In March 2023, Tennessee’s governor signed a first-of-its-kind bill restricting drag shows in the state, part of a multiyear wave of anti-LGBTQ state legislation across the country. While the law was ultimately ruled unconstitutional by a federal judge a few months later, it was successful in stirring up anti-drag sentiment nationwide and in small towns like Murfreesboro, where city officials essentially canceled Pride that June, citing a drag performance from the previous year.
That Middle Tennessee town is where the brand-new hosts of HBO’s “We’re Here” found themselves dropped just a few weeks later in full regalia for the first chapter of season four’s six-episode homage to the queer community, to head-turning looks and to the healing power of drag.
“I knew I was responsible for making some fantastic reveals and putting on a top-tier drag show,” Sasha Velour, a former “RuPaul’s Drag Race” winner, said of signing on to host the new season of “We’re Here,” which premieres Friday. “Producing drag shows is a regular part of my life and something that I love so much. I was joking with my partner this morning, like, ‘We were trying to make platforms for drag queens before I had a platform to offer anyone!’ But getting to do that on such a large scale and with these stories that are so politically relevant — and reveal how many heroic real people are thriving and surviving in small towns against opposition — that’s an incredible opportunity.”
Like in previous seasons of the drag makeover series, which were helmed by a different set of “Drag Race” stars, Velour and her fellow hosts — Priyanka and Jaida Essence Hall, who swaps out with Latrice Royale for the final three episodes — arrive in Tennessee ready to mount a drag showcase featuring local queer people and allies, whom they coach to strut and lip sync on stage. But in the new iteration, which also takes place in Oklahoma, another major battleground over LGBTQ rights, it’s not just their new drag daughters whom they’re spending quality time with. This time around, the queens have weeks to get to know the small communities their “drag daughters” call home and put on a series of smaller drag shows, whether their new neighbors like it or not. At the end of each pop-up performance and marquee event, the drag proteges deliver individual messages of resilience, hope and support, standing next to their beaming drag moms.
In Tennessee, Velour, who started her drag career in small-town Illinois, is assigned Norm, a Murfreesboro native, longtime LGBTQ advocate and part-time performer who blames himself for the town’s cancellation of Pride last year. And in Oklahoma, Velour takes on two drag daughters, one of whom is Jess, a transgender woman who’s recently come out to her family. In each case, there are wounds to heal, deep conversations to be had, and reveals to be made. And Velour tackles it all head-on with a surplus of empathy and style, skills she’s developed over her years in the spotlight.
“These are very vulnerable, personal stories to tell. And I know from my own experiences on reality television — and documentary programs, as well — how sometimes, in your desire to make an exciting story, you can sometimes present things in a way that doesn’t feel right to you looking back,” Velour said, explaining that she, her fellow hosts and the producers were mindful of what the participants felt was off-limits. “These stories are even more truthful because they are told by the people experiencing them in their own ways.”
Velour, who’s known for her fierce, gender-bending looks, as well as her warm heart, noted that one performance that left a particular mark on her was Jess’. Even after spending plenty of quality time with the Tulsa resident and her family, and accompanying her on an emotional shopping trip to look for her gender-affirming clothes, Velour wasn’t sure how her drag daughter would take to the stage. But despite rehearsals “going terribly” right up until the end, Velour said, she was ultimately blown away by her new protege’s delivery of the series’ tear-jerking penultimate number, set to Florence and the Machine’s “Spectrum.”
“It was something about the drag itself, how it gives you freedom to finally be who you always feel like and you just thought you could never pull off,” Velour said, noting that even her “strict-drag-mom voice” hadn’t done the trick. “When the outside gives you a glimpse of that fantasy you’ve had within, everything aligns.”
Ending with an exaggerated gasp, she added, “When she was lip synching, when she was performing, when she was moving, there was power. It’s incredible to see what came over. The thing that came over her was her!”
While the new chapter of “We’re Here” has plenty of teary, heartfelt moments — from an entire crowd cheering on a trans woman feeling beautiful for perhaps the first time to dads proudly donning drag in support of their queer children — it’s not all rainbows and cinched waists. Like their predecessors, the season four queens encounter plenty of opposition from townspeople who are less than thrilled to be at the center of their drag extravaganza.
“I was a little surprised by the vocal, anti-gay Christianity that we encountered on the street and in people’s home — like Norm’s brother saying, ‘I can’t support gay people because of my belief in God’ — which doesn’t make sense to me or to many gay people. I think we can find common ground; I believe we could if there was a little more tolerance,” Velour said, adding that the lack of tolerance “has pushed queer people away from religion and religious people.”
In Tennessee, where both anti-drag and anti-trans sentiment has found a strong foothold in the last few years, much of the rhetoric that the queens encounter, whether it’s from City Council members or pedestrians, surrounds public decency and the idea that queer people are inherently targeting children, which harks back to a decades-old homophobic trope. In Oklahoma, which has recently made news for unchecked threats of violence against the LGBTQ community and the death of trans teen Nex Benedict, a similar message comes from a group of religious leaders.
Facing down both camps, Velour, the child of academics and a former Fulbright scholar who holds degrees in literature and cartooning, makes a particularly eloquent opponent.
“I just can’t stand when there’s misinformation or injustice, and we learn to argue and stand up for what is true as drag artists,” Velour said when asked about an onscreen interaction with a particularly vitriolic father-daughter duo at a Murfreesboro town hall. “I was surprised how fast some of those responses came to me, because people don’t really say those things to our faces. They’re usually saying them on the internet, and it doesn’t seem worth responding like that. But directly to our faces, in front of cameras, it felt necessary to speak up for all the people who would be watching this interaction and traumatized by the lies that are being spewed, to give some way of standing up for the truth.”
Although Velour first captured the world’s attention by clenching the season nine “Drag Race” crown with a now iconic reveal, one of her most jaw-dropping talents, it turns out, is showing up in defense of her beloved art form. As she writes in her recent book, “The Big Reveal: An Illustrated Manifesto of Drag” — a combination of memoir, history, theory and original art — the performer has faced challenges keeping up with the intense demands of her newfound stardom. But, she said, the fact that her ascent has coincided with a shifting political landscape and rising anti-drag attitudes has only made her want to fight that much harder.
“My relationship with drag continues to change. I’ve had my own personal ups and downs. Like I write about in my book, I got really injured and was still trying to press through and give shows, and I did come to resent all of the work that went into drag. I was, like, ‘I’m clinging for dear life, because I may never work again if I stop,’” Velour said, referring to her hesitancy to step out of the spotlight, even for health reasons, following her “Drag Race” win in 2017.
Seeing all that was at stake and the backlash faced by her artform “rocked me back into the importance of drag,” she said.
“Traveling to Tennessee and to Oklahoma and seeing the consequences of having drag completely shut down was a really intense reminder of the healthiness and good spirit that drag brings wherever it goes,” she added.
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