I spent most of Saturday in Ardmore with my friends just sort of messing around, reveling in what it means to be young, and laughing about how, despite barely scratching the surface on living life, we still somehow managed to feel like the oldest people in a Brandy Melville. After a while, one of those dear darling friends of mine said they wanted to go to the drag show at Olde Club, so we should head back home. I’ll admit my knowledge of drag culture is pretty limited … While I’ve seen a few seasons of “RuPaul’s Drag Race” and went to a Trixie & Katya live show in Boston, I never really experienced a proper drag show.
Armed with some singles and a belly full of a Sci Center meal swipe, we headed on the trek (or I guess, maybe a five-minute walk?) to Olde Club. I managed to squeeze my way near the front row, and surrounded by a hoard of really cool Swarthmore students, it occurred to me that somehow I’d decided to show up to the event in the most business casual outfit I could find. But hey, that wasn’t going to stop me from singing and cheering, so who really cares?
Then Vinchelle walked out, and there wasn’t any room left to care at all about how I looked or whether or not I had been to a drag show before because, holy moly. If you’ve never seen a professional drag queen in person, I highly recommend it. All of a sudden, six feet of walking art stood in front of me, lip-syncing to Beyoncé, and it was hard to focus on much of anything else. The air in the room shifted, like someone had opened a window and let a flood of light in. Yet, even with all her fabulousness, what happened next was a billion times cooler: students stood up and with all the bravery in the world, performed.
For many of the contestants, this was their first time performing in drag, and I genuinely cannot recall a bad number. Somewhere in between the pounding bass and bright lights, I found myself marveling at how much courage it takes to take up space like that, especially now, with drag performers and queer communities facing increasing political attacks, bans on book readings and performances, and public harassment. Stepping into the spotlight takes not just talent but immense bravery. Each and every performer gave their number their absolute all and the crowd cheered them on like their life depended on it. The sheer joy in that room felt like resistance. I was reminded, between my screams of joy and somewhat excessive clapping, that celebration can be, and often is, political. Together, in that room, which is more often than not cramped and sweaty, we, as students, built a kind of safety that walls would never be able to. We cheered on pirates, chorus girls, and … well, Nancy Reagan attempting and failing to “just say no” to drugs (which had me doubled over in laughter).
And suddenly, just like that, it was over. I found myself standing in the now-quieter Olde Club, grinning so hard my face hurt. We spilled back into the night air, our ears ringing, our hearts full, and our weekends a little lighter. I thought back to that morning in Ardmore, the easy laughter, the way we joked about feeling old when we were anything but, and realized that this, too, was part of what it means to be young: saying yes to things you haven’t yet experienced and letting yourself be changed by joy. That night at Olde Club wasn’t just about drag; it was about community, spirit, and the kind of aliveness that makes you forget, even if just briefly, how heavy the world can be.
Outside in the cold, I smiled, grateful to attend a school that protects that joy, grateful to my friends for being young with me, and grateful to all the students who took the stage. You all rock — I hope to have even an ounce of your courage one day.
