by Jennifer Levin on
VANESSA PATRICKS OWNS THE MIC. She sings, she dances, and she banters with fans who flock to her special brand of snarktastic joy. “Being a comedy queen, I lean into the campiness of drag,” she says. “I love joking, and I don’t take myself too seriously.” The Albuquerque native moved to New York City at 19 to pursue a professional entertainment career. As a baritone with the USO who sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” at Shea Stadium in New York on the Fourth of July, she says, “Drag wasn’t even on my radar.” But life takes turns, and Patricks has now served glitter-covered sass at drag brunches and Pride celebrations throughout New Mexico for 16 years. Formerly the host of the popular drag brunch at Albuquerque’s Electric Playhouse, Patricks now emcees a monthly brunch at the DWTNR Cocktail Bar & Lounge at Arrive Hotel on Central Avenue—and she’s ready for a busy Pride Month in the Land of Enchantment.
I was in New York for eight years. I came back when my little brother got sick.
I started going to the Albuquerque Social Club, where I made friends with drag queens for the first time. One of them asked me to be their backup dancer.
That was the first time I saw the details of the art form—the tricks, the makeup, the padding, the cinching, the illusion.
In New York, I spent my energy making sure I could play straight.
I played Old King Cole in Babes in Toyland at Lincoln Center. I performed at the Metropolitan Opera. I did off-off-off-Broadway stuff.
For me, drag is a performance, not an expression of my gender identity. I identify as a dude. But it’s different for everyone.
I was never somebody who pulled clothes off a rack. It was always important to me to design my own clothes.
My day job is in television and film. I’m an ager/dyer, doing color matches on dyed fabric, creating sweat stains, roughing up shoes, or making something look postapocalyptic.
I grew up in a devout Hispanic Catholic family. Religion in my family is about love and caring and acceptance.
My uncle was a famous Spanish singer, Freddie Chavez. He passed away about two years ago. I thought he was the coolest thing on Earth.
I give myself a minimum of three hours to get ready, plus shaving.
I generally only shave from my chest up. Everything else is under many layers of padding and tights and cinchers.
My drag is very big, very bright. I’m not passing as a woman, even if I’m glamorous and pretty.
I call my genre of drag “glamour camp.”
In Albuquerque, you see contemporary high drag, drag kings, alt queens, burlesque that leans into drag.
Santa Fe leans more artistic, and southern New Mexico is a younger scene with all the colleges down there.
Drag gives me a voice to represent my queer community. It’s very much my superhero suit.
It’s a hard time right now in the world. It’s hard to get on a microphone and be all, “Love yourself!” when I don’t always feel that for myself.
Drag artists are just trying to make people laugh and smile.
I’m trying to create a space where people can genuinely care about other humans.