Philadelphia Weekly

For more than four years Christie Whisman and Rebekah Kilzer have been dressing as men. Not every day, but as occasional performers in the same kind of campy, sexy acts that drag queens are known for. Which would make them--you got it--drag kings.

The couple moved to Philadelphia from Columbus, Ohio, in August. They settled into jobs--Kilzer, 25, at the Curtis Center and Whisman, 26, as a props assistant for the Opera Company--and a home in Old City. For a while they missed Columbus, home to the drag troupe His Kings and the International Drag King Extravaganza each November. Fortunately for them, the City of Brotherly Love had something to offer as well.

A month before moving, the two learned about the Seventh Annual Mr. Drag King Philadelphia contest, organized as a fundraiser for Philadelphia Dyke March and co-sponsored this year by the William Way Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender Community Center. It's the city's only drag event for women.

"Not for long!" Kilzer says brightly over coffee in her adopted hometown. Whisman hopes to form a troupe here that would perform regularly. On Saturday she'll entertain the crowd as Johnny KingPin, a down-home guy inspired by the working-class men she knew growing up in Indiana. Kilzer, a willowy redhead, will emcee the contest as Heath/er Grey, a character who alternates between male and female.

"When I'm in female drag I'm pretty high femme, if not in dress then in action." Wait--a woman in female drag? "The female drag thing is not just me, Rebekah, going to work every day," she explains. "It's super feminine--super woman!"

"All over other than Philadelphia it's going crazy," Whisman says of the growing king scene. Then how come--despite the fact that male illusionists like Ru Paul are as visible (and about as shocking) as the Pope--most of straight America has never even heard of drag kings?

"It's a power issue. Everywhere in mainstream culture, white men have the upper level. For a white woman to dress like a white man and take on all that power is threatening," says Kilzer. Sounds pretty political, but it's more nuanced than that.

"I think desire has a lot more to play into it," Whisman adds. "I know a majority of the people who are going to be in the show are gonna be totally aroused by it."

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By 8 o'clock on Saturday night, more than 250 women--some in suits and ties, some in wifebeaters, some as their regular daytime selves-- and a handful of men have shown up at William Way to get their political (and other) sensibilities aroused.

The ballroom has been transformed into a club with the help of a little disco ball, a bar and a DJ booth manned by contest organizer Gloria Casarez. Kilzer appears on the stage, dressed as Mistress of Ceremonies Heather and putting on a hyper-feminine routine. "I thought the show started at nine. I am so not ready!" she breathes, fluttering around the stage. Her Breathless Mahoney/Jessica Rabbit character has a va-va-va-voom figure that's poured into a black evening gown, accessorized by sculpted cheekbones and larger-than-life hair.

So that's what a woman in female drag looks like.

The judges are eager to have a look at the four women who will compete for this year's King title. South Philly "guy" Joey Vaginacci starts out as a paunchy paisan in a T-shirt bellowing for his wife Ann-Marie, who soon reveals a penchant for wearing leather skirts. Mr. Liquor (go ahead, sound it out) is an ice cream man with red Popsicles for all the ladies. He does a self-described "dirty Tom Waits impersonation" to the already pretty dirty "Ice Cream Man." A smoldering "poet and world traveler," DerWood is a poor dyke's Jim Morrison who gyrates and pontificates in leather pants. The final competitor, Jake the Big Eight, is a swaggering cowboy with a mustache and a loaded holster who struts to David Allan Coe's "Divers Do It Deeper."

Consider the audience aroused.

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At halftime the contestants are crowded into the dressing room backstage, not exactly preening but posturing and, still in full character, bolstering themselves with swigs from a big bottle of some manly drink. Whisman's Johnny KingPin is slouched on a windowsill taking drags off a cigarette.

The crowd-pleasing Mr. Liquor is a little more bashful as the petite and ruddy-cheeked Kasandra Wirick. Tattoos peek out from underneath her white men's undershirt. Today is her 23rd birthday. Tonia Kreuger's DerWood leers nearby, oozing the absurd sensuality of a college kid with a lounge and full bar in his dorm room--with an affected British accent to boot. "I was born in Minnesota and when I was 23 I went to London. For three weeks," she explains to an explosion of giggles around the room. Jake the Big Eight (a 22-year-old girl who goes by Jakey Riotllama on any other night) is feeling pretty good about his standing in the contest.

"I am the most talented guy here--which I will be happy to show you if you want to come home with me after the show," he offers this blushing journalist, unholstering a large white vibrator shaped like a gun and flipping the switch.

"It's amazing how much stuff you can do and how many different things you can be," says Alex Gino as she gives Joey Vaginacci a rest backstage. "You can be a man or you can be a woman--and then you can do six million other fantastic things!"