Marie Con: an Exploration of Identity Through Language

Lindsey Lepenven
Nov 2 · 6 min read

“Whenever you study a language, you’re not just studying the language — you’re studying the culture,” explains Diego Ramirez, a young Venezuelan immigrant who moved to South Florida at a young age. After the move, he was placed in ESOL classes to improve his English but was eventually transferred to gifted classes. Now an adult, Ramirez lives as a performer and barista in Savannah, Georgia. We sat down on two occasions, the second being where we all watched in awe as he transformed into Marie Con.

Ramirez out of drag, and transforming into his drag persona.

Ramirez brought us back to his room, where we all settled in nicely, I sat on the side of the bed while Deckard Finley chose a chair nearby, and Lindsey Lepenven carefully took photos of the chaotic beauty of the room. We were amongst a clutter of wigs, makeup, gowns, corsets and beautiful fabrics that Ramirez uses to transform into his performance alter ego.

As he began applying his foundation, he started to tell us a bit of background on himself and his line of work. He’s a nineteen-year-old Venezuelan costume designer and performer. We asked him to elaborate more on his classification as a ‘performer,’ to which he explained, “I’m a drag performer this means I create an alternate persona. Then I live, breathe and embody that character for an extended period of time.”

Ramirez’s persona is Marie Con, “a glamorous latina madwoman, supermodel glitter-clown on the verge of a nervous breakdown.” What we learned is that Ramirez’s stage name, Marie Con, is a Spanish play on words because “maricon” is the Spanish word for ‘faggot.’ “I chose this word to embrace my latino and queer identity as it sounds like a nice feminine name in english but to spanish speakers, they instantly get the joke.”

He continued to explain that the surname, Con, is a play on the way drag is perceived. Although drag is an illusion, many people believe it’s pretending to be someone you’re not. “I see it like I’m pulling a con on the audience.” Ramirez’s stage name is a clever example of how one can use language to communicate their identity. He has reclaimed what was an insult to his identity, as a way to show his power.

His reclamation of the word for himself reminds me much of the debate over the N-word. One where younger black men have altered the word, by removing the hard r and giving it new meaning, often referring to one as a brother. When we went to Forsyth Park on Friday, I asked an older black man if he used the N-word in everyday conversation, to which he replied a stark no. In contrast, almost every young black I’ve ever met uses the N-word in conversation or while singing rap lyrics. There is a line, however. They see strict guidelines on who can and cannot say the N-word and the word is used significantly less by young black women versus their male counterparts.

As we delved more into the meaning and identity of language, Ramirez explained that when he speaks Spanish with his family he automatically feels the need to “shift to a significantly more masculine tone of voice,” a prime example of code-switching based on one’s environment. Code-switching, the switching back and forth between one linguistic variant and another depending on the cultural context, was common among some of our other interviews as well. One woman described it as her “phone voice,” (which she said is significantly ‘whiter’ in tone), versus her “regular voice,” which may not be as accepted in the professional space due to prejudice.

What we found interesting was how one speaks was often linked to gender and race. Boys are cautious of not sounding too feminine, while women often say expressions such as, “I sound like a man,” when referring to their sick voice. When a black person, talks too “white,” fellow African Americans may question their tone of voice as not apart of the community.

We asked Ramirez is there are any other ways language influences his work? He said, “Latino culture always influences his drag performance from one degree or another.” From the hairstyles he wears, modeled after cholas he knows, and Latina hairstyles from different decades (like the curly-hair perm). Ramirez sees drag as a bridge between his identities. When in drag, he finds himself slipping more and more into a Latino dialect and language but without the need to be masculine.

Eventually, Ramirez shifted to relate his language to his upbringing, recognizing he grew up in a largely immigrant populated community. “On one hand it was very comfortable for me to speak Spanish or Spanglish with my Latino friends or family. On the other hand, there were instances where people reacted in a hostile way to me or my family when they heard us speaking Spanish.”

He reverts back to tell a childhood story where he and his friend Valentina spoke almost exclusively Spanish to one another. It was a language they both enjoyed speaking, until one day when his third grade teacher heard him speaking in his first language. “She pulled me aside and was almost screaming in my face and told me that Spanish was not an acceptable language in this society and to never let her hear me speak Spanish for the rest of the year.”

This story raises the question of assimilation. Some views expect immigrants to completely adapt to the new culture but often times multiculturalism occurs where new immigrants, and their children, like Ramirez, assimilate into the dominant national culture while retaining their ethnic culture. However, in the United States, proper English is seen as the prestige language, the way of speaking associated with wealth, success, education and power. Meanwhile, languages or dialects such as Spanish and African American English can be seen as less than and associated with a lack of education.

We ask him if he still receives that kind of prejudice today. “Sometimes,” he said, “but I don’t really give it any attention. The thing about growing up gay in a conservative community is you learn to expect people to give you shit. And drag has been so good for me because it’s kind of like a conscious choice to externalize the things that make you a target, for me being gay and a spanish speaker, then using those things as a shield.”

Writer’s Note:

Reflecting back on this process it is amazing to see how different yet the same we all are. I for one am a straight black woman, but here is a queer Latino man whose story often has parallels to the black community, as seen through the additional interviews and personal bias. While the admirable Deigo Ramirez posed for photos, we were in awe of his confidence. Need a confidence boost? “Do drag,” he tells us.

written and edited by Deckard Finley, Lindsey Lepenven, and Hannah Harris; photos by Lindsey Lepenven.

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