Drag

While I was looking for the Taliban head wear I stumbled on something so very not Taliban. Drag wear. Really beautiful drag wear. The kind which glued my eyes to the monitor and made me sigh a big big sigh. Why is drag wear so painfully beautiful, so ladylikely chic, so out of the world sexy? And why is it men who can get away with it? I'd love to wear that chic fur, plaster my face in colours, grow my nails an inch longer, wear 6 inch high heels... and get away with it. But I couldn't because I'm female. Such a paradox. A girl like me could never pull off drag wear for the simple reason that a girl like me is a girl. Not very fair. I want all that. I want over the top jewellery, I want massive big hair, a sequined dress with a very indecent long spilt at the front, the same sequined dress to show off big cleavage. But if I had to do all that, I would probably either get arrested or find myself very quickly in the chic Attard area. What's worse is that if I then were a man, dressed in all this finery, with an added feather here and there, and walking the streets of Paceville, or making a big entrance at Klozit, then I would be applauded heartily. So even more unfair. I want all that, but no I don't want to be a man. Not even if someone offered me a million Euro, which will never happen. I'm just happily a girl, but I want the drag, because big is fine in drag, and I just want to be fine. And by the way, for the lurking readers, no, I'm far from being gay. I love men, after all even the ones in drag are all men.