Becoming Daddy Sparkles: The hidden world of a Drag King
In a crowded bar of punks, artists and gender-benders, I wait eagerly behind a cheap red curtain with my chest aching, unsure as to whether it’s my heart beating so fast or the fact my boobs are fastened behind my armpits. My upper lip is itchy from a ferociously glittery purple moustache as the MC calls my name — well, the name that’s also not my name — and I take to the stage to see a hundred hungry faces looking up at me. For me, this is just an average day at the office.
During sunlight hours, I am Lor, a female-born literature student at university, a book nerd, avid Netflixer and a bit of a dork. When it becomes dark, however, I spend my time under the coloured spotlights of queer clubs and bars throughout Berlin, Canterbury and London dressed as a (very) sparkly man that goes by Daddy Sparkles. It’s definitely not the career my well-to-do parents from the small county of Buckinghamshire could have predicted for me.
Well, how did all of this begin? I came out as queer when I was about 18, after some tough teenage years pretending, most of all to myself, that I was a straight, cis woman. I fell into queer culture like a duck to water, obsessing over shows like RuPaul’s Drag Race, partying at the gay clubs in England like they were second homes and befriending all the Drag Queens in the area. There was still some part of me that felt excluded, I wanted to be in the dancing lights but I’m not blessed with XY chromosomes and my femininity is something to be questioned. Yet, the only performers on stage I could see were men dressed as women.
It was only when I moved to Berlin that I realised there was an option for me in the drag world, an option where my body could bend to a new gender and a new reality, to be a Drag King. Berlin-based Drag King H.P. Loveshaft was the first I saw on the stage, all other performers being Queens, and just rocked my world. It’s certainly harder to make masculinity seem glamorous but HP managed and inspired me to run home, grab some makeup and start drawing beards on my face for days. Eventually, I found my individual style, making a range of colourful moustaches, goatees, beards and sideburns dripping in glitter.
My first gig was an LGBTQIA+ open mic night in a Berlin Bar, aptly named Tipsy Bear, as I rapidly tried to drink my nerves away. I was the only drag performer there, but as I stepped on stage all I could feel was absolute ecstasy — I realised that the cheers and applause I received was the best drug I’ve ever tried and to this day I’m addicted.
There are a few things that you might not know about the drag world, including the concept of drag families. I fell into mine very quickly after attending the first Venus Boys show, a playground for masculine drag curated by the incomparable King, Camp Dad, who creates one of the only trans-inclusive spaces for masculinity in Berlin.
Turning up in a bright red moustache, I watched one very realistic man-woman give roses and kisses to the femmes in the audience, moving his body in such a smooth and sexy way. His name is Buba Sababa, all the way from Israel and he spotted me from across the bar, pulled me aside and I got the most beautiful encouragement and love I’d ever received in my life. Buba is now my Drag Dad, a father figure and best friend that I can call about anything, giving me the biggest cheers and the highest critiques, pushing me to always do better with more support than I could receive from my biological family.
The Venus Boys went on to play a major part of my life, we orchestrated huge shows on the biggest stages of Berlin, creating a fully choreographed musical production dedicated to Freddie Mercury with 12 Drag Kings. The love we share for each other and our art is the purest connection I’ve ever experienced.
Although it’s my art, drag is still a job and comes with its ups and downs like any other job. Gender inequality is still rife within the queer community, despite its strides towards liberation. A lot of clubs and event promoters believe Drag Kings put in less effort and are generally less popular than Queens, something perpetuated further in the media with a lack of Kings on TV, although this isn’t the case. Kings bring in a huge female, lesbian and trans crowd and help club diversity.
Even though the scene is still not perfect, being a Drag King has forever changed my life and it’s now time for the Kings to forever change drag.
