Published on October 30th, 2013 | by Washington Assholes0
1. Dupont High Heel Drag Race
The Dupont High Heel Drag Race is late-October’s premiere D.C. gay event. (Well, aside from Halloween, which the gays totally nail — “I’m a mouse, duh.”) It’s basically a formal excuse for guys to put on heels, wigs and perfect fake boobs and strut up and down 17th Street before a crowd of iPhone-camera wielding gawkers. Then, at some slightly organized point, they run/walk/parade in a race down the corridor.
It’s one big, gay, wet dream.
Watching the event takes as much time and careful planning as participating. Without care, onlookers are prone to getting slapped by feathery headdresses or crushed by inflatable tits. Here’s a sample plan of action:
4:40 p.m. Ditch work early. This is High Heel Drag Race, fuckers.
5:30 p.m. Grab a table at Trio’s for you and five friends who are all foolish enough to think you’ll be able to save a table for them.
6:00 p.m. Substitute dinner with self-poured mixed drinks. Yes, that’s liquor in a cup of ice with a mixer on the side. Get friendly.
6:50 p.m. The last of your friends from Virginia show up, looking for their seat. What idiots.
7:25 p.m. Close the check. $52 of booze, on a Tuesday? Tomorrow’s going to suck.
7:45 p.m. Find a front-row spot. Pro tip: cross streets don’t fill in with people as quickly.
7:50 p.m. The queens are starting their pre-race peacocking, up and down 17th.
8:05 p.m. Capture the absurdity with your camera’s burst mode. These ladies know how to strike a pose.
8:25 p.m. Is that a dog? In drag? #nailedit
8:50 p.m. It’s all happening. The queens gather in front of Cobalt, where the race starts.
8:59 p.m. Video mode, check.
9:00 p.m. The first few queens run by. Some are literally running in high heels. Is that legal?
9:02 p.m. It’s all over. You drank your ass off and waited an hour and a half in the cold to see this: the two most drag-soaked minutes of the calendar year in D.C. And you loved it.
It’s tempting to think that the Dupont High Heel Drag Race is a bunch of hootin’ and hollerin’ for a bizarre, minutes-long showcase that changes little from year to year. You’d be wrong. And likely sober and lame.
On the contrary, this event feels kind of like a year-in-review, lit up in big rainbow flames. The best of the drags use outrageous costumes as social commentary on current or recent events. This year’s race featured a twerking, shaven-head Miley (complete with R. Thicke) and a lumpy-thighed Paula Deen so authentic, you were likely to utter racial slurs.
There are also queens who didn’t give a single #yolo shit. They included a Wicked Witch of the West (dressed exactly like the Wicked Witch of the West — ew) and some guy dressed as Wolverine. Dude, that’s just a Target costume. Where’s the cleavage and heels?
The point is, gather 76 drag queens together and you’re bound to have a circus worth seeing, peanuts or not. So if you ever feel like skipping out, remember this ancient truth: You’ve seen one Dupont High Heel Drag Race, you haven’t seen any of the others.
Words to live by. You’re welcome.