Word: haired
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...these days. It’s true; these are the days of Schwarzenegger, Viagra and “The Man Show,” and I’m the last person to stop men from questioning gender norms. But how does drag do that, exactly? To most, excessive hair removal, artificially high voices, painfully high heels, and lots of “excuse me’s” and “I’m sorry’s,” doesn’t question notions of femininity. Drag Night offers men the opportunity...
...thigh-high boots, and I put on something tight. But when I wear my feminine accoutrements, it’s not considered entertainment, nor is it particularly out of the ordinary. A man in drag is often perceived as doing something silly—wearing uncomfortable clothing, removing body hair in uncomfortable ways. Why would men ever do such uncomfortable things, except for show? But when I dress in drag, it’s as if all of those “silly” things are natural for me, because these are uncomfortable, time-consuming things that women...
Which leads me to my final point, which is that, for thousands of Americans (and some Harvard students), living as the opposite sex is not something you can do once a year on a Friday night. Not to say that donning that wig and shaving that hair isn’t a hard step—I know it is. But the whole point is that underneath the make-up, masculinity is still easily confirmed. You still know which bathroom to go to; you can walk down the street without fear of harassment because, although your skirt may be short...
...magic is hidden somewhere between the corny backbeat, those southern handclaps and Andre’s delirious vocal fills and grunts. “Lend me some sugar, I am your neighbor” may be the best breakdown line yet created. Somewhere, James Brown’s hair is going kinky with jealousy. Even a snob can’t help but appreciate the fascinating juxtaposition of ’60’s rock with a millennial hip-hop sensibility before getting down on the dance floor...
...video is not as goofy as Andre’s, which is a relief: Julian Casablancas has far less in the way of big hair, six packs or James Brown dance moves to show off. Instead, we get Casablancas wondering around a stage, looking like a younger, drunker version of Robert Smith of The Cure, whom The Strokes increasingly resemble sonically as well as in fashion sense...