Beginner Show Host
“Mic Check, Is This Thing On?” – A Drag King Thrusted into Hosting
I’ve always admired a good host. You know the kind: effortlessly funny, keeps the show moving, hypes every performer like they’re Beyoncé, and knows how to read a room like they’ve got a sixth sense for shade and spotlight. Spoiler alert — I am not that kind of host… yet.
Recently, I dipped into the fabulous realm of emceeing for the first time. I co-hosted an open stage with the one and only Miss Flo NoMo’, and let me tell you: hosting is an entirely different beast than performing. I walked in thinking, How hard can it be? You talk, you smile, you keep things moving. Turns out, it’s harder than it looks when the microphone is in your hand and all eyes are on you between numbers.
I was nervous. Like, sweaty upper lip, mind-going-blank, awkwardly-laughing-at-my-own-jokes kind of nervous. I forgot to speak when I should’ve, accidentally shouted into the mic like I was at a football game, then immediately mumbled my way through a transition like I was trying to order at Starbucks for the first time. My sentences trailed off mid-thought. There were moments of silence that weren’t dramatic pauses — just me forgetting what came next.
But here’s the thing: we all start somewhere.
And while I was awkwardly giggling and trying to string together coherent thoughts, Miss Flo had my back like the queen (er, mom) she is. Her timing? Impeccable. Her confidence? Unshakable. Her grace when I fumbled? Absolute drag mother gold. I couldn’t have asked for a better co-host, especially for my first time trying to juggle jokes, performer names, time slots, and mic volume all at once.
The next week, I hosted again — this time for a viewing party for the new show King of Drag. And even though I was still nervous, it was better. Growth! I was surrounded by friends who know me and support me, which made it easier to just be myself, fumbles and all.
DJ BJ (yes, that’s his DJ name and yes, it’s iconic) was my right-hand man that night. He helped cue the music, reminded me to slow down when I started speed-talking like an auctioneer on Red Bull, and gave me constructive feedback afterward. Things like: “Hey, maybe breathe between sentences” and “Try not to roast yourself too hard, you’re actually doing fine.”
It doesn’t come naturally to me — at least not yet. I’m a performer, not a public speaker. I’m used to letting the music carry the energy, not carrying it myself with a mic and a smile. But I’m learning. Every show, every stumble, every awkward silence is a step toward becoming that kind of host I’ve always looked up to.
Some things I’ve learned so far:
Hosting isn’t just talking — it’s guiding. The host sets the tone of the whole show. You’re the glue, the hype machine, the safety net. I am trying to remember main points for an introduction, like explaining tipping and consent.
Preparation helps. Know your lineup. Practice names. Write a few jokes or transitions ahead of time if that helps (and it definitely helps me). I asked each of the performers if they had anything that they wanted me to include in their introduction and made little notes.
Silence feels louder in your head than it does to the audience. Trust me. Breathe. Keep going. I say this, but truly… I panic.
Ask for feedback. The people who love you want to see you grow. My friends gave me tips, not shade — and that’s a gift.
Don’t forget to have fun. Even if your voice cracks or you say “y’all ready for this?” four times in a row like it’s your catchphrase now.
Hosting as a drag king feels especially important. We’re still breaking down barriers, challenging expectations, and showing that kings belong just as much at the mic as queens do. I may not be the smoothest host (yet), but I am showing up, growing, and bringing a little Max E. Pad flavor to the mix.
So here’s to the awkward starts, the mic fumbles, the nervous laughter, and the magic that happens when you keep trying anyway.
Catch me hosting again soon — hopefully with a bit more volume control and maybe even a punchline or two that lands.
