I spent 16 hours at the world’s longest drag show; here’s what I learned

Beginning Monday, July 10, in Portland’s Old Town there was a feat of athleticism, beauty, comedy and entertainment unlike anything in the world. It all happened in a nightclub that could seat little more than 70 people. But maybe, most importantly, it was a protest dripping in sequins, glitter and unabashed talent.

Darcelle XV Showplace is a modestly sized club for its historic significance. With floor-to-ceiling photos of its namesake, it’s hard not to remember the late Darcelle XV. Walter W. Cole Sr. died in March of this year at age 92. As Darcelle XV, she was a Guinness Book of World Record holder as the oldest working drag queen. But locally, she promoted the art of drag in her club for years, nurturing the scene here in Portland and becoming an ambassador for the city.

To celebrate her and support LGBTQ+ youth, the nightclub joined forces with the Portland boutique WILDFANG for Drag-A-Thon, an attempt to set a world record for the longest drag show, beating a group of Australian drag queens who performed for 36 hours and 36 minutes. Drag-A-Thon was attempting a full 48 hours, raising more than $260,000 for the Trevor Project, a lifeline for queer youth.

As of Wednesday, July 12, the record was set by DarcelleXV Showplace.

The show was put together with more than 200 people behind the scenes, but without Poison Waters, drag icon and long-time friend of Darcelle, it may have never happened.

“There are these emotional moments backstage,” said Poison Waters. “Where we’re like ‘it’s happening … this is real.’”

Poison Waters said the Trevor Project puts boots on the ground to support queer youth and that it was important to highlight them.

However, she humbly places a lot of the credit on Emma Mcilroy, WILDFANG’S CEO. Mcilroy’s wife, Amy Taylor is the CEO of the naturally sweetened drink company Zevia, and also on the local board for the Trevor Project. It was a natural fit.

To Mcilroy, being queer has turned her resiliency into a superpower.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “There is no art without queer art,” she said of the show and the importance of pushing queer culture into the mainstream as some of the country begins to enact anti-queer and anti-trans laws.

“Why would you not want the world to see that?” she asked, gesturing to the club, still pulsing with pop music and cheers from a constantly hyped crowd.

Eden Dawn, former style editor for “Portland Monthly” turned author, helped breathe life into the show as both a producer and emcee. Though she said she was the “token straight,” her experience with queer culture had been welcoming and kind.

“Darcelle VX has always been kind to me as a journalist,” she said. “She personally made me feel loved and cared for here.”

As with every Guinness World Record attempt, there were strict rules to be followed. Every four minutes a new drag performance had to start. The breaks were punctuated with emcees like Mcilroy and Dawn, but also some celebrities like Punkie Johnson and Fred Armisen from “Saturday Night Live.”

In total there were more than 60 drag queens and kings performing, with an additional 60-plus emcees.

Every few hours new audience members were brought in. They were charged with sitting at a table to “witness” the show, marking down time stamps of when emcees entered and exited and how long performances lasted to make sure the show met the Guinness attempt standards.

At all times there had to be at least 25 people in the audience, but more than 2,600 people were slated to attend the show.

The unofficial rules were to cheer loud, tip you servers and don’t throw dollar bills on a stage where performers in precariously high heels would be strutting, kicking and performing death-drops.

For many of the performers and audience members this was not just a fun show, but a moment in history they could be a part of. Though Portland and major cities on the west coast are safe havens for queer people, the story is not the same elsewhere. More than 400 anti-LGBTQ+ bills have been introduced across the country since the beginning of this year.

When faced with this reality, Taylor said, “Let’s start with saving lives.”

According to Trevor Project, if just one person affirms a young queer person, the chance of that kid committing suicide lessens by 40%.

“Showing displays of joy is a volley back to the other side who are putting a ridiculous and insincere ban on the artform,” she said. “I’ve learned that in an underrepresented community, one that is gravely misunderstood, there is so much unlocked potential.”

For performers like Kourtni Capree, participating in the show is a political statement, but so much more.

Capree is a trans woman who performs drag, but unlike many of her peers she sings live. Her voice, even without a mic, stretched into the corners of Darcelle VX’s and captivated the audience. If it weren’t for drag, she may not have survived to share her gift. 25 years ago, she attempted to take her own life.

“I became a queen because of drag,” she said. “There were no young people around that had trans ideas like me. A drag queen told me not to throw myself away. To be the me that I wrote about in my diary when I was 12 years old.”

Through tears she said if she had taken her own life, she never would have become a parent. For that reason, raising money for the Trevor Project was important to her in a two-fold way; for her own child and children like them, but also the child she was.

“Don’t give up, we need you to survive.”

Performer BinkYee Bellflower moved to America just five years ago from Malaysia, a Muslim and more conservative country, that by her account, did not afford her the freedom to be herself.

“I was not allowing myself to be my authentic self,” she said. When she moved to Portland, she said she was shocked at the ardent displays and celebration of queerness. “My heart opened to this world, it was so encouraging.”

Donatella Nobody is a teacher by day at a Portland arts school. Being queer taught her to be unabashedly herself, she said.

“Accept who you are, the sky’s the limit. It’s shocking that I could be plucked out of here and put into another state and my existence could get me arrested,” she said.

“There are people who don’t want me around kids, but I am a good teacher, my kids love me.” She said she is open with her students in an age-appropriate way about being a drag queen and her school is supportive in allowing her to host events sometimes.

“There are strength in numbers,” she said.

Johnny Nuriel and Isaiah Esquire perform together in male burlesque in Portland. The duo is an undeniable powerhouse of talent that often sell out shows, dubbed Izohnny.

“To me, being queer has provided me with the strength to change people’s hearts and minds and given me a platform to stand and fight,” said Nuriel. “It’s important to take up space because every other aspect of our country is trying to erase and vilify queer and trans people.”

Esquire said they are used to not blending into a space, literally and proverbially – they’re Black, stand over 6-feet-tall, they’re muscular, and perform with a bald head.

“If you never feel like you fit in, it primes you to want to have a better sense of self,” Esquire said.

“Treating this art like it’s a secret or is dangerous is rooted in white supremacist, Christian delusions,” they said. “Seeing people perform this long and seeing this many different things shows the vastness [of the art]. Put some respect on our names.”

Destiny Johnson | @hello_destiny | Djohnson@oregonian.com