There are certain shows you simply watch, and then there are shows that quietly rearrange you.
RuPaul’s Drag Race was never just something I tuned into…it was something I grew into.
Channel Surfing Into Something Bigger
I first started watching Drag Race while I was just 12 years old, flipping through cable, back when that was still a thing. And suddenly I saw the TV glow with this wild, kitschy show full of the most glamorous beings I’d ever seen. I didn’t have the language for it at the time, but watching drag felt like watching possibility in motion. Every episode was loud, excessive, unapologetic and somehow deeply honest.
These queens weren’t just performing; they were insisting on being seen. And for someone still figuring out how to take up space, that mattered more than I realized.
What made it powerful wasn’t just the glamour or the drama, but the visibility. Representation is often talked about like it’s a bonus or something nice to have, but it isn’t. It’s fundamental. It’s the difference between feeling like you exist in the world and feeling like you’re actually allowed to.
“Valentina, your smile is beautiful….”
Season 9, in particular, is the one that stays with me. I remember Valentina: Mexican, radiant, witty, absolutely delusional, and unapologetically herself. Not to mention, she was stunningly gorgeous and acted as a point of reference for my developing style, aesthetic, and makeup technique. It wasn’t the first time I saw someone brown on TV, but it was one of the first times I saw a hyperfeminine Mexican being so fully and vibrantly herself. And at 12, when I was a self-conscious Mexican girl still coming into my own, it was like a mirror I didn’t know I needed. It gave me a window into the millions of ways people define and redefine beauty, femininity, humor, and identity.
It was at this time that I was also starting to understand my sexuality. I didn’t have the word for it yet, but I knew I wasn’t straight. And seeing these queens, whether they were Mexican, Black, Pacific Islander, or Asian, be so extravagantly gay, so explicitly themselves, was something I had never seen.
“You can be all of these things and still take up space, still be seen, still be successful, and above all, still be loved.”
Growing up, so much of the media I consumed felt distant, as it belonged to a version of life I wasn’t quite part of. But Drag Race was different. It centered people who were often pushed to the margins and gave them the stage, the spotlight and the narrative. It didn’t ask them to shrink; instead, it rewarded them for being larger than life.
And in doing that, it gave me permission, too.
Becoming More
Not all at once, and not in some dramatic, life-altering moment. It was quieter than that. It was in the way I started to question why I felt the need to tone myself down. In the way, confidence stopped feeling like something reserved for other people. In the realization that identity isn’t something you wait for; it’s something you build, piece by piece, choice by choice.
It might sound a little backwards that a cisgender woman like me could feel so connected to drag queens, but at the heart of this show is something profoundly human. People come for the glitz, the glamour, and the spectacle, but what keeps them, and most certainly kept me, staying was the sheer depth of soul and humanity on display.
A Cultural Empire, A Personal Revolution
I’ve watched this show grow from Logo to VH1, to MTV, and now, it’s practically a cultural empire. And all of this—the representation, the artistry, the raw authenticity— started with RuPaul just deciding one day to put on a wig. I’m not saying she invented drag, but she gave it a pulse again that radiated out into the world. And if it shaped me this much, I can’t imagine the countless others, all over the globe, who’ve found themselves reflected in this grand, glittering revolution.
Drag, at its core, is transformation. But not in the way people often think. It’s not about becoming someone else, but about becoming more of yourself. And while I may not be performing in a bar three nights a week, the art of drag has allowed me to truly meet myself for all that she’s become and all that she’s still becoming.