~ How Media Downplayed the Harm of Drag and Sold It to American Culture ~
From Laughs to Lifestyle
The introduction of drag into mainstream American culture didn’t happen overnight—it was a slow drip, a calculated softening of the edges through humor and heartstrings, until what once seemed fringe became a fixture in living rooms. Prior to Hollywood’s whitewashing, drag had been a niche queer entertainment form frequently seen in gay bars where men performed minstrel shows dressed and made up as caricatures of women. However, homosexual and “trans” leaders in the entertainment industry wanted to mainstream it. Shows like Bosom Buddies (1980-1982), Tootsie (1982), and Mrs. Doubtfire (1993) played a pivotal role in whitewashing drag, cloaking drag in comedy and familial warmth to make it digestible.
Decades later, RuPaul’s Drag Race (2009-present) rode that wave into a cultural juggernaut, cementing drag as entertainment with a sheen of benign rebellion. But beneath the laughter and sequins, a case can be made that media downplayed drag’s potential harm—its caricaturing of identity, its sexual undertones, and its reshaping of cultural norms—packaging it instead as harmless fun. Here’s how they did it, step by step.
The Soft Launch: Drag as Comedy and Camaraderie
In the early 1980s, Bosom Buddies put Tom Hanks and Peter Scolari in dresses, playing two guys posing as women to snag cheap rent in a female-only building. It was slapstick, not sexual—two bros in wigs, bumbling through a sitcom premise. Critics now note it wasn’t about drag as an art form but a plot device for laughs, a far cry from today’s queens. Yet it planted a seed: men in drag could be endearing, not threatening.
Tootsie took it further—Dustin Hoffman’s struggling actor becomes “Dorothy Michaels,” a soap opera star, winning hearts with his grit and charm. The film snagged ten Oscar nods, framing drag as a quirky path to success, not subversion. Then came Mrs. Doubtfire—Robin Williams as a dad in a frumpy nanny getup, desperate to see his kids. It grossed over $441 million worldwide and won a Golden Globe, selling drag as a tear-jerking act of love.
These weren’t queer narratives or cultural critiques—they were mainstream, heterosexual tales where drag was a costume, not a statement. Media sold it as lighthearted, a gimmick to warm the audience, not challenge them. The Washington Post’s 1993 review of Mrs. Doubtfire called out its refusal to “explore the provocative opportunities drag has to offer,” keeping it safe for families. That safety was key: drag wasn’t a lifestyle or ideology—it was a punchline or a plot twist, palatable for Middle America.
The Pivot: RuPaul and the Mainstream Machine
Enter RuPaul Charles. RuPaul’s Drag Race debuted in 2009 on Logo, a niche LGBT channel, but by 2017 it was on VH1, and today it’s on MTV—Viacom’s push to broaden its reach. The show didn’t just showcase drag; it turned it into a competition, a reality-TV spectacle with glitter and grit. RuPaul, already a ‘90s pop figure with “Supermodel (You Better Work),” became the face of drag, crowned “America’s next drag superstar” season after season. The numbers speak: 16 seasons, six All-Stars spinoffs, international versions, and a net worth for RuPaul topping $60 million. DragCons draw thousands, Emmys pile up—13 wins by 2023.
Media framed this as a triumph of inclusion. The New York Times in 2018 asked, “Is ‘RuPaul’s Drag Race’ the Most Radical Show on TV?”—praising its gender-bending spirit. The Guardian in 2014 quoted RuPaul saying it “has exactly the effect we thought it might have,” implying a deliberate cultural shift. But the harm—drag’s potential to mock or sexualize—was buried. The show’s queens, with their padded curves and suggestive struts, were sold as fierce, not degrading.
When kids joined the mix—drag queen story hours or “drag kids” on Good Morning America—outlets like The Washington Post (2022) called it “gaining widespread appeal,” glossing over protests about age-inappropriate content. Critics on X and conservative blogs flagged the sexual undertones—queens twerking for tips from minors—but mainstream coverage waved it off as joy, not predation.
Downplaying the Dark Side
The media’s sleight of hand was consistent: focus on the sparkle, not the shadow. Bosom Buddies and Tootsie didn’t hint at drag’s queer roots or its potential to caricature women; they kept it chaste and funny. Mrs. Doubtfire dodged any whiff of subversion—Williams wasn’t a queen, just a dad in a dress. RuPaul’s empire took it further, wrapping drag in empowerment rhetoric.
The Economist in 2023 noted 36 bills in 15 states targeting drag, sparked by its spread to public spaces, yet outlets like The Guardian (2024) countered that “Mrs. Doubtfire was drag” with “no negative impact,” equating a PG movie with a lip-syncing queen in a thong.
Feminist voices, like those on Feminist Current (2014), asked why drag escaped critique for mimicking women—big hair, big boobs, big attitude—while blackface got torched. The answer? Media sold drag as art, not insult. RuPaul told The Guardian in 2015, “Drag is dangerous. We are making fun of everything,” but that edge was softened for TV—less danger, more dazzle. The sexualization ramped up—queens in skimpy gear, kids at shows—but outlets like Nerdist (2021) hailed Drag Race as a “positive” queer force, ignoring the unease it stirred among some women and parents.
Into the Home: A Cultural Trojan Horse?
If you loved Bosom Buddies, Tootsie, and Mrs. Doubtfire back then, you are in good company; most did. They felt benign because they were. But they greased the wheels for drag’s deeper push. By the time RuPaul hit screens, the groundwork was laid—drag wasn’t alien; it was familiar, even nostalgic. Media didn’t just downplay harm; it sold drag as a cultural good, a quirky thread in America’s tapestry. From Hanks in a skirt to RuPaul in a gown, it slipped into homes, first as a laugh, then as a lifestyle.
Now it is even in leftist churches. Flamy Grant, a drag performer with a background in worship leadership, has been performing in churches, purportedly to “foster inclusivity and broaden perspectives within religious communities;” in other words—to corrupt, deceive and entrap believers—applauded by the media.
The harm—stereotyping women, sexualizing spaces, blurring lines for kids—wasn’t debunked; it was dismissed. Newsbusters (2023) argued Hollywood missed the point: Hanks didn’t gyrate for kids, but modern queens do, and media shrugs. The shift in seeing these films as a “malevolent concept” tracks with that gap—what started as sitcom fluff became a cultural lever. Drag had successfully made the transition from fringe laughs, to harmless comedy to an accepted lifestyle in spite of its harmful sexual stereotyping of women and children, and the press cheered it on.
Sources
- The Washington Post, “WHAT A DRAG: HOW ‘MRS. DOUBTFIRE’ SKIRTS THE ISSUE” (1993)
- The New York Times, “Is ‘RuPaul’s Drag Race’ the Most Radical Show on TV?” (2018)
- The Guardian, “RuPaul: ‘Drag is dangerous. We are making fun of everything’” (2015)
- The Economist, “Why proposed laws targeting drag shows are proliferating in America” (2023)
- Nerdist, “The Continuing Impact and Legacy of RUPAUL’S DRAG RACE” (2021)
- Newsbusters, “Hollywood Reporter (Purposely) Misses Point on Drag Queen Outrage” (2023)
- Feminist Current, “Why has drag escaped critique from feminists and the LGBTQ
