pamela
Written on Feb 14, 2019
It’s challenging for me to review Diary of a Drag Queen, because I’m not sure how much of my dislike stems from its genre, and how much for the book itself. Don’t get me wrong, Rasmussen is a fantastic writer, and they have some absolutely spot on things to say about being queer and the issues facing LGBTQIA+ and other minority communities. But that for me was the issue. There was nothing else. The very nature of the memoir is that the diarist gets to pick and choose what they release to the public, and Rasmussen chose their stories carefully to be an almost equal mix of important discussions on these issues and stories told for shock value.
Diary of a Drag Queen is about Rasmussen’s queer identity only, without actually saying too much about Rasmussen as a person. I’ve never met them, but I’d like to think there is more to them than anonymous, dirty sex, and intellectual discussions about what it means to be queer. As such Diary of a Drag Queen ended up feeling more like a lecture on gender and sexual identity, than a cohesive, interesting narrative.
People bandy about terms like ‘fake’, but choosing how you want to look is the definition of authentic.
Diary of a Drag Queen shows two faces of Rasmussen. First, the intellectual who deeply thinks about the issues facing them and their community. This is told well through personal anecdotes and a self-deprecating wit that I found endearing when I started the book. They are unapologetically blunt, filthy, and incredibly candid about their body image issues which made their words feel somehow universal. I really identified with Rasmussen. Their words and thought processes really gelled with me, despite the differences in our experiences. I really felt a commonality, that drew me into the narrative.
People think drag queens are stupid. This is misogyny in action: they think that because we feminise ourselves, because we spend a lot of time on make-up and hair and getting exactly the right look, we are vapid, bitchy and stupid.
People are wrong to think drag queens are stupid.
Perhaps the change in how I felt about Diary of a Drag Queen came at the point where our experiences diverged. After a while, the very things that made Rasmussen relatable achieved the opposite, simply because they almost started to feel repetitive. Again, this is likely a genre issue. This is Rasmussen’s experience, and I have absolutely no right to say how that experience should have played out. But, I can approach it as a reader, and for me, personally, I found it repetitive and dull after a while.
The antidote to this shame is not pride, or honour, or even celebration. That comes later. The antidote to shame is honesty. Stark, crass, funny, powerful honesty. Honesty that smashes through notions of taboos and inappropriatenesses.
Diary of a Drag Queen is incredibly explicit. That’s fine. But when that kind of explicit narrative gets boring halfway through, then you know it’s missed the mark somewhere. This is Rasmussen’s second face. The reader is treated to a very candid, no holds barred recounting of their sex life. In and of itself, completely fine, and actually interesting to get a glimpse into a world in which I will never belong, but after the 20th Grindr shag, and the 50th dirty sex story the shock had worn off and I was just bored. If my reaction to someone offering to shit in someone’s mouth is ‘not again, that is so page 20’, then something has gone wrong along the line.
Perhaps Diary of a Drag Queen is not written for me. Or maybe it is. So much of what was so great about it was Rasmussen’s amazing insight. But that insight wasn’t enough to carry the narrative past the halfway mark. Then it felt like an overload – a curious mix of proselytising and stories told for shock value. Had this been another genre I probably wouldn’t have felt that way, so I don’t blame Rasmussen. But, what my Reading Challenge for February has taught me, is that I should probably keep avoiding memoirs and autobiographies. I obviously just don’t like them.