Backstage at Stonewall Nightclub, the air is thick with setting spray, nerves and song lyrics, as performers in various stages of transformation crowd around mirrors, teasing wigs, gluing lashes and hyping one another up before the curtains part—a chosen-family ritual that has become a lifeline for many drag queens in Appalachia.
Finding Drag & Finding Themselves
For many Appalachian queens and kings, drag began as a distant curiosity seen only through a television screen, one drag queen said. Max Varney, who performs as Tatum Tache, said she remembers watching early seasons of “RuPaul’s Drag Race” with their mother, sparking an interest in the art form. “I was like, ‘Wow, I want to be one of these girls,’” Varney said.
Tatum Tache backstage before their performance at Stonewall Nightclub (Courtesy of Max Varney)
Online forums, however, pushed the message that, “Girls can’t do drag,” a narrative Varney said kept them away from performing for years. However, when Varney met a female drag performer in college, their world was changed. “It launched me into this other world of queer culture that I had never known about,” they said. “My first night in drag was terrifying, but it felt right.” Courtney Nelson, known as Courtnee D. La Ryann and one of Stonewall’s longtime performers, said she had a similar awakening after being put in drag makeup for the first time. “I did not miss an open stage after that point,” Nelson said. “I was here every Wednesday and Sunday. I just got the bug.”
Courtnee D. La Ryann said her outfits embellished with sparkles tend to be crowd favorites. (Courtesy of Courtnee Nelson)
For Garrett Hastings, known onstage as Alexandria Gem, drag began as a character inspired by qualities he felt he did not possess intrinsically. “Alexandria is a Tony Award winner, and Garrett is not,” he said. “Garrett can’t sing, but Alexandria sounds like if you mix Kelly Clarkson with Peggy Lee.”
Garrett Hastings said the makeup process is often the most creative when he gets ready to perform. (Courtesy of Garrett Hastings)
Growing Up Queer in Appalachia
While many performers discovered drag through curiosity and media, growing up queer in rural Appalachia often meant isolation, Varney said. Raised in Mingo County, Varney said queer identity was often noticed and judged long before individuals were ready to come out.
“It makes you feel like who you are is something that needs to be hidden,” Varney said. “It feels like who you are is shameful.”
Those attitudes, they added, are often rooted in environment or upbringing. “People are brought up to feel that way,” Varney said. “A lot of people have never even met a gay person before.” For Nelson, who is a cisgender woman, the barriers looked different but felt just as limiting, she said. “Drag was automatically labeled as a, ‘You can’t,’ kind of thing,” she said. “Drag was not very expansive; it was very much one way.” Similarly, Hastings, who grew up in Hurricane, said acceptance often depended on how closely someone aligned with what others were comfortable with. “I was a ‘palatable’ queer to a lot of people,” he said. “My best friend, who was a trans man, was not, so there are different layers to it all.” That distinction, between what is accepted and what is not, still shapes experiences today, he added. “The hate we get is very disheartening,” he said. “Drag and genderqueer activities have really been under attack, and it’s all deeply embedded issues.” Yet inside the clubs and community centers where drag thrives, performers describe a radically different environment, one built on mentorship and shared joy.
The Drag Family
Drag families are a cornerstone of queer culture, especially in regions where biological families may not be accepting, Nelson said. “When you start drag, typically you have a drag mother who helps you learn how to paint, do wigs and where to get supplies,” she said. “Then you have your sisters, your aunties … It’s one big dysfunctional family.” For many, that family fills a void, she added.
“For five years of my life, I didn’t talk to a lot of my family,” NELSON said. “I started coming here and found my family.”
Varney said the backstage atmosphere is equal parts chaos and care. “There is always going to be somebody back there telling somebody, ‘You’ll be fine,’” they said. “Usually, it’s me being told that.” Hastings said the community feels like a group of co-workers who operate more as close friends. “As long as you’re not outwardly a bad person, you’re probably going to get along with people,” he said.
Finding Freedom Through Performing
Despite the confidence audiences see onstage, nerves are almost always a part of the process, Nelson said. “I always feel like I’m going to throw up right before I go on,” Nelson said. “As soon as those curtains open, I’m like, ‘Oh girl, I got this.’” For Hastings, that shift also happens just as quickly, he said. “People like to watch you having a good time,” he said. “If you’re having a good time, they’re going to have a good time.” For Varney, drag performances act as a rare space where self-love feels possible, she said. “I am such a shy person,” they said. “With drag, I love myself. I love Tatum, and I love what she stands for.” In a region where self-expression can feel constrained, Varney said drag allows them to transform in a way that feels meaningful.
“When I’m in drag, maybe I’m not so terribly ugly,” they said. “Maybe I’m worth more than what I think I’m worth.”
While drag is often associated with nightlife, Nelson said its impact extends far beyond the stage. “It’s therapy on so many levels,” she said. “Drag can take you from the darkest places and transform you into the brightest.”
A Culture Still Growing
That transformation, however, is not always understood by the region at large. A poll of 406 participants conducted for The Parthenon suggests a region still developing its relationship with drag. While 68% of voters said they have attended drag events near campus or in West Virginia, 60% said they do not consider drag an art form. However, 70% said drag culture in Appalachia still has room to grow in terms of visibility, mirroring the lived experiences of the performers who bring it to life.
Much of that disconnect, Varney said, comes from misunderstanding and stereotypes. “I wish people understood drag is not a monolith,” they said. “There’s AFAB (assigned female at birth) queens, nonbinary performers, drag kings, drag monsters – it’s a lot more nuanced.” Similarly, Nicole said stigmas around drag culture often skew towards extremes. “Some of us just want to see the crowd smile; we’re not all trying to be provocative,” she said. “If you don’t find entertainment in this, don’t worry about it, but don’t take it away from other people.”
A Future Shaped by Vulnerability and Visibility
Despite challenges from social stigmas, Hastings said the future of drag is grounded in growth and visibility. “We have a small community here, but the community we have is good,” he said. In terms of drag performers themselves, Nelson said she hopes newcomers enter drag with a heart of kindness. “You don’t have to be what you see on TV,” she said. “Just be yourself and don’t forget we’re all humans.” Backstage at Stonewall, as the music cues and performers take their places, that philosophy is already in practice, she said.
“Drag is for everybody,” NELSON said. “It just feels like me.”