It’s been just over one year since UBC Drag announced it was going on an indefinite hiatus.
The collective of drag performers, founded by Liam Hart, used to host biweekly events at Koerner’s Pub. It was a safe space for UBC’s Queer community to let loose and have fun, and for countless up-and-coming performers to find their footing in the Vancouver drag scene.
Now, the group may be gone, but its legacy lives on through the performers who emerged from it and the current students who take inspiration from the project to keep drag alive at UBC.
Acacia, an international relations graduate, worked as the UBC Photo Society’s studio manager and ended up spending a year taking photos for UBC Drag.
“I remember the best part about it was that I got to meet so many different performers from around the city,” they said. “Everybody’s nice to the photographer, so it was really easy getting to know people.”
They did a photoshoot with Mx. Bukuru — the driving force behind the Haus of Bukuru, a drag house for Vancouver-based Black and Trans/non-binary performers — who asked if Acacia had ever considered doing drag.
Acacia joined Haus of Bukuru, and now hosts and performs in drag shows all over the Lower Mainland.
Drag houses are a chosen family, often led by a more seasoned performer who can guide their “children” through finding their place in the scene. But houses aren’t just mentorship — they’re a means to find solidarity with others who practice an art form that’s far too often the target of transphobic scrutiny.
Similar to Haus of Bukuru, many houses consist of performers who share intersecting marginalized identities.
House of Rice is an all-Asian, Canadian drag family that, according to drag performer and human geography student Carrie Oki Doki, was first introduced to her through an essay she was writing for an Asian Canadian and Asian Migration course.
Around a month after working on her piece, she booked her first show with one of House of Rice’s members, Maiden China — which she described as an ‘I made it’ moment.
Although Carrie Oki Doki is now a skilled performer and makes most of her outfits by hand, it took her some time to get to this point. She first got her start in drag through cosplay, and recalled how the first few times she went to anime conventions in makeup, everything was a bit rough around the edges.
“At first I thought, all I need is no lashes, a whisper of blush and a little tiny baby wing, and I went out looking terrible,” she said.
But Gaia, a performer and current commerce student, takes the cake for the most unconventional drag debut — at a Sauder orientation event.
She had wanted to try drag for a while, and when a friend asked if they could do a performance together, she seized the opportunity. It was difficult to guess how people would receive it, but other students ended up approaching Gaia afterward with a sense of admiration.
“I feel like in the Queer community, there’s different levels of comfort in terms of expressing yourself and [being] extremely out in public,” she said. “I saw the power of drag in other people, but also how much power it has in me, in terms of expressing who I am and living my truth through music.”
As an international student, Gaia came from an environment that she felt was a bit closed-off in terms of information — she moved to Vancouver to find a more accepting environment, but was surprised to learn how people perceived drag.
“I didn’t know how much people appreciated drag, but at the same time, I didn’t know how much some people feel strongly hostile against it,” she said.
All three of the performers expressed how it can be difficult to confront the judgment that can come with being involved in drag — almost always from people who don’t fully understand what it is and why artists do it.
“Some of the common misconceptions [are] children shouldn’t be at drag shows, for instance, or children can’t enjoy drag,” said Acacia. “If you are a person that goes to drag shows, you know that that’s not always the case.”
There’s a common headline of drag performers being invited to host story time events at local libraries and being met with protests insisting drag performers are inappropriate for children to see.
“[There’s an] increasing rise of transphobia and the current use of drag performers as a proxy for predators to basically be used as a political scapegoat, to just throw under the bus,” said Carrie Oki Doki.
In reality, drag performances come in many different forms and styles, and a lot of them are child-friendly — and some aren’t even related to gender or sexuality at all.
For these three performers, however, it is tied to experimenting with gender expression. Because they’re playing characters, taking on a drag persona allows them to lean into femininity in ways that they wouldn’t usually do in daily life.
“It reveals a version of me that I know is always there, but … especially now that I perform in drag, I don’t always feel the pressure to tap into that hyper-femininity all the time,” said Acacia. “When I’m out of drag, I feel comfortable also being in the sort of in between.”
And being a queen isn’t the only type of drag — hyper-masculine performers are out there, too.
“There are performers that are hyper-feminine, hyper-masculine, hyper-monster-y,” said Gaia. “Drag is free gender expression, which means not everyone does drag to be hyper-feminine queens. Some of them are cunty, amazing, shocking drag kings, who can do so many good things.”
And Carrie Oki Doki emphasized that doing drag really is for everyone, regardless of gender — even people who are completely okay with their cis identity and presentation.
“It’s like a tool … you’re using [it] for fun and performance, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that the tool then informs how you go out in your day to day,” she said.
Really, anyone can help uplift and expand the drag scene at UBC. All you need is a bit of confidence, a lot of patience and a creative vision.
“It’s a very long route and I’m not quite there yet, but I’m on my way,” said Gaia.
“Whoever’s [reading] this, I’m happy you’re on your way too.”
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