A drag performer named Brigitte Bandit, in a pink wig and with a full face of makeup, told Texas lawmakers that her art form should be celebrated, not treated as a threat to young people. She read from a children’s book by Dolly Parton, who wrote about how she thought her big hair and makeup made her beautiful and that others did, too.
Brigitte’s plea that day in 2023 did not change the minds of the legislature’s Republican majority. The bills she had spoken out against, including one that essentially aimed to criminalize performing drag in front of minors, passed by wide margins.
Still, one very important person had noticed: Dolly Parton.
Not long after, Brigitte was handed a pink box during a performance. Inside was an acoustic guitar adorned with rhinestones and Ms. Parton’s loopy autograph.
“All of that was very hard,” recalled Brigitte, whose name offstage is Cheri Lake. “To know that she recognized that and acknowledged that in such a powerful gesture was incredibly meaningful.”
That was Dolly, many in the L.G.B.T.Q. community said, as they grieved her death on Tuesday at age 80. Even if they had never met her, they felt they knew her well enough to call her by her first name, and that she knew and understood them, too.
That understanding counted for quite a bit, especially in parts of the country where conservative legislative efforts in recent years have compounded a long history of gay, lesbian and transgender people being marginalized and misunderstood.
On most issues, Ms. Parton steered herself away from the country’s political divisions, casting herself as an entertainer, and not a partisan figure. Yet, her advocacy and embrace of the L.G.B.T.Q. community was a rare area in which she would willingly step into the fray, even if it meant opening herself up to criticism or risking her unusual position as a public figure who was so widely admired.
“She reminded us of who had our back,” said Brian Sullivan, a leader in Nashville for the Tennessee Equality Project. “She wasn’t a pushover, and she certainly wasn’t when it came to us.”
One aspect of the mourning has been a recognition that the community had lost not only a powerful advocate but also a source of comfort and affirmation at a particularly uncertain moment.
In recent years, conservative lawmakers have pursued bills aimed at limiting drag performances in public spaces and what could be taught in public schools about sexual orientation and gender identity. Laws restricting gender expression and access to health care and public restrooms for transgender people have passed in dozens of states. Polls also showed that public support for gay marriage has slipped after years of strides toward acceptance for gay people.
“She left us, just at a hard time,” said Nadine Hubbs, a professor of women and gender studies and music at the University of Michigan.
Sometimes, Ms. Parton’s support came from being outspoken on issues such as gay marriage. Other times, it was from sly forms of acknowledgment, like when she said, “If I hadn’t been a girl, I’d have been a drag queen.”
She also produced “Common Threads,” a 1989 documentary about the AIDS Memorial Quilt; the Academy Award-winning film was credited with humanizing the crisis and its victims for a mass audience.
“She stood up for the right things and showed what it means to care for people who are different from you in real time,” said Bentley Hudgins, who is poised to become the first openly nonbinary and transgender person elected to the Georgia State Legislature, having been chosen by voters to be the Democratic nominee in the November election for a safe Democratic seat in the Atlanta area. “Through her authenticity, she showed how you can be confident and expressive and still be kind.”
Activists, researchers and others argued that Ms. Parton’s influence was not just a byproduct of her megawatt celebrity. They pointed to how she drew on her faith, leaning on Christian teachings and scripture to explain why she embraced L.G.B.T.Q. people and encouraged others not to pass judgment.
The stance prompted backlash among some Christian conservatives, who claimed that she was wrongly using her faith to justify behavior they condemned as immoral. But the criticisms gained limited traction.
Her ties to the L.G.B.T.Q. community brought her to glittery environs and gay meccas. She partied with Andy Warhol at Studio 54 and told interviewers over the years that she had once entered a Dolly Parton look-alike contest at a club in West Hollywood (she lost).
She loomed large even in establishments where she had never stepped foot, like CORE, a watering hole between an interstate and strip malls in Knoxville, Tenn.
Kelley Coulter, who sometimes tends bar there, added a tattoo of a haloed Ms. Parton on her thigh six years ago.
“She made everyone happy and feel at home,” Ms. Coulter said. She also served as a bridge, as a shared appreciation for Ms. Parton helped reduce the distance that otherwise existed with some loved ones.
For Ms. Coulter, that had been the case with her grandfather, she said. “That was the one woman that my pop loved more than anybody in the world,” she recalled.
Her grandfather — a “very old fashioned man” — played Ms. Parton’s vinyl records while he worked in his wood shop.
When Ms. Coulter came out to him as gay, a mutual love for Ms. Parton helped keep their relationship intact. Eventually he told her, “I don’t care who you love, as long as they respect you and they love you,” she said.
When he died three years ago, he left the records to her.
A 32-year-old transgender woman and drag queen in Atlanta who performs as Edna Allan Hoe (and is Edna Workman offstage) grew up in a conservative family and attended Christian schools. “I speak to my family, but not often,” she said. “But they did text me when Dolly Parton died.”
Ms. Parton’s death has been a reminder of her moral clarity, Professor Hubbs said, which allowed her “cut through the noise to see the core humanity of others.”
Her absence, she added, left a void that would be difficult to fill. “That is our task,” Professor Hubbs said. “I don’t know if anyone feels ready or up for that yet. We’re still processing our loss.”
Ms. Parton was helping with that, too. For some, it was listening on repeat to the songs that meant the most to them: “Coat of Many Colors,” one of Ms. Parton’s favorites, about her mother stitching together a garment for her out of rags. Or “Wildflowers,” where she sang “wildflowers don’t care where they grow.”
At Mary’s, a gay bar in Atlanta, the grieving began with a curated list of Ms. Parton’s songs and music videos on Tuesday night. On Wednesday, it was karaoke. And on Thursday, drag performers channeled the spirit of Dolly as best they could.
Edna performed “You Are,” a ballad that swells like the affection that Ms. Parton professes in the song as it moves along. Its lyrics encapsulated what she felt about Ms. Parton in that moment.
You are my thoughts when I’m awake And my dreams when I’m asleep You are the reason for my smile You are the words I speak
On the day Ms. Parton died, a federal judge in Texas ruled against the law that Brigitte had spoken out against in 2023.
The judge found the law, which criminalized “sexually oriented performances” in the presence of minors, was unconstitutional and overly broad, extending to a range of performances that lawmakers may not have wanted to target with legislation.
He pointed to Ms. Parton as an example — “a voluptuous sex symbol,” he wrote, “because of her big hair, flamboyant clothes and breast exposure.”
On a day that had otherwise been consumed with loss, Brigitte said, she suddenly felt some relief, and even joy.
Emily Cochrane contributed reporting from Nashville.
The post Dolly Inspired Their Wigs and Makeup, and Had Their Back, Too. appeared first on New York Times.
