Ahead of next week's premiere of RuPaul's Drag Race All Stars Season 7, the franchise's very first all-winners season, the competing queens of the cast have kicked off a whirlwind promo tour. Their first stop? Ringing the opening bell at NASDAQ—a tried and true queer pastime. Finally, someone has found an avenue where drag and exorbitantly ugly monetary wealth can intersect. Raven, we have not been looking for that!
After a quick stop in Times Square to do day drag under the unforgiving light of the morning, it was off to Hudson Yards, specifically The Vessel, New York City’s preeminent monstrosity of a tourist trap that’s now facing permanent closure after multiple suicides onsite. There’s something particularly horrific about seeing the word “SLAY” on a giant jumbotron in front of The Vessel while the Drag Race queens flash the ultra-white veneers that the original flood of prize money from the show afforded them.
But it's useless to blame the artists just doing their contractually-obligated promotion when we could instead be looking at RuPaul and Paramount Global, the media conglomerate that owns VH1, where Drag Race airs in America. The partnership between the Supermodel of the World and a leading television corporation has transformed Drag Race from something gratifying, meaningful, and endlessly fun into a money pit that, while still a critical thread in the fabric of queer media, is a hollow husk of what it once was.
RuPaul has made it clear time and time again that he’ll do just about anything for a check. It’s why there are no less than 17,000 Drag Race spinoff franchises airing at any one time in RuPaul’s Multiverse of Mama’dness. It’s why he’ll cut the worst Charli XCX knockoff you could ever imagine. It’s why he’ll lease his Wyoming ranch to become America’s Next Frack Superstar. Your name does not become synonymous with an art form in 2022 unless you’re willing to sign it on a dotted line without hesitation.
But in his quest to build his global empire, RuPaul has continually allowed the legacy of his subversive landmark reality show to be slowly chipped away at. The commercialization of drag under RuPaul’s guide is a sticky thing. On one hand, it’s a critical part of bringing empowering inclusivity to the forefront of mainstream culture, where it can be accessible to all who may need it. On the other, it invites the ire of its own ever-growing toxic fanbase and contributes to multimillion-dollar companies revving the engines of their Pride parade floats for an exhausting show of rainbow capitalism every summer. Maybe that’s the nature of the beast: one can’t exist without the other.
But surely there has to be some way to mitigate the wearying commodification of Drag Race. Paramount couldn’t cough up $60,000 to send Raja and Shea Couleé to slay The Met Gala last week? Hell, if they’re trying to remain COVID-safe with outdoor events for fans, Manhattan has a Little Island now, why not use their amphitheater instead of cramming eight wigs, 16 butt pads, and 80 acrylic nails in a single sprinter van to cart these queens through the absolute worst parts of New York for lamest promotional stops ever.
It’s as if these bookings were scheduled by artificial intelligence that watched every episode of Drag Race ever made and thought it understood how the show works. The NASDAQ stocks are not what these queens are referring to when they talk about “trade!”
Maybe there’s no use complaining. There are at least 30 different seasons of Drag Race and its many spin offs that have already aired around the world. Asking RuPaul and the television overlords that make this show a reality to have a lick of integrity when it comes to excessive promotion events is like asking RuPaul to stand up to show you the sweatpants he’s wearing on the bottom half of his body when seated at the judge's panel: he just won’t do it.
And, at the end of the day, an all-winners season of All Stars is always going to be an embarrassing celebration of riches. We might as well sit back and enjoy it through Pride month before Target throws all of the rainbow-patterned merchandise that didn’t sell into the Burn Pile again.
