Navigating Politics in Drag
Navigating the Political Climate as a Drag King
by Max E. Pad
It’s a weird time to be a drag king.
Scratch that — it’s a weird time to be queer, visible, outspoken, and trying to bring joy to the world while it’s actively catching fire politically, socially, and metaphorically. Every time I touch a keypad or step on a stage, I’m acutely aware that what I do is being politicized — not even because I made it political, but because existing as a queer artist in public is apparently a political statement again.
I didn’t paint on facial hair and contour to piss people off. I did it to feel free, to express myself, to connect with others, and yeah — to entertain. But now, even the most light-hearted, glitter-covered, joyful performances are being shoved under the microscope by people who’ve never stepped foot in a drag show, but somehow feel qualified to legislate our existence.
As a drag king, it often feels like we’re fighting on two fronts. One is external — the legislation, the bans, the tired conservative narratives that paint drag as dangerous or inappropriate. The other is internal — within our own queer spaces, where kings are still fighting for equal recognition, stage time, and legitimacy. It’s exhausting to have to prove we belong in a world we’re already contributing so much to.
But here’s the thing: I’m not going anywhere. And neither are my fellow kings.
I used to think I had to keep my performances light to be palatable. Play it safe, keep it camp, don’t ruffle too many feathers. But what I’ve realized — especially this year — is that playing it safe only protects the status quo. And the status quo is trying to erase us.
So yeah, now I mix politics into my art. I parody political figures who are trying to strip rights away from people like me. I use my voice — whether I’m hosting a viewing party or performing a number — to remind folks that drag isn’t a threat. Bigotry is. Ignorance is. And silence definitely is.
That said, navigating this climate takes balance. I struggle with depression, and it’s easy to fall into the pit of doomscrolling and despair. I’m learning how to stay informed without drowning in it. I find humor where I can. I turn rage into rhinestones. I channel my frustration into performances that feel both healing and honest.
The drag community is powerful — kings, queens, nonbinary royalty — all of us are storytellers, truth-speakers, and cultural shifters. We are historians in eyeliner and fishnets. Our art holds mirrors up to the world and asks, “Why does this scare you so much?” And we’re never scarier than when we refuse to back down.
As a king, I also think it’s important to name how male-presenting drag — even when done by AFAB performers like me — is misunderstood in a very different way. There’s less public outcry about kings because we’re not as visible. We’re not on as many reality shows or national tours. We aren’t usually headliners. And that lack of spotlight should mean we’re under the radar — but instead, it means we’re underrepresented. That invisibility becomes its own form of silencing.
So I’ve made it part of my mission to take up more space. To be seen. To use my voice not just for applause, but for awareness. Because every time someone sees a drag king and realizes it’s not what they expected — that’s a win. Every time someone laughs, claps, or says, “I didn’t even know drag kings existed,” I know I’m doing something that matters.
It’s political just to be in this moment. But I’m not afraid of that anymore.
I’m proud to be a drag king. I’m proud to be vocal. And I’m proud to be one more voice pushing back against a world that’s trying to push us into silence. Whether I’m lip-syncing to a political parody, emceeing a local show, or just showing up in full face in a space that wasn’t expecting me — I’m making noise.
And if being visible, queer, and fabulous is political? Then fine. I’ll be political — with a killer mustache and a spotlight.
