunity to invite Sophie to Bad Mitterndorf, where I could have been her hiking guide in an Alpine remake of Wild Girls. Sadly, it wasn’t to be, as I was yet again asked to explain what had happened on the day of the Eurovision Song Contest. This was still a question that put me on the spot. Had that evening turned my life upside down? Or was it just a normal progression in my career?

  They say that memory often lies, and we’re made aware of this whenever we speak about past events. Depending on my mood on the day, I sometimes still feel stunned and say: ‘But I’ve never won anything.’ Or I might simply think of it as something I just stumbled into. These thoughts were whizzing around my head when I appeared as a guest on the The Graham Norton Show a few days later. Graham is an Irish comedian, and I’m a big fan of his. He also commentates on the Eurovision Song Contest for the BBC, so he’s familiar with it, which spared me some of the usual questions. On top of that, he’s just a fun person to be around.

  British comedians always take things just that little bit further than in other countries, and I like that. In the 1970s, Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle, Terry Jones and Michael Palin from Monty Python began playing women on TV in the UK – something that even today is unthinkable in some countries. The Pythons called these female roles ‘pepperpots’, and I’m sure they’d think of me one as one of those pepperpot ladies: fiery and sharp-tongued. Yet on the evening in question, after taking her seat next to the other guest on the show, the actress Kirsten Dunst, my pepperpot lady was suddenly very quiet and reserved. I’d seen Kirsten in Lars von Trier’s film Melancholia, in Spider-Man 3 and in Bachelorette, and I greatly admired her versatility. I just wish I could have told her so, but I found her accent almost incomprehensible. So there we were, a cosy threesome, having being joined by the comedienne Dawn French. There were plenty of laughs, but I didn’t get to exchange a single word with Kirsten. Matthias and Tamara pulled me up about it after the show.

  ‘I’d have loved to chat with her,’ I told them. ‘But I just couldn’t!’

  Matthias smiled: ‘She’s got German roots, you know. Even German citizenship.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll try it in my Styrian dialect next time. Or perhaps I need more help from Max Schruff,’ having told my friends about my English teacher.

  ‘Did he teach you Spanish as well?’ enquired Tamara.

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Because you’re now off to Spain. Followed by Italy, Finland and Belgium.’

  I enjoyed my nomadic lifestyle, even though it took its toll on me. There was a string of unforgettable surprises, like the one I’d had a few hours before, when, on going into my dressing room, I’d found a bunch of orchids together with a card saying, ‘Congratulations, we love you, Elton & David.’ Here was another thing I’d never dared dream of at school: that Sir Elton John and his partner David Furnish would one day devote a few lines to me. While many people may idolise Elton John for having sold more records than most other pop artists, now supposedly in excess of 900 million, I respect him because he’s a brilliant musician and an outstanding singer, because people listen to what he has to say and because he knows how to channel his influence towards important things, such as the Elton John AIDS Foundation, which has so far collected over 275 million dollars and supports projects in more than fifty countries around the world. It’s clear to me that someone like that must be a very busy person, which made it even more special to receive his attention. Not forgetting the orchids! I adore the ‘queen of flowers’ and what it represents: the love and beauty of young women in Chinese garden art – and ὄρχις, i.e. testicles, in the late Greek classical period. ‘It doesn’t come much better than this,’ I told myself. ‘This is the ideal flower for Conchita Wurst!’

  The next days and weeks saw me continue my travels, to Spain, Italy and Finland, followed by Belgium, Sweden and France. I behaved like the perfect European, going from country to country, full of curiosity and without prejudice. While bringing my own culture with me, I also respected that of my host country. And despite rejoicing at the ease with which I was able to travel, I never forgot how fragile this European construct of ours is. Whenever the talk turns to ‘closing borders’ and ‘imposing travel restrictions’, this usually reflects a fear that someone undesirable might come along. But whereas fear is a poor adviser, joy is just the opposite.

  The longer I toured Europe, the clearer it became to me how important our togetherness is. If we put our disagreements aside for a moment, we actually have a lot in common. Wherever I went, I came across people with ideas, inspiring views and a desire to create something – like at the Bjorn Borg Fashion Show in Stockholm. Bjorn was one of the best tennis players in the world. He played in the Davis Cup at just fifteen years of age before going on to win Wimbledon five times in a row from 1976 to 1980. He notched up eleven Grand Slam titles and sixty-four singles tournament victories. But what impressed me even more was that, compared with other tennis pros, he decided to cut his sporting career short, retiring at just twenty-six years of age so he could turn his attention to other things, such as fashion. Today, the whole world pays attention when the Bjorn Borg Fashion Show opens its doors. It was my pleasure to be a front row guest of honour at the show. ‘Conchita, Gaultier, Lagerfeld, Borg, where will this end?’ posted a fan on my Facebook page. Although this meant ‘which show will you be at next’, the question was also open to a different interpretation: when are you going to give yourself a break? Isn’t it getting too much for you? My answer was, quite honestly, ‘No!’ Of course, I sometimes got tired – I’m not a machine. But I found the work fun, and someone who’s having fun also has energy. That’s one of the laws of life.

  When I was invited to the Fête de la Musique in Montpellier, one of the biggest series of concerts in France, Nicole took a photo of me in the hotel room looking pretty exhausted.

  That’s quite plausible, because I’d just been performing on stage in the city centre. It was my first time visiting Montpellier, which is located in southern France, and I immediately fell in love with the place. It has a magnificent medieval city centre, with splendid buildings around the Place de la Comédie. Next door to it, in an almost seamless transition, is the Antigone district, a modern version of ancient Greece. With the sea just around the corner, the temperature is agreeable even in winter, and there’s always music in the air – especially during the Fête de la Musique, which that year featured wonderful musicians such as François Valéry, Yannick Noah, Alizée and Chico & The Gypsies.

  Despite attending the festival to perform, politics also played a role during my visit, as is so often the case in France. During an interview that I gave the newspaper Le Monde, the reporters came back to their favourite topic. When I’d said, ‘We are unstoppable’, had my words been directed at Vladimir Putin, President of the Russian Federation?

  ‘Of course,’ I replied, ‘but at many other people as well.’ Defamatory articles had been written about me, I’d received death threats, and so I responded to the reporter: ‘If I’m their biggest problem, they’ve got every reason to be happy, haven’t they?’ When you consider the many genuine problems facing Europe and the world? Actually, I continued, I should feel honoured by the attacks against me. These people obviously think a drag queen is powerful enough to change people’s attitudes across entire countries. What an honour! I added that, ‘in reality, it takes more than an appearance on Eurovision, it even takes more than Eurovision itself, to bring about change.’

  After all, the Song Contest had very soon been followed by European elections in which extreme rightwing and anti-European parties had won a lot of support. To avoid giving a wrong impression, I’d like to say this: I don’t go around wagging my finger at people, that’s really not what I want to do. What’s important to me is my music, with which I set out to entertain and give pleasure. Nonetheless, as a bearded female, I’m constantly attempting to be at the forefront of social change, and the questions
I get from journalists and the invitations I receive to political centres of power are proof enough of this. It therefore seems fitting that the life of a drag queen is one of constant pain. It hurts turning Tom Neuwirth into Conchita Wurst: the tight-fitting wig; the makeup, which attacks my skin; the heavy eyelashes, the bodice, the high heels. Does a drag queen need to have a certain tendency towards self-flagellation? Perhaps. It’s torture, even if it doesn’t look like it.

  That evening in Montpellier, as I flopped down on my hotel bed after giving my show and interviews, it wasn’t the day itself that had tired me out, but that stunning Jean Paul Gaultier dress, which, several hours earlier, had set Nicole cursing: it was much too tight even for me, someone who can usually easily fit into anything. Struggling with hooks and eyelets, Nicole had told me to hold my breath for minutes on end. When I finally took off the dress, there were streaks of blood where the fastener had been.

  ‘Just like Sisi,’ said Nicole, and I nodded wearily.

  Sisi, Empress Elisabeth of Austria, whose image has been shaped by the films with Romy Schneider to such an extent that you almost forget her obsession with youth, her eating disorders and the girdles she used to put on to make herself fit into even the tightest of dresses.

  ‘If Jean Paul ever comes to visit me in Vienna,’ I groaned, ‘I’ll take him to the Sisi Museum. That really is a must-see for him.’ Not that I thought such a visit was imminent. And then, suddenly, it happened.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  JEAN PAUL AND SISI

  ‘Madame’s a living legend;

  I’ve seen so many idols fall

  She is the greatest star of all.’

  FROM THE MUSICAL SUNSET BOULEVARD

  ARTE is a TV channel that owes its existence to Europe. It’s one of the many things needed to make good neighbours out of former wartime enemies. My parents lived through the Cold War era. For them, just as for millions of other people, the fall of the Iron Curtain was a miracle. Yet the wars in former Yugoslavia and the conflict in Ukraine are a reminder that, despite epoch-making events behind us, we’re still a long way away from being the ‘United States of Europe’. ARTE was set up in 1992 in an effort to foster closer cultural ties between Germany and France, former enemies who had waged war against each other for centuries. I like ARTE and the kind of programmes it broadcasts, and so when they asked me whether I’d like to take part in the long-running documentary Durch die Nacht mit …, I jumped at the chance.

  The concept behind the show is simple: two prominent personalities – who sometimes don’t even know each other – spend an evening together. If the chemistry is right, it’s like a pleasant stroll around town, just like when you’re out and about with a close friend. And the spectators can also take part. My Durch die Nacht mit …was in Vienna, with Jean Paul Gaultier at my side. It was clear from the start that we’d have fun together.

  ‘We’ll do the Sisi Museum, for sure,’ I announced, ‘after all, he calls me his “young empress”. And we can’t miss the Prater public park. And a visit to a fashion school would be great. And a sausage stand is another must.’

  I was buzzing with ideas. Having toured Europe, I was happy to be given this opportunity to show Jean Paul the best of my native city. We both opened our eyes wide with surprise when given details of the programme: a chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith stood ready to take us around the city like VIPs. Jean Paul let me in on the fact that he still suffered from nerves before every fashion show. The same went for many of his famous models, he confided.

  ‘Madonna made two appearances, and she had the jitters on both occasions.’

  ‘Me too,’ I confessed. And I told him about how I felt the time the stage manager had called out ‘She’s fallen again’.

  ‘And what about the critics?’ I asked. Madonna’s bodices had unleashed waves of enthusiasm among some critics while attracting bouts of head-shaking from others.

  Jean Paul answered: ‘I don’t give a toss what they say,’ adding that they would never cause him to alter his style – which is lucky for us. The world would be a sad place if things were dictated by people who never like anything and always find something to grumble about. We’ve lived through times like those already, and they did us no good.

  We arrived at the Sisi Museum. Housed in the imperial apartments of Vienna’s Hofburg Palace, it’s a place where you can immerse yourself in the life of the legendary Empress Elisabeth: from her happy childhood in Bavaria to her sudden engagement to the Emperor of Austria and finally to her murder in Geneva. Perhaps this was the first time a major contemporary designer had scrutinised her clothes in such detail. At any rate, Jean Paul was very taken with one of the dresses in the collection. A combination of black velvet and lace, it was the dress Sisi wore to her coronation as Queen of Hungary. He noted that the cut of the dress, with its open shoulders, would still today be modern and sexy.

  ‘She had a tattoo, an anchor, on her shoulder,’ I told him. ‘Now everyone could see it. It was a scandal!’

  Jean Paul laughed. ‘Scandal is good! I’ll make everything in my next collection open at the shoulder!’

  He told me about the Cannes premiere of the movie Saint Laurent, in which my Austrian compatriot Helmut Berger plays the ageing fashion designer Yves Saint Laurent. Helmut’s bisexuality had also caused a scandal – or what sceptics choose to call a scandal – and this prompted Jean Paul to tell me: ‘What you’re doing, you’re doing for the freedom of men and women.’

  Freedom. It’s a big word. The Austrian constitution states that rule by force, show of force or despotism shall at all times be overridden by the binding force of law. This is intended to protect the basic rights that guarantee our freedom. Anyone familiar with Austrian history will know how arduous and rocky the path to these words was. This makes it all the more important to defend this freedom of ours. We must never tire in our efforts.

  The car came to a stop. We’d arrived at the University of Applied Arts to visit a fashion class. The students were already waiting for us. After all, it’s not every day that one of the world’s top couturiers happens to drop in. Jean Paul Gaultier was full of praise for everything he saw. He broke the ice by letting everyone know about a mistake he’d once made as a young assistant to the great Pierre Cardin. Once you’ve made a small cut, it’s easy to tear through natural fibres such as cotton, silk or linen. The same goes for synthetic fibres such as polyester and polyamide. This is an advantage, as everything can be done at speed, and, as we all know, time is money. Yet it’s important to tear in the weft direction, otherwise you’ll destroy the fabric.

  ‘And that’s just what I did,’ Jean Paul told the students. ‘A hellishly expensive material, and I ruined it. Pierre Cardin was furious. But the beginning is always hard.’

  Tempted as we were to spend more time chatting with the students, we had an appointment with the Prater, the magnificent park without which no trip to Vienna would be complete. After a leisurely ride on the big wheel, we enjoyed a well-earned dinner. I invited Jean Paul to a restaurant boat moored on the Danube river. We both agreed that what really brings a city to life is a great river, as water always goes hand in hand with progress.

  ‘This is something my grandmother often used to talk about,’ I said. ‘For her, it was the sea. “That’s where new things come from,” she’d say. I’ve never forgotten.’

  We got round to talking about our parents and grandparents. Both of us had been fortunate enough to be born to tolerant fathers and mothers. It’s something that can’t be taken for granted. Parents often ask themselves where they went wrong if their daughter turns out to be lesbian or their son gay. Yet scientists proved long ago that there’s no link whatsoever between upbringing and homosexuality. But how many people know that? It was reason enough for Jean Paul to come back to the Song Contest.

  ‘Your victory was also our victory,’ he told me, pointing out how important it is to bring the subject of homosexuality to centre stage. After all, the suicide
rate among gay youth is four times as high as among heterosexuals. The ability of children and adolescents to come to terms with the challenges of their situation is greatly dependent on their environment.

  ‘It’s the same wherever you go, Austria, Europe, the whole world,’ continued Jean Paul. ‘That’s why you also got points from the Russians.’

  While we talked, we tucked in to my hometown’s signature dish: Wiener schnitzel and potato salad. Having been restored to full strength thanks to the hearty meal, we watched an enjoyable performance by the choreographer Daniel Kok, and then brought the evening to a close at a sausage stand. In Vienna these places are an institution. Founded during the time of the imperial-royal monarchy to give war invalids an income, the sausage stand is an indispensable part of Viennese life. Of course, I insisted on placing our order myself: ‘Cheese kransky, brown bread, hot mustard and sour gherkin. Plus two beers.’

  Conchita Wurst at a sausage stand: that was too much for any passer-by to miss out on. Soon we were surrounded by onlookers, and then, all of a sudden, we were joined by three musicians with violins and a double bass, who played us a jazzed-up version of ‘Rise Like a Phoenix’. Music really is everywhere in Vienna, even late at night at a sausage stand.