Talking About It: Mx. Toxic Retrospective

The following blog talks about sexual abuse and other themes that may not be suitable for audiences that are sensitive, young, or my mother. Reader discretion is advised blah blah disclaimer over k thx bye.

This weekend I competed in the Mx. Toxic pageant at the Chez Est. In case you haven’t heard of it before, Mx. Toxic is an alternative drag show. Alternative drag is a subculture of the scene with more macabre sensibilities. If mainstream drag is pop music, you can think of the alt scene as grunge. It can be grimy, experimental, and involve a lot of fake blood. This was Kalysta’s last year hosting the pageant before their move out of state, and I’m grateful to have been a part of it.

This blog post is gonna be mostly from my POV (on flaminia.me… shocker I know), but if you’re looking for a broad overview of the pageant Kevy has an article up.

The pageant was split into two sections. The runway, where everyone had to come up with a look that reflected a “toxic trait”, and the performance which was open to any interpretation (as long as that interpretation was between 4 and half to 5 and a half minutes).

When I was in the comedy pageant, I intentionally chose to make the three sections different from each other. The unexpectedness made it funnier. For Mx. Toxic I wanted to tell a cohesive story with my runway and number. I didn’t sign up for this pageant, or the last half dozen with the goal of winning. I stopped being concerned with actually winning competitions years ago. I take them seriously, but I value fulfillment over success. In the past I played these games the way the winners did. I got pretty close too, but I wasn’t actually enjoying myself. Making art that’s meaningful to me, and realistically budgeting my time and money is more important.

I didn’t know exactly what I’d be doing when I signed up months ago, but I knew I wanted to explore serious themes. I had a few different ideas for the concept. I won’t tell you the ones I didn’t end up doing, since they might show up in some form or another in the future. Deciding on which toxic trait to showcase (let’s be real, we’ve all got a few) was what informed the rest of my creative decisions. The subject I picked was self-objectification. This manifested as a broken doll. Weirdly enough, broken doll makeup has been trending recently, but I promise I had this plan before the algorithm started showing me more broken dolls. I recorded a poem that was presented with the runway.

I’ve made my body into a toy

Easy to grab onto,

Easy to let go

There are men that want to break into my skin

He tears out pieces of me

to keep hidden away in his drawer

cracks

begin to spread across my body

empty spaces that once belonged to me,

but now only spew bile

I paint over the holes left behind with pretty polish

white lace to cover bruises

perfume to cover the fetid rot

all that I have left that’s my own

is the hope

that I’m still beautiful enough

to be worth breaking

It was difficult to decide what was enough to say, without saying too much. I don’t like talking about it, but it’s important.

One of the first things I remember in my life was being touched by an older boy. What actually happened wasn’t the worst part. I never said no, but I was too young to understand what I was saying yes to. What made it traumatic was keeping it a secret for the next decade. The confusion and shame stuck with me. I realized that I could never know a version of myself that wasn’t that person. It’s impossible to know who I should have been instead. From an early age, I felt like my body was what I was valued for. I looked for people that wanted to use me.

For my performance I talked about that, and then sang Doll Parts by Courtney Love (Maybe I’ll record a cover soon for the site). I connected my own experiences to her lyrics. The way she defines herself as just a series of body parts, holding onto pain, wanting revenge. “Someday you will ache like I ache” was a sentiment I felt for a long time. I don’t want that anymore. The person who originally hurt me was also young. Old enough that he should have known better, but too young to still hold responsible for it. He apologized, and I forgive him. I forgive all the others that came after too. Hurting them isn’t going to undo what happened. I don’t want anyone to ache. I just want to be able to talk about what happened. To understand it. To process it. To live the rest of my life and not be defined by it.

This night was one I was dreading to some extent. When I arrived, I was uncharacteristically quiet. I hate channeling those feelings. I knew what I was doing was important though, and I don’t regret any of it. When I did start to talk about it, I met a lot of other people with similar stories. It helped me feel less alone and get a more objective perspective. Nobody I’ve talked to was broken, just hurt. It sticks with you in ways that are impossible to fully understand, but it’s possible to move forward.

I appreciate everyone who made this night possible. Thank you for listening <3