I am not a big fan of academic symposia or conferences. They can be dry, forced, and oftentimes unproductive. Which is why I was intrigued when I saw the call for proposals for a “Subverting Academia and Subversive Academics” symposium at the University of Maryland at College Park earlier this year. In particular, I was struck by the last sentence: “While this symposium will feature traditional formats of papers and panels, we also encourage proposals that might subvert traditional symposia structures.”
As a theater professor and artist, this academic gathering was in my wheelhouse. I submitted my proposal to present “The Fabulous and Subversive Nature of Drag Performance,” a talk about the usefulness of the study of drag performance in academe.
I am a professor and a drag queen. When in drag, I am often asked, “Do your students know?!” There is an implication that pedagogy, scholarship, and drag performance exist in separate realms that do not (and should not) mix or meet. Drag’s subversive nature creates the perception that drag performance runs counter to serious academic inquiry.
In developing and teaching a course, “The History of Drag Performance: From Shakespeare to RuPaul,” I discovered that drag’s subversion of gender norms and societal expectations provides excellent entry points for academic inquiry. Drag, a distinct art form, brings into focus issues of identity, authority, agency, gender variance, and masculine/feminine constructs. Judith Butler states that “Drag fully subverts the distinction between inner and outer psychic space and effectively mocks both the expressive model of gender and the notion of a true gender identity.” By viewing drag through this lens and by exploring the diverse and fascinating history of drag performance, students are challenged to question a gender binary and to break through social norms. My course explores drag history and how drag reflects and responds to culture.
For the symposium, I proposed that the most fitting way for me to lead a session on this topic would be to do so while dressed in drag. That would “subvert the traditional symposia structure” by creating a different and unique dynamic.
I was pleased when my proposal was accepted. However, I soon began to regret my suggestion to deliver the presentation in drag. Perhaps it was not the wisest career move? Would I be taken seriously? I believed in the strength of my topic, but questioned my proposed format.
Ultimately I decided I had nothing to lose. I am tenured, fully promoted, secure in my research and in my own skin. So … a few short months later, I found myself in a Maryland hotel room, early in the morning, applying my makeup and gluing on false eyelashes. When it came time for my session later that day, I was in full Miss Summer Clearance regalia (Summer is my drag persona). There were five other presenters in our 90-minute “Subversion, Form, and the Body” session — mostly Ph.D. candidates delivering astute, traditional papers.
I was dressed in five-inch heels, pantyhose, a tight dress, and a mile-high wig as I sat listening to the others reading their papers. I was amused at my own predicament. Somehow being dressed this way removed the pretentiousness of academic formality. I felt oddly relaxed. When it was my turn, my drag-queen wit was in full form. I was able to mix my academic talk about drag performance with an actual drag performance. It was freeing and, happily, fun for me.
During the Q&A, I was asked if I had ever taught my “History of Drag Performance” course while dressed as Summer. The answer: No. I had considered it, my students expected it, but I thought that it would distract from serious inquiry in the classroom. My students saw me in drag in other settings, like an AIDS charity event. But in the classroom, it felt more appropriate to be dressed as a traditional professor. Drag-queen garb would be foreign in that setting and could be counterproductive to learning.
RuPaul says that “We’re born naked, and the rest is drag.” Upon reflection, the question at the symposium made me realize that the clothes I wear to be a professor are a sort of drag. They are my “professor drag,” so to speak. I am dressing for my interpretation — or my performance — of what a professor should be. Is wearing a suit and tie to teach any different than wearing a dress and heels?
As I gave my campy presentation at the Subversive Symposium, I was providing something more of myself to that audience — something I had denied to students in my classroom. My students had learned how modern drag artists open up parts of themselves that have previously remained hidden or scorned. These artists do not don costumes, they empower themselves. They reveal, not mask.
Had I suppressed an element of myself to appear “professorial” and appropriately professional? How much do we consciously or unconsciously play into the professor stereotype that our students want us to play?
I was reminded of a discussion I’d had with several female colleagues who had shared their frustrations of receiving lower scores on their teaching evaluations because students did not perceive them as “nurturing” enough. They were being judged more harshly because their presentations of “female” did not match the students’ limited perceptions of women.
I could relate to that on a different level. One semester, while reading Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home with my first-year seminar, I shared some of my personal feelings as a gay man reading a lesbian memoir. At the end of the semester, two of my students wrote on their evaluations that I had been forcing a political agenda on them. In fact, I had deliberately held back any political opinions during the semester to remove any perception that they must agree with me to receive good grades. I was not forcing an agenda, so these comments were code for “my professor is gay and I am not comfortable with that.”
Do such perceptions somehow make me downplay my “gayness” in order to be viewed as professional by my students? I routinely share an adage embraced by RuPaul with my students: “What other people think of me is none of my business.” But was I taking that advice to heart myself?
When a student places an adjective in front of the word “professor” (e.g., gay professor, female professor, black professor), then that student may receive his or her education differently. Those two unhappy students viewed everything I was teaching through the lens of “gay.” My self-presentation did not fit into their concept of what a professor should be, and they viewed the content of the course differently despite my strategy to withhold my political opinions.
Of course, students in my “History of Drag Performance” course were much more sympathetic to “gay” and “drag” when they signed up to take the class. They would have been thrilled had I walked into class one day in sequins and a tiara. But if I had, what would have happened to my campus reputation? Would other students shy away from taking a future class with the “drag professor” even if the course topic was something completely different? Would the faculty have the same respect for my academic work? Are these real concerns, or paranoia?
The diverse facets of my identity are difficult to mix in other realms, as well. When Summer Clearance performs at a gay club or event, most people have no idea that she is a college professor. When I tell people that I am an academic, most are shocked. The perception in these venues is that drag queens care only about appearance and lack intellect. Do I carry these stereotypes back to the college? If most people believe drag queens are insubstantial, do I negate that part of myself in order to be taken seriously as a professor?
My participation at the Subversive Symposium has allowed me to begin to break down these self-built walls. I have been more open with my students about my drag life, and other aspects of myself. Revealing more about my experiences builds a different, stronger trust between us.
There may be students who do not want to be taught by a gay professor or drag professor (or female, or Asian, or Muslim, or whatever), but I cannot control that. By denying parts of myself to fit into more common perceptions of what a professor should be, I am denying most of my students a fuller, more present teacher. A few students might slam me in their evaluations because of their own prejudices, but I should not be forced to compartmentalize myself for those few. I am learning, after years of working in education, that being my authentic self is much more valuable in reaching more students more thoroughly. Students should appreciate the diversity of their faculty. Faculty should not conform to conventional interpretations of professorship.
I am not suggesting that I will show up in all my classes dressed in drag. Drag, in its sneaky, subversive way, has opened my eyes to the other personae I had assumed in order to conform or to be accepted. From now on, I will strive to share parts of my experience that may be germane to my course topics. I do not need to play down or suppress parts of who I am in order to appear smarter, or more academic, or more appropriately professorial. There is no mold to match to be a true professor. I am not John Houseman in The Paper Chase, and I never will be. To provide a richer education to my students, I must share the best of myself — whoever that is — along with the content of my subject matter.
