YOU CAN’T tell by the way she struts—with her cinched waist, silvered hair, and glittered eyes—that this superstar is just as vulnerable as she was the day she was born. Naked. The rest? Drag.
The Filipino drag community has received a special spotlight this year as shows like Drag Race Philippines air to commercial acclaim and Drag Den Philippines wraps up production. Drag culture, however, has been rich long before these shows came into the scene with its vibrant nightlife, cutthroat industry, and shared experiences making up the queens we see today.
A star is born
Filipino drag, despite its now glamorous persona, did not have bright origins. As far back as the 900s AD, Babaylan spiritual ancestors practiced the art of symbolic crossdressing. However, this practice was diametrically opposed to the Christian teachings introduced by the Spanish regime centuries later.
Crossdressers were then made to be seen as threats to society, so they hid underground for years until Japanese soldiers picked them up to be mere objects of their sexual desires. This tainted history cast a dark light on Filipino drag, only coming up as the butt of jokes in blockbuster movies and TV shows.
Internationally, though, drag’s presence has been stronger. Thus, local drag queens took cues from global icons to build confidence and bring Filipino drag out of its colonial shell.
Like many, drag queen Jameson Atenta was oblivious to the world of drag until he came across RuPaul’s Drag Race (RPDR). Then, after being introduced to the local drag scene by a drag queen he befriended, Atenta found himself entranced by the artform. “Sabi ko [sa sarili ko], there’s this kind of queer art performances pala, an artistic transformation of queer culture,” he expresses.
Consuming all things drag, Atenta eventually stumbled upon The Boulet Brothers’ Dragula, a drag competition much like RPDR—only much spookier. Having resonated more with the dark and experimental styles of drag, he was finally motivated enough to begin his drag journey at the age of 16.
For drag queen Ryan Pronstoller, on the other hand, drag hit close to home. With an uncle that was loud and proud of his craft, Pronstoller grew up in the ‘80s watching drag performances. “I didn’t even know that it was like drag. It’s just like… ‘this is interesting. It’s funny because [my uncle] is dressing as a woman,’” he explains.
It was only in Pronstoller’s early 20s that he began to understand what drag was and just how empowering it could be. Dressed up as Imelda Marcos on a Halloween night in 2000, he felt like he could do anything he wanted as passersby watched him in awe. However, it was not until he turned 40 that drag for the then-advertising executive became less of a costume and more of a passion—one that he could pursue full-time.
Watch her shine
Pronstoller’s drag persona came from a single conversation with a coworker. “[He told me,] it’s hilarious if you’re a tita that’s irreverent, tacky, campy, tactless pero fabulous,” he shares. Although clueless when it came to both glamor and social media, he put on a blond wig and a full face of make-up and took his pictures to Instagram. Suddenly, Tita Baby was born.
Tita Baby’s social media follower count began to grow, and she eventually got her first gig. The four-hour long hosting stint then served as a stepping stone for bigger opportunities. Brands started approaching her for collaborations, where she would inject Tita Baby’s infectious camp into endorsements and campaigns. While exploring the business of drag, Tita Baby was learning how to style wigs and improve her make-up skills through YouTube tutorials and pure grit.
On his end, Atenta also had to learn the ropes going into his first drag competition, which proved difficult without proper resources at hand. For his make-up, he turned to his friends. He then styled an old jacket to perfection and ended up walking a runway alongside American drag queen, Aquaria.
It was during this show that Atenta felt the true power of drag and the community of artists that came with it. Starting with boy drag—a style characterized by minimal make-up and male clothing—Atenta slowly transformed into Slaytina, whose style was decked out in dark aesthetics along with glam silhouettes. She eventually started getting invitations to perform at local bars, for which she would create intricate wig pieces and jaw-dropping choreography all on her own.
Despite developing two very different types of drag, Slaytina and Tita Baby have both found their own success. At 20, Slaytina has gone on to perform on national television and become a cover girl for Scene Magazine. Tita Baby, on the other hand, has worked with brands such as Lazada and has received praise from the likes of singer Regine Velasquez.
However, with the highs come the death drops.
Both drag queens attested to the competitiveness of the drag community in the Philippines. For example, although Atentahas found peace through his drag family, Pronstoller recalls a hostile experience. “[I was] backstage and nand’un na ‘yong [performer] queens. There was this air na parang [I was] not welcome here,” he says.
Outside the drag community, queens also experience disrespectful behavior from audience members, some of whom touch them without consent. However, Atenta pointed out that while drag queens are entertainers, they are people first: “Behind all of this heavy makeup, the fantasy, transformations, and characters, there is still a human.”
Unbreakable
The national drag community nevertheless continues to break boundaries and transcend preconceived stereotypes. “[It’s the tenacity] that makes Filipino drag unique,” Pronstroller says. Tenacity, by definition, is the act of persisting to exist. He cites drag queen Manza whose audacious trapeze stunts and fearless vent pipe death drops as a clear-cut model of how Filipino drag can only get better in its efforts to survive the changing of the tides.
The pandemic also forced queens to stay tenacious despite the grave conditions. “In the pandemic, bumagsak ang entertainment industry. Bumagsak din talaga ‘yung drag art. Talagang kumapit kami that time sa mga [Facebook] Live (In the pandemic, the entertainment industry dipped, as well as drag art. We really depended on Facebook Lives),” Atenta recalls.
Pronstroller, whose online persona thrived during the pandemic, still felt heartbroken when his fellow queens would tell him they no longer had gigs. As each gig was canceled, drag queens then had to make do with claustrophobic social media performances just so they wouldn’t lose the very thing that keeps them true and alive.
Thus, while the entertainment aspect of drag is what makes it so fun to do, its message is what makes it essential for the drag queens. For Slaytina—who also performed during One Big Pride—drag is a protest. “The first gay man who threw a stone at Stonewall was a drag queen. The moment you wear your wig, you’re protesting already,” he says in a mix of English and Filipino.
More than power and protest, drag is ultimately a labor of love. “I’m turning 45 next year,” Pronstroller says wistfully. “The older you get, [dreams] become illusions… [Tita Baby] is a chance to turn those illusions into dreams again. Parang second life.”
For Atenta, there is only one life. “Wala si Jameson kung wala si Slaytina (Jameson wouldn’t be here if not for Slaytina),” he says. Throughout the interview, he refers to her as his “lifesaver.” Slaytina, for him, is Jameson to the nth degree.
“With her, no one can break me,” he asserts, echoing the words of the thousands of drag queens that walk the streets of this country like mirror balls—bearing their pieces, but shining nonetheless.
