RuPaul is missing out

Why… doesn’ t RuPaul’s Drag Race have Drag Kings?
by Max E. Pad

It is possible for kings to be included in the main U.S. RuPaul’s Drag Race production, so why aren’t we?

I’m genuinely asking.

We’re not talking about overhauling the whole show (though wouldn’t that be fierce). We’re not even talking about giving a king the crown — we’re talking about any inclusion… but also, a crown… But damn, let us introduce the next challenge, hand out the clue, model the prize. Something. Anything.

Especially in this climate, where our queer community is being targeted by bigots that have been emboldened by the demonizing of anything DEI in the conservative media and current administration. We need to come together even closer, and recognize when a subsection of our community is being ignored or silenced. We need to share any platform or privilege that we have with those in our community that don’t inherently get that. But have we had any shout outs from RPDR? Nope. Not in the US…

Not even a “hey, we see you kings out there!” from the judges’ panel. For a franchise that claims to showcase the diversity of drag, it’s starting to look awfully one-note.

I’m not writing this out of bitterness. I’m writing it out of exhaustion. I want to reinvigorate the conversation… This is problematic.

Because the truth is, kings have been communicating this frustration within our own spaces, like this blog... Quietly. Carefully. We see what’s happening. We experience the otherness when the biggest platform in the world for drag continues to pretend we don’t exist. We feel the need to prove ourselves, and a feeling of imposter syndrome. We see the ignorance of the celebrity queens in the field who talk about the “future of drag” without acknowledging half of its current landscape. I am in an area where although competitive, the show hosts are looking for entertainment, and bring drag kings in very often… I only wish that we had that respect on a national level. (I am becoming increasingly aware that Illinois is more progressive than our surrounding states)

We know who the allies are.

We know the performers who share our work, advocate for our booking, invite us into shows, and pass us the mic — not just symbolically, but literally. We know who says our names in shows, and who stays silent when opportunities arise. We know who’s pushing for more inclusive drag and who’s gatekeeping out of habit, fear, or worse — ego.

Let’s call it what it is: exclusion.

There is no reason drag kings can’t be part of the Drag Race universe — especially in the U.S., where the show has the budget, the reach, and the cultural power to elevate any artist they choose. And yet, time after time, they choose not to.

I’ve heard every excuse.

“Drag Queens bring in the crowd”

If true…. that’s literally only because they have this platform to elevate them and educate the public, a lot of times a fan of RuPaul won’t even know what a drag king is… this is the problem!

But also…. Gurl I bring a crowd!

Another one…

“But drag kings aren’t visually dynamic.”

Excuse me? Have you seen the transformation a king goes through? The sculpted cheekbones, the facial hair, the fashion, the BINDING, the physicality — kings don’t just put on a costume; we become someone else entirely. We manipulate gender in ways that are both subversive and celebratory. And if you think that’s not telegenic, you’re either not looking hard enough or you’re looking through a very narrow lens.

“But it’s called RuPaul’s Drag Race.”

Sure. But Ru herself has said drag is for everyone. The show has evolved — it’s welcomed cis women, trans women, trans men, nonbinary artists, and queens of every flavor. But no kings? Ever? Not even once? At this point, the exclusion feels less like an oversight and more like a statement.

And the statement is clear: kings aren’t welcome here.

Which is funny — and by funny, I mean deeply frustrating — because we are part of the drag community. We are part of the legacy. We are part of the story.

For me, this situation feels eerily familiar to the years when lesbians were treated as second-class citizens in the queer community. While gay cis men enjoyed their own spaces — their bars, their pride floats, their visibility — lesbians were often left outside the velvet rope. Until the AIDS epidemic hit. And suddenly, when gay men were dying in unimaginable numbers, who was showing up to care for them?

Lesbians.

Lesbians — many of whom were excluded from the very communities they showed up to help — were the ones tending the sick, advocating for resources, fighting for recognition and dignity when the world turned its back. It was a harsh, painful awakening. And it’s why the “L” comes first in LGBT…. So the use of the acronym GLBT is an intentional statement to put women in their place, after men…. Completely disregarding the history, completely disrespecting women, and intentionally.

We know what it feels like to be an afterthought.

So when I see the most visible drag platform in the world continuing to ignore drag kings — while capitalizing on queer culture, claiming inclusivity, and building empires on the backs of artists — it hits a little deeper than just “disappointment.”

It feels like a warning sign.

Because when you erase part of the community, you weaken the entire structure. You don’t just miss out on different types of drag — you miss out on different stories, different struggles, different bodies, different kinds of brilliance.

You miss out on the nuance. The variety. The truth.

Drag kings bring something vital to the table. We are satirists, character actors, dancers, activists, comedians, live singers, gender illusionists, fashion fiends, storytellers, and innovators. We’ve been performing for years — often without pay, often without spotlights, often without stages — because we love this art. If we do get paid, most of the time it is a small fraction of what the queens are paid, and usually we are desperate for a spot and have to compete with our fellow kings for stage space. Because we believe in what drag can do.

We’re tired of doing it in the shadows. We are tired of being pinned against each other, and exhausted from having to remind ourselves that it’s not the other king’s fault that there’s usually only space for one king in a show.

I mean…. why aren’t we included? Acknowledged? It reminds me of the song "Cellophane" from Chicago.

I don’t watch RuPaul because it knowingly holds kings back, but I have seen a couple of episodes. From what I had watched, it seems very easy to include kings… even if it just started with a helper spot, then a guest judge… the judges aren’t even drag artists!!! At least a king knows drag!

Other shows have done it… Camp Wannakiki, Dragula… it brings more to the shows.

Give me a mic, Ru. Let me intro the Snatch Game. Let a king strut the runway during a mini challenge…. We aren’t that scary.

Let us in. We’re not asking for pity points — we’re offering possibility.

Here’s the hopeful part: it can change.

Other franchises have already taken the step. Kings are getting booked more, featured more, seen more. We are building our own spaces. Our own stages. Our own shows and collectives and tours. But wouldn’t it be powerful if the biggest name in drag didn’t have to be dragged into progress?

Wouldn’t it be bold — and honestly, on brand — for Drag Race to finally say, “We’ve been missing something. Let’s fix that”?

But here’s the thing: if they won’t give us a seat at the table, we’ll build our own damn banquet.

And we already are.

Leaders within the drag king community have stepped up and created something monumental — the very first all-king drag reality competition show: King of Drag. That’s right. The first episode just aired, and it’s proof that not only are kings ready for the spotlight, but the spotlight is ready for us. The show is innovative, bold, entertaining, and overdue. It’s a reminder that while Drag Race looks the other way, drag kings are pushing forward — creating platforms, making art, and refusing to be erased.

King of Drag is more than a show — it’s a statement. A big, butch, unapologetic statement that says: we are here, we are valid, and we are worth watching.

Visibility matters. Representation matters. Kings matter.

We are not a gimmick. We are not a trend. We are not a phase. We are a part of the queer structure — undeniably, unshakably woven into this world. We belong.

And someday soon, I hope someone on that Drag Race production team finally looks around and says, “Wait, what have we been thinking?”

Until then, we’ll keep performing. Keep pushing. Keep making noise.

Because drag is for everyone — and everyone includes kings.