King Shows

Why Celebrating Kings Isn’t Exclusion: A Love Letter to Our Queen Allies

Every movement needs its moment, and right now, it’s the drag kings’ time to shine.

When I decided to host a six-week “King of Drag” viewing party and drag show, I did it for one simple reason: to celebrate drag kings. Not to exclude queens. Not to divide the drag community. But to uplift a part of it that has been historically overlooked, underbooked, and underrepresented. Kings deserve their flowers—and this was one way I could help deliver a whole bouquet.

Let me back up for a second. The show came together last minute. I booked local talent I had already spoken to, plus my super supportive drag sister (who happens to be a queen). I didn’t book more queens for the rest of the shows… NOT because I don’t love them (I do!), but because that’s not what this series is about. This is a drag king spotlight, plain and simple.

And yet… I was approached by a queen who questioned that decision. She told me, “You should be including queens in this show. Kings are always asking to be booked, but now you’re not booking queens.” The comment caught me off guard. I gave her the rundown—tight schedule, limited slots, specific theme—but she was adamant: A queen should be in the show. I completely second guessed myself and felt like I was misrepresenting the community and ostracizing a part of it…

But here’s the thing: I get it. On the surface, it can feel like a double standard. But dig a little deeper, and you’ll see that this isn’t the same thing. In fact, the question “Why didn’t you book more queens?” is eerily similar to the “Why isn’t there a straight pride?” argument.

Let me explain.

It’s Not About Exclusion. It’s About Representation.

Straight pride doesn’t exist because straight people have never needed it. Their identities have always been the default, celebrated in public and protected by policy. Queer people created Pride out of necessity—a fight for visibility, equality, and survival. Pride isn’t a party because we’re extra. It’s a party because we’re still here, even after being told we shouldn’t be.

The same logic applies to drag kings.

For years, drag kings have existed in the shadows of their queen counterparts. While the drag queen renaissance (thanks to mainstream shows and viral media) has catapulted many performers to stardom, kings have largely remained invisible—underbooked, underpaid, and often dismissed as “not real drag” or “not entertaining enough.”

So when we create a show booking only kings, it’s not exclusion. It’s correction. It’s representation. It’s pride.

Celebrating Kings Doesn’t Diminish Queens

Let me be crystal clear: I love queens. I would not be where I am without them. My drag mother, a fierce queen, is the reason Max E. Pad was born. She took me under her Sequin moomoo, helped me shape my aesthetic, my stage presence, my confidence, and my character. Queens have shown me that there is no one way to do drag. That you don’t have to squeeze into a tiny gendered box to be fierce, beautiful, expressive, or funny.

Queens have hosted me, mentored me, and stood up for me when people said that kings are boring, lazy, or talentless. They’ve corrected folks who say our makeup isn’t transformative or that our performances don’t take as much work. They’ve reminded the community that drag is art, and art doesn’t follow a single formula.

So no—this blog isn’t a complaint about queens. It’s a thank you to the ones who get it.

Thank you for speaking up for us.

Thank you for sharing your platforms with us.

Thank you for reminding your audiences, your fellow queens, and your showrunners that kings belong on that stage just as much as anyone else.

We see you, and we love you for it.

But Also... Let Us Have This.

It’s interesting how quickly people want to pivot the spotlight the moment it shifts. The second drag kings get a few shows or a little attention, suddenly there’s a call for “balance” or “inclusion.” Where is that energy when we’re being told that two kings in one show is too many? Or that king numbers don’t sell? Or that we just don’t have the look for the headliner spot?

Where is the outrage when we’re told that there are no kings “good enough” for shows like RuPaul?

For years, we’ve been asked to sit quietly and be patient while we wait for someone to notice us. Now that we’re building our own platforms and curating our own stages, we’re being asked to make room—immediately—for the same performers whose stages we were begging to be included in.

Sound familiar?

It’s the same way marginalized communities get told to “calm down” or “stop making it about gender” the moment they center their own stories. It’s the same way women get interrupted in conversations about sexism so men can say, “Not all men.” It’s the same way queer folks get questioned for having safe spaces without cishet involvement.

It’s not exclusion. It’s protection. It’s pride.

There Will Be Plenty of Shows. Let This One Be Ours.

I would love to book every single talented queen I know—and I plan to, once I have the budget and the platform to sustain an ongoing show. But a six-week, last-minute passion project focused specifically on celebrating drag kings? That’s not the place to center queen visibility. Not because we don’t love queens. But because the point of the show is to uplift kings.

Think of it like a Latin night, a Black excellence showcase, womxn’s brunch, or a Trans Joy cabaret. Those events have a purpose. They're not created to exclude everyone else—they’re built to focus the spotlight where it’s long been denied. Nobody walks into a women’s history event demanding to know where the men are.

So please… don’t do that to kings.

Uplifting Kings Uplifts Us All

When you make space for kings, you’re not taking away from queens—you’re expanding the definition of drag. You’re giving your audiences something new, fresh, and deeply authentic. You’re proving that drag isn’t just one shape, one story, one silhouette. It’s a spectrum. It’s a rebellion. It’s a stage big enough for all of us, and then some.

And when you support a king—especially one just starting out—you help keep that fire lit. You help us keep going, keep creating, and keep challenging the limits that were placed on us before we ever got our first booking. So join us in celebration of this moment, this excitement for a form of drag that has been around since the beginning but overshadowed… drag kings.

With Love, From a King

To my sisters in drag: thank you. Thank you for helping me become the king I am today. I will always have your back, and I know many of you will always have mine.

To my brothers in drag: enjoy this moment and keep your mind open, we’ve fought for our representation this long, and we aren’t done.

To my siblings in drag: We see you, and we love you… Nonbinary drag baddies aren’t being excluded. We will have and celebrate your moment too, and this is not going to stall the progress for inclusion that you’ve made. We are here to strengthen and propel your platform too.

All drag is valid.

We’re not asking for the world. Just the mic, the stage, and a little room to grow.