Life is Drag: Documenting Spectacle as Resistance
An Interview with Rachel Rampleman

Since 2019, Rachel Rampleman has dedicated herself to Life is Drag (https://lifeisdrag.com/), an expansive archival project capturing the artistry and impact of drag performers across the U.S. The largest drag archive in the country, Life is Drag is both a celebration and a form of resistance, documenting performances and personal narratives of innovative figures in alt-drag and neo-burlesque, largely centered in New York City. Through photography, video portraits, and live performance documentation, Rampleman highlights performers’ individuality while tracing broader cultural shifts in gender performance and queer artistry.

At a time when drag and LGBTQ+ expression face increasing political scrutiny, Rampleman sees Life is Drag as an essential historical record. “Drag is art,” she argues. Rampleman sees it as a synthesis of multiple art forms. Beyond aesthetics, drag represents community, transformation, and radical self-expression. By showcasing a diverse array of performers across backgrounds, cultures, and ages, she ensures greater visibility for drag artists, especially in regions where queer and nonbinary identities are under threat. Rampleman has built her career documenting the subversive intersections of gender, artifice, and performance, particularly through drag. 

The project began in her Brooklyn studio with visual and drag artist Untitled Queen, later expanding to New England and the Midwest. Residencies in New York City at The Cell Theatre, SoMad, Bushwig, and Satellite Art Club, as well as projects in Portsmouth, Pittsburgh and Cincinnati, have led to over 370 portraits featuring more than 200 performers. From gritty dives to grand theaters, her work captures the ephemeral beauty of live drag while preserving its legacy. 

Beyond Life is Drag, Rampleman’s career is defined by showcasing groundbreaking figures. From Girls Girls Girls, the world’s first all-female Mötley Crüe tribute band, to American bodybuilder and powerlifter Tazzie Colomb, her work consistently interrogates gender and spectacle. In this interview, we discuss the origins of Life is Drag, its evolution, and the stakes of drag performance today. In April 2025, Rampleman received a request to add her drag archive to the Library of Congress’s LGBTQ+ collection, a major development for the project.      

This interview was conducted July 11, 2024. It has been edited for clarity and brevity.

Benjamin Gillespie: Life is Drag is such an ambitious and unique project. How did it come about?

Rachel Rampleman: Funnily enough, I didn’t have much exposure to drag before this project. I’m from Cincinnati, and I wasn’t attending drag shows or brunches when I lived in Ohio. My interests were more in experimental art, music, and theatre, and I often traveled to New York to see digital art at Postmasters Gallery, and performances by artists like John Zorn or the Wooster Group.

Before Life is Drag, I had been working with an all-female Mötley Crüe tribute band, documenting their performances. I was fascinated by the juxtaposition—women singing misogynistic songs originally performed by heavily made-up men with big hair. I also worked with female bodybuilders, exploring themes of gender performance in different ways. Then, a friend introduced me to a producer of Bushwig, who invited me to create a video lookbook for a fashion line. That’s when I first engaged with Brooklyn’s art drag scene.

My happy places are museums and cultural centers. I love being challenged to think or feel in new ways. But nothing had ever moved me like Bushwig did. When I attended for the first time, I had tears streaming down my face. The energy, creativity, the sheer vitality in the room—it was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was beyond inspiring and overwhelming in the most wonderful possible way.

BG: When was your first Bushwig?

RR: In 2017. That’s when I realized that no one was properly documenting these incredible performances. It felt like a travesty that they were just disappearing, lost to time and the ephemerality of live performance. Some artists had friends taking pictures or filming clips on their phones, but there wasn’t a real archive. That realization coincided with an invitation to do a survey exhibition in Cincinnati, my hometown. I had a budget, a large venue—the Weston Art Gallery across from the Contemporary Arts Center—and plenty of space. I saw it as my opportunity to bring all my interests together through drag. That was in 2019.

I had been introduced to Untitled Queen, who is basically the art drag matriarch of Brooklyn. She’s incredibly smart, politically attuned, and creative and talented in every capacity one can be. She went to art school and works full-time at BRIC, an arts and media institution in Downtown Brooklyn. We connected, had a long night in my Bushwick studio, and talked about art for hours. After our conversation, she created a piece called Untitled (Clarinet) which addresses the difficulty of being an artist in New York City and the compromises it requires, featuring Joni Mitchell’s song “For Free,” and I filmed it.

At the time, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I’m pretty DIY. I never formally studied filmmaking or video production, so I didn’t even have proper lighting. I relied on daylight streaming through my factory windows. The natural lighting wasn’t great which was unfortunate, but her performance was phenomenal. And I tried to create a visually interesting background, using a silver mylar curtain which was a prototype  for what later became a large installation in the Cincinnati show.

BG: You also wanted to work with drag kings, right?

RR: Yes. I had been following Aeon Andreas (they/them) who performs as God Complex (he/him) since their earliest performances at BEEF—the monthly all drag king show that was at Bizarre in Bushwick, and their artistic evolution has been one of the most drastic and mind-blowing I’ve ever seen. I got to work with Aeon channeling Ziggy Stardust for my Ohio show “Oh, You Pretty Things” when they performed three different dance interpretations to Bowie’s music in my studio.

I was very pleased with how all these videos turned out, and I got to present them on 65-inch, 4K screens as part of a larger exhibition featuring over 100 screens of various sizes with the drag portraits on the largest monitors. And over the course of preparing for that show, I was introduced to the Cincinnati art drag scene. There’s a group called Odd Presents, led by Stixen Stones, who’s something like Cincinnati’s own art drag matriarch.

BG: This sounds like installation art. And you do have a background in the visual arts, right?

RR: Yes. I studied photography and electronic media at the University of Cincinnati’s Design, Art, Architecture & Planning program and later earned an MFA from New York University in 2006. 

BG: What drew you from visual arts into performance documentation?

RR: I’ve always been fascinated by performance art, but I’ve never felt inclined to perform myself. And when I studied with RoseLee Goldberg at NYU—the scholar who literally wrote the book on performance art and founded the Performa Biennial—I was struck by how ephemeral performance is. Many historic performances exist only as a handful of photographs, with no real way to capture the full experience.

With drag, I saw an extraordinary level of artistry—the painting, sculpting, sound, and movement—all coming together as a form of total art, a Gesamtkunstwerk. And many performances I saw were highly political, timely, and felt important. I knew they deserved better documentation. I’m meticulous and a bit of a control freak, so I didn’t want to simply record live shows with unpredictable lighting and composition. Unlike photographers who document drag performances at clubs, I wanted to invite performers into a controlled studio setting where I could carefully frame and light each piece.

BG: How do you typically approach working with performers?

RR: Ideally, I meet with them beforehand to discuss their drag, but that’s not always possible, especially during residencies outside of New York. When I did a residency at 3S Artspace in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, for example, I worked with artists from Boston and the surrounding areas, but time was limited so there wasn’t a chance to have pre-production meetings and so on. In the best cases, like my first collaboration with Untitled Queen, we have at least some conversation before filming.

BG: How many drag artists have you worked with so far?

RR: More than two-hundred. If time allows and they’re interested, I try to film more than one number per session. I also try to schedule friends or frequent collaborators together. That way, they’re more comfortable and there’s a fun vibe.

BG: How did you come up with the title Life is Drag?

RR: It comes from RuPaul’s famous quote “We’re all born naked and the rest is drag.” I absolutely believe that. Getting dressed—whether it’s a three-piece suit, jeans and a t-shirt, or a sequined gown and a feathered boa—it’s all a form of drag. “Drag” as most people understand it is just more intentional, and usually a bit more exaggerated or extreme.

BG: RuPaul’s Drag Race has brought drag into the mainstream. Have you noticed changes in the drag scene in New York and beyond?

RR: I’d say it’s exploded—both in the number of performers and in the range of styles. There’s even a series in Brooklyn produced by Untitled Queen called “Brooklyn’s Next Art Drag Star” at the bar C’mon Everybody, where each round has a different artistic theme—photography, video, sound—and performers compete to make it to the final round. The fact that there are enough emerging drag artists to sustain that kind of competition is amazing.

Similarly, in Cincinnati, I’ve seen massive growth. A few years ago, a performer named Clarity Amrein started “Smoke and Queers”, a showcase for queer-identifying artists to experiment with drag, burlesque, and other hybrid performances. It started small, but now there are dozens of artists participating, with performers coming in from all over the Tri-State area.

BG: You make an important connection between drag and performance art. While pageant drag has a specific history, art drag seems to align more with performance art—playing with identity, engaging with space and audience, manipulating the body as a canvas.

RR: Absolutely. And art drag tends overall to be much more experimental and existential—more like Happenings of the 1960s and 70s, or the Theatre of the Absurd. Part of my process includes interviewing performers about their drag practice—why they do it, what it means to them, how they see their drag persona versus their everyday self. If time allows, I like to film these interviews alongside performances. Drag is a deeply personal, yet highly performative art form, and hearing each artist’s perspective adds another layer to the project.

I’ve mentioned performers like Stixen Stones, who had evangelical parents that forced them into conversion therapy. Or Thee Paris L’Hommie, a trans queen from a religious background whose family disowned her. Many people simply won’t accept it. But I think a lot of people’s understanding and appreciation of drag has changed—and is continuing to change—for the better. Or at least it was, until recently…

BG: How did the pandemic impact the project? 

RR: Ironically, the pandemic was my most productive period because performers couldn’t work. People who made their living performing suddenly had no stage, no income. I got to collaborate with so many incredible artists and the project really gained momentum in 2020 and 2021. At that time, interviewees were saying, “I can’t pay my rent. I’m terrified.” Now that fear has shifted. We’ve emerged from the pandemic, but people are afraid of extreme right-wing legislation, especially in places like Tennessee and Kentucky. I was listening to The Brian Lehrer Show on WNYC this morning, and they were discussing Project 2025. It’s just insane.

BG: It’s such a difficult time politically. But drag, as an art form, is inherently political—even when the performers themselves aren’t overtly political.

RR: Exactly. Drag is always political—and too often politicized. Drag plays with gender presentation, which defies mainstream, binary ideas about gender. By exaggerating or subverting gender roles, drag highlights that gender is a performance, not a fixed truth.

BG: Just by existing, it challenges norms around gender and sexuality. That’s part of its excitement— and its danger.

RR: Yes, and that’s why it has always been seen by some as threatening.

BG: In the past, there have been critiques of traditional drag, of female impersonation by male artists. Some argue it mocks women rather than celebrates them. Feminist critiques have challenged drag’s historical role for example because of its association with men, but I think that’s evolving. From a theater history perspective, gender-bending performances have always been part of the stage, and today there’s growing respect for drag as an art form. And we’re seeing more representation of nonbinary and trans performers. I know the Switch n’ Play group well. I’ve seen a number of their shows and the documentary. I know you’ve worked with them before. How do you connect with new performers for your project?

RR: The performers I work with are mostly in their mid-20s to early-30s, and I usually find them through Instagram. It helps to connect with a community’s drag mother or father—once they’re involved, their “children” often follow. That’s worked well with Untitled Queen and the Brooklyn drag scene. At this point, I’ve documented many of New York’s top performers, including Miss Malice and K. James of Switch n’ Play. When I invite someone and send them a link to the archive, they recognize names like Miss Malice or Untitled and want to be involved.

Recruiting outside New York can be trickier. My first residency was in early 2020 at 3S Artspace in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Luckily, the project manager Bunny Wonderland had performed as a drag artist for 12 years and helped me connect with performers within a 200-mile radius. And in Ohio, where I’m from, it felt more organic.

New York’s drag scene is vast—not just by borough but by neighborhood. Brooklyn’s drag epicenter is Bushwick and Ridgewood, with key venues like C’mon Everybody, Purgatory, 3 Dollar Bill, and All Night Skate. I see shows at those spaces pretty regularly. Littlefield is also big, especially for Switch n’ Play. Manhattan has venues, but I rarely find myself there, except for Hell’s Kitchen with its cluster of bars showcasing more traditional drag. There’s a difference between traditional drag at bars and more experimental drag in performance and art spaces—audiences expect different things. 

BG: Where is all this material going? 

RR: I have a Vimeo Pro account where I upload videos and embed them on Icompendium, a minimalist, artist-run site. I also use Flickr for stills and behind-the-scenes shots. With hundreds of professionally shot videos, storage is a challenge. The goal is to create a living archive—a public history of what’s happening now. Someone like Stixen Stones in rural Ohio might find inspiration, while someone like my mom, who would never attend a live drag show (aside from one I’ve produced), might see a performance and realize, “Oh, that’s drag? That’s actually fun!” It’s also an educational tool, not just for universities but for anyone curious about drag beyond RuPaul’s Drag Race.

BG: Speaking of Drag Race, its format—lip sync challenges, for example—reflects a specific type of drag. Would you say lip syncing is central to most of the performers you document? 

RR: Yes, in large part. It’s actually been an issue for me recently. Last week, Vimeo flagged 76 of my videos for copyright infringement because of the music. A bot issued the takedown notices, giving me 48 hours to prove I had the rights to the songs. If you checked my website after that, 20% of the videos wouldn’t play. It’s something I have to figure out as the project continues to grow. 

BG: What do you hope to include in each artist portrait?

RR: The goal is to capture the essence of the person at a particular moment in their life, creating a time capsule. Artists, especially those in drag, are constantly evolving, and it’s fascinating to see how their art changes over time. Even if you interview someone a year apart, their approach could be completely different. Some drag performers, like those I worked with years ago, have stopped, but for every performer who leaves, two or three new ones emerge.

Younger generations are much more open to questioning gender and exploring its fluidity. Drag helps many performers, especially AFAB [assigned female at birth] individuals discover their trans identity. It’s an ongoing process of self-exploration within the community.

For me, this project is about inspiring people to explore their identities, regardless of whether they identify as queer or not. Watching drag can encourage self-refection, and can also push its audience to try out being authentic and unique in a world that often forces and rewards conformity. Many performers say that drag gave them the courage to understand and express their true selves - and in some cases, saved their lives.

BG: The project also challenges traditional notions of drag. Many people still associate drag with female impersonation, but drag is a broad spectrum that can and should include everyone. It seems there’s a lot more blending of genres and definitions today. How do you see this reflected in the mission of Life is Drag? 

RR: Drag as a term is being redefined to be more inclusive. It’s no longer about simply crossing binary gender boundaries but about fluidity, transformation, and permission to experiment. People shouldn’t be boxed in by traditional conceptions of what drag should or shouldn’t be. To quote Brooklyn performer Klondyke, “Maybe today you are wearing a redder shade of lipstick. If you call it drag, who am I to tell you it's not?”

I’ve had the privilege of working with truly singular individuals like neo-burlesque performance artist Darlinda Just Darlinda and alt/art drag performer Esther, the Bipedal Entity!, who are central to this project. I’ve seen their work evolve, especially during the pandemic, where Darlinda’s performances focused on themes of concealment and revelation. It’s empowering to document their transformations.

At the moment, I’m an artist in residence at SoMad®, a femme and queer-led art space in NYC that serves as a platform for emerging artists to experiment, collaborate, and challenge conventions. I’m excited to again document favorites like Esther and Untitled, as well as to work for the first time with other visionaries and luminaries, icons and powerhouses of the NYC drag and burlesque community—artists who have profoundly inspired so many, locally and globally. I’m honored to get to finally work with Divina GranSparkle from Switch ‘n Play, as well as with Miss Bushwig 2023 and community activist extraordinaire Julie J, founder of the marathon drag benefit Stand Up NYC, which has raised over $125,000 since 2023 for organizations serving, uplifting and protecting trans youth across the country like Advocates for Trans Equality, Black Trans Femmes in the Arts, the Hetrick-Martin Institute, and many others. At SoMad® this year, BFF in Omaha in 2026, and hopefully working internationally beyond that, the goal is to showcase these performers not just for their brilliant and joy-inspiring drag, but as multi-dimensional artists who create and connect beyond the stage. 

My goal is to honor, conserve, and amplify these unique artistic and activist voices, and to share them with the world, ensuring that the impact of drag as an art form continues to grow.