Every time I’ve sat down to write one of these columns, I’ve tried to balance two things: the chaos and camp of being a drag queen, and the deeper heartbeat that makes this community so special. And honestly? That balance has always come easy, because Rehoboth itself is both. It’s a place where you can stumble into a drag show on a random Wednesday, catch a protest on Sunday morning, and then be at the beach by afternoon with your chosen family, still covered in glitter.
This column has given me the chance to reflect on all of it – not just the performances, but the people. The readers who stop me on the street to say they’ve been following along. The performers who keep pushing boundaries and showing up in bigger, bolder ways. The business owners who open their doors to us, not just as entertainment, but as part of the culture. And most importantly, the community members who clap, tip, scream, and laugh right alongside us. You are the lifeblood of all of this.
When I look back at what we’ve shared together in these pages, it feels like a scrapbook of queer joy and resilience. Pride parades bursting with color. Stages big and small that have given drag a home in this little beach town. Even moments of protest and pushback that reminded us our voices matter – and that our community is strong enough to rise to every challenge.
Drag, at its core, has always been about more than wigs and lashes. It’s about visibility. It’s about resistance. It’s about joy in the face of whatever the world throws at us. And writing this column has been my way of amplifying that truth – not just my voice, but the voices of the people who make up this beautiful, messy, glitter-drenched family.
I’ve been so lucky to grow up in drag alongside legends like my drag mother, Kristina Kelly, and my sister Magnolia Applebottom, who embody both the history and the future of this art form. And I’ve been lucky to be surrounded by performers who constantly remind me why drag matters: because it brings us together, because it heals us, because it refuses to be ignored.
My biggest takeaway is gratitude. Gratitude to the readers who welcomed me into their homes. Gratitude to the venues and bars that made space for queer joy. Gratitude to the performers who inspire me to keep creating. And gratitude to a community that has proven again and again that we are stronger, louder, and sparklier when we stand together.
Think of this as the moment in a drag show when the queen sits on the edge of the stage, mascara running, talking straight from the heart before the next number kicks in. And trust me, babes, the next number is coming.
