Slate's Bizbox
human guinea pig: Humiliating myself for fun and profit.

Man MadeMy short life as a drag king.

By Emily Yoffe
Posted Wednesday, Dec. 19, 2007, at 7:41 AM ET

(Continued from page 1)

My first order of business from Herbie: Start watching men around me, squaring up my shoulders, and walking in a relaxed state—leading with my package. "Men don't care, they just move. Women are much more intentional," Herbie instructed.

I promptly ordered the three-disc set of This Is Tom Jones, Tom's 1969-70 television show, and studied Tom's moves with the same intensity as I did when I was a pubescent fan. There was only one song that made sense for me to do: his theme, It's Not Unusual.

Although my daughter, now 12, has accompanied me on many previous Human Guinea Pig adventures, I tried to protect her from this one. But I had to explain my Tom Jones imitations in the living room. I told her that I was going to be in a show where women dressed up as men and performed to recorded songs. She made a disgusted face and then looked alarmed.

"Mom, I don't have to go as your son, do I?" she asked. I assured her she didn't have to be a drag prince.

One night, after my daughter went to bed, I decided to pack. I took a wash cloth, rolled it up, and stuck it out the left leg hole of my underpants. In the 20th lecture in A General Introduction to Psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud writes, "Of little girls we know that they feel themselves heavily handicapped by the absence of a large visible penis and envy the boy's possession of it; from this source primarily springs the wish to be a man. …" I don't want to say the much-maligned Herr Doktor was right, but there was something revelatory about walking around with this cotton appendage. I suddenly felt I wasn't alone in the world. I now had a secret friend nestled by my leg, giving me strength and encouragement.

I asked my husband if I was right about this, and he nodded yes. "No wonder you guys are always checking to make sure it's still there," I said.

It was time for me to shop. Thrift shops did not carry clothing for men my size, and I wanted to look sharp. So I went to Lord & Taylor and cruised the men's department. Even their smallest jackets made me look like I was dressing up as my father. On to the children's department. I picked up a navy pin-stripe suit on sale in the boy's section, along with a blue dress shirt. I then came face to face with my favorite saleswoman, a regal lady in her 70s who knows my daughter and me. "Well, hello!" she said. Seeing I was alone, yet heading to the dressing room with boys' clothes, she looked confused. I silently ran into the fitting room. The size 18 jacket was perfect, but I couldn't get the pants over my hips. I snuck out and found some jeans I could barely button. By the time I was finished, my saleslady, thankfully, was on break.

Next up: undergarments. At a sporting-goods store, I bought a sports bra a size too small that did the job, although wearing it was about as much fun as a mammogram. For safety's sake, I decided to tuck my washcloth into an athletic cup. I had no idea where they were, so I asked a saleswoman for the jock straps. She replied in an Eastern European accent, "What is?"

"Supporter," I tried.

"For foot?" she asked.

VIEW AS SINGLE PAGE
Print This ArticlePRINTDiscuss this in The FrayDISCUSSEmail to a FriendE-MAIL
Share on FacebookPost to MySpace!Share with MixxDigg ThisShare with RedditShare with del.icio.usShare with FurlShare with Ma.gnolia.comShare with SphereShare with Stumble Upon
Emily Yoffe is the author of What the Dog Did: Tales From a Formerly Reluctant Dog Owner. You can send your Human Guinea Pig suggestions or comments to .
Join the Fray: our reader discussion forum
What did you think of this article?
POST A MESSAGE | READ MESSAGES

Remarks from the Fray:

The whole premise of this article is to be a freak-for-a-day in order to give the mainstream an opportunity to ogle us and be glad they are normal, but I couldn't stop reading it the way you can't stop yourself from looking at a car accident.

A few points:

This article fails to discuss the fact that drag king performance is often a critical commentary on masculinity (it's ironic)

This author describes her transgender friend as "a lesbian who identifies as male but isn't going to do anything about it" which is just plain offensive because obviously her friend does not identify as a lesbian, he identifies as a transgender guy.

This statement just about sums up the whole tone of the article: "Surveying my drag colleagues' final results, I realized that though real bearded ladies are sad and pitiable, women with fake beards make attractive men—some more convincing than others."

Wow. Real bearded ladies are sad and pitiable. People who don't conform to her expectations of gender normative appearance are to be pitied. And she mentions her husband a hell of a lot...just to let us know she's really a straight woman. Interesting that her daughter was upset, but her response was to refer her to Rudy Giuliani??? How about telling her not only that she is just playing at being a drag king, but talking to her daughter about how she feels and why it is disturbing to her, maybe even telling her that transgender people exist, not as freaks to be pitied, socially marginalized, and discriminated against, but as people who deserve respect like everyone else!

--bekki23

(To reply, click here.)

That looked like a TON of fun! I just don't know who I'd lip synch to! I could wear my boyfriend's jeans... I'm already planning this....

It's interesting to me that Emily's daughter (and she herself) was so affected by the transformation. What's wrong with playing dress-up this way?

--Baci

(To reply, click here.)

(12/20)