
When we see drag on TV, it’s almost always in competition format. The competitive element of television’s most popular drag-based show, RuPaul’s Drag Race, is such a touch point that it’s become a meme: as Lashauwn Beyond said in season 4, it’s not RuPaul’s Best Friend Race. Canada’s Drag Heals actually is drag’s best friend race. The show, which was created by Tracey Erin Smith and heads into its second season on OutTV, Amazon and Apple TV on October 2, features no eliminations and an abundance of group hugs. The cast is an inclusive mix of backgrounds, ages and genders. And the show provides a blueprint for how to correct problematic behaviour without cancelling anyone. The cast of Drag Heals season two joined FLARE on Zoom ahead of the premiere for a roundtable discussion on drag culture, from misogyny to pronouns, cultural appropriation and how drag can be gender-affirming for transgender artists. Read our chat here.

Spectra Vaganza: I would say perspective, ultimately. Representation. From somebody who is coming from a Drag Race background—that was my first introduction to drag—I gained perspective [by watching]. 50% or more of the journey for me was observing what drag really is, not what it has been cut down into [on TV].
Ocean Giovanni: The very first show I went to as an underaged, pimply child was a drag king show. Drag queens were never my ‘normal.’ But when most people think of drag, they think drag queens, and we need to normalize the fact that not only cis men dressed up as cis women is drag—there’s a whole community out here and we’re all talented-ass children.
Dank: It’s someone who does drag who isn’t a drag king or queen, which might involve the blending of masculine and feminine characteristics, or even the characteristics of inanimate objects. It’s gender play as drag.
Ocean: The way I explain it is that I still want my shiny little crown. Monarch is still royalty—you’ve got king and queen, then you’ve got [monarch].
Ocean: The crown is still on my head—yes!

Lady Kunterpunt: I don’t want to say embarrassed, because that’s not the right word. But in January—it feels funny because I was so nervous [then]. January was the first time I was talking to my parents and saying, ‘I’m serious, this is how I’m moving forward with my identity.’ That feels like years ago now, probably because of Miss Corona. I also changed my name in between filming and now. I’m going by Kylie now, as opposed to Kyle. That isn’t necessarily a dead name to me, it’s still my legal name, but Kylie’s a little cuter.
Lady Kunterpunt: The story of a drag performer who discovers their gender identity and comes out as trans is a tale as old as time. Personally, drag gives me the ability to access my fantasy and having those fantasy moments was how I was able to realize, ‘Wait a minute, why am I so comfortable dressing like this and feeling like this?’
Through drag, I got to taste what it was like to do the thing I really wanted to do.
Rosé: Doing the show was the first time I met somebody who is nonbinary or trans. I’m a terrible gay in that I’m not educated in some of these things. When I called Dank by the wrong pronouns, it ate me up because I want to be there for my family, for my community, I want so hard to make sure everyone is accepted. When I said the wrong pronouns and was corrected, I was like, ‘Damn, shit. I’m doing a terrible job as a gay man, as a person in society, as a human, not being able to do this simple task.’

Dank: From my perspective, as a non-binary person, this is every single day shit. I have this conversation with people every single day. It’s not a devastating thing for me; it’s not fun, but I’ve gotten used to it.
Listen, you hope that you’ll never mess things up, but I fuck that stuff up all the time. I fuck it up with my friends who use the same pronouns I do every once in a while. It happens. Normalizing that and correcting yourself is important. You move on and keep on going.
Ocean: On the drag scene, the ‘Yass mama, werk queen’ thing—anything you would not say yourself as a white person, if it does not feel natural, it’s probably not natural. So often I’ll be performing somewhere and there’s so many scrawny cis-looking white boys who come up to me like, ‘Werk queen!’ and I’ll be like, ‘Did anybody ask you?’ It does not make me feel more at home that you’re trying to talk like a Black person.
Sasha Me: It’s tough. I, as a bi-racial person, when I was a [non-drag] performer, I never had the opportunity to explore my Japanese background within theatre. I was constantly having to fit into white culture to audition for things.
I felt a gasp when I went on stage in the kimono Drag Heals>. I could tell people were like, ‘Oh, shit. Is she supposed to do that?’ And I’m not sure if I should have but I’m glad I did. It’s an exploration I needed to have.

Russ Martin is a writer, editor, and scholar. His journalism has been published in The Toronto Star, The Walrus, the National Post and Xtra. He currently produces the podcast Pop Pantheon and lives in Toronto with his chihuahua, Odee.
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