For a generation of millennial men, actor, and queer icon Leslie Jordan, who died tragically on Monday, has been three things: sassy, sissy, and Southern.
That last part is especially important because, even though there is a great legacy of queer artists from the South, representation has been thin, at best. Even the beloved pink feline (hello!) Snagglepuss, who was based on elder statesmen of Southern swishiness like Truman Capote and Tennessee Williams, wouldn’t come out until 2017, in a graphic novel.
Enter Jordan in 2001 as Beverly Leslie in Will & Grace, the gay show that taught America being a homo was not only fine, but actually hilarious. Jordan stole every scene he was in with little more than a well-timed “well, well, well…” stretched out as long as the Mississippi. It was as if Jordan was channeling the queer Southern ancestors, turning his accent up to foghorn level and announcing to the world with country-fried pride: We’re here, damnit!
Beverly, of course, was never out as a gay man. (At least not at first; his coming out was a subplot of the recent Will & Grace revival.) He was navigating the same homophobic world the rest of us were. His taut, boy toy Benji? A business associate, thank you very much. What made him more than a joke, however, was his insistence on not hiding the swish in his step, essentially saying, “To hell with society, and bring the boy toys out anyway!”
Through Jordan’s Emmy-winning performance, he was telling us that life is a farce, don’t you see? It was ridiculous, and that was the point. Even this man had to pretend to be straight, but hell if he wouldn’t be fabulous while playing the part. I, and countless other queers across the country, took copious notes.
We saw ourselves in Jordan, the person, who was also obsessed with the country queens like Dolly Parton and Reba McEntire, and who also wanted to dress up like them and sing and dance around the house. He did it better than all of us—so well, in fact, that he ended up in Hollywood, doing it on the big screen and getting paid for it.
His performance in the Del Shore’s queer-canon-approved Sordid Lives is the perfect example; it is pure camp and delicious at every turn. He starred as Brother Boy, an aging “crossdresser” obsessed with Tammy Wynette, who was institutionalized by his family 23 years before. Jordan plays the bitterness and beauty of being a proud Christian woman (yes, woman) like a fiddle. The situation Brother Boy was in was horrible, and, unfortunately, completely relatable. But no matter how much “dehomosexualizing therapy” they put him through, he stayed true to himself—and looked great doing it. “In my defense,” he says, pointing a hairspray can at his therapist, “you did say I have a severe case of homosexuality.”
I’m so happy Jordan got a second wind of fame during the pandemic. He kept busy after the success of Will & Grace, mostly doing bit parts in TV shows and starring in a successful autobiographical show off-Broadway. But it wasn’t until he invited us into his life while we were stuck at home that we once again were reminded what a legend he was. He also, blessed be, let us know that he didn’t just have a great personality, he was actually very hot! Iconic gay behavior if I’ve ever seen it.
After riding high on his renewed fame, what could have been a better final act than guest judging and performing on RuPaul’s Drag Race last season? (Not to mention Trinity the Tuck’s hilarious “Snatch Game” impersonation in the later All Stars season) Thanks to those appearances, even more queers and allies got to fall further in love with him.
When the news broke about his tragic death, my group chats immediately blew up, with my various gays and girls mourning the loss. Shock and denial was the immediate reaction, before we moved on to acceptance, sharing our favorite one liners of his. “Such a pity a bottle of rum can’t waltz…”
He is one of the great modern gay legends, who showed us that we can be unapologetically gay and southern at the same time, and he is now gone. It’s a loss I feel on a deep level, as a gay Texan who has, every day, struggled with my own swishy tendencies, and every day attempts to live as freely and fabulously as Leslie did.
Luckily, Jordan’s legacy is forever cemented. The likes of Ginger Minge, Eureka O’Hara ,and Shangela are just a few Southern performers who have used drag to entertain us and made a dent in the Hollywood landscape. I don’t think it’s a disservice to their talent to say they owe a debt to Jordan and the work he did to clear the way.
Perhaps even more heartening, there is a new generation of Southern sissies on TikTok who proudly show off their fits, tell their besties what’s for dinner at the local watering hole, and like their uncle Lesley before them, twirl, twirl, twirl.
