RuPaul questions, “What might it feel like to be the most exquisite woman amongst all?” In his work, House of Hidden Meanings, one can observe RuPaul, the powerful black queen who spearheaded the television sensation Drag Race, verbalizing each word. His “mischievously mild” alter ego makes periodic appearances, a persona he likens to “a double scoop of Diana Ross, a touch of Cher, a dash of Dolly Parton, all smothered in Walt Disney’s amiability”.
This isn’t the first memoir by RuPaul. His inaugural autobiography, Letting Everything Out in the Open, was penned following his popular tune Supermodel (You Better Work) in 1995. In this piece, the glamorous persona narrates the story of the homosexual man who birthed her. However, in Hidden Meanings, the narrative is from the perspective of RuPaul Andre Charles. The book’s jacket features an image of the author sans drag, sporting a goatee beard. It tells the narrative of a previously perplexed black lad who managed to channel his internal goddess (for better understanding, I will use the he/him pronouns).
Hidden Meanings provides a potent snapshot of a forgotten generation, touching upon Atlanta’s public access television shows and seedy bars in Manhattan’s East Village. It takes you through the peaks and troughs of RuPaul’s career, underlining his struggle with addiction, and provides a glimpse into the life of a drag queen, which necessitates them to be entertainers, musicians, and dancers while donning wigs and corsets. As an echo of a famous quotation about Ginger Rogers, they manage to do everything backward, but in high heels. This book also offers a sneak peek into RuPaul’s ever-active mind, drawing unexpected connections from disco queen Donna Summer and cult actress Pamela Grier to literary legend Tennessee Williams and notable French filmmaker François Truffaut. In Atlanta, he reenacted Karen Black’s horror film but with him in both roles of Black and the menacing Thomas Gainsborough’s Blue Boy.
The tradition of men donning women’s clothes goes back a long stretch and spans across various cultures, including Indian Hijra, Italian castrati, and Shakespeare’s alluring ladyboys. Nevertheless, it was a black man who was the first to be known as a “drag queen”. William Dorsey Swann, an ex-slave, invented and self-proclaimed himself as the title suggests. In the 1880s, Swann organised social events where former slaves would dress up like Southern plantation mistresses. Initially, drag was a black and rebellious movement that inverted the practices of its persecutors.
In his last interview, Malachy McCourt talked about how he successfully left behind his dismal upbringing in Ireland and managed to lead a content life. RuPaul’s book, which skims over black and gay history, surprisingly lacks the appearance of Swann. He compresses the grim times of New York in the 1980s into one phrase about the ramifications of crack cocaine and the AIDS crisis while discussing at length about an instance where Madonna snubbed him. Yet, for readers unfamiliar with these atrocious periods, his words leave an impression. For instance, he discusses how the stereotypes of black people being unable or scared to swim, or being frightened of dogs, are rooted in fear spanning generations, evolved from the need to evade pursuit or cross water bodies.
Arguably the most poignant part sees RuPaul failing in New York and seeking solace in his mother’s presence back in San Diego. There’s plenty of self-help advice in his book, with RuPaul urging people to become their own figures of adoration. He demonstrates a fascination with opposites such as black and white and yin and yang, leading to sentences that appear dazzling but lack substantial meaning. For example, his description of the San Diego sun being hot when direct but cool in shade doesn’t quite add up. While the heading suggests otherwise, the book lacks subtle implications, as every tale told by RuPaul comes with a lesson. Yet, many readers appear to be under RuPaul’s charm. As for myself, RuPaul’s work made me feel welcomed during my formative years in New York, when I frequented the East Village’s Pyramid as a young woman of colour at the lowest rung at Vogue, and hence his depictions bring a warm smile to my face.
RuPaul is at his finest when he is meticulous in his details. He recalls his mother escorting him to his inaugural day at kindergarten in an attire emulating a Dior silhouette. It was nicely cinched at the waist, extending outwards, featuring buttons down the front, an elevated collar and sleeves reaching three-quarters down the arm. Moreover, RuPaul is diligent in acknowledging influences. He credits a particular phrase, commonly associated with him, “We are all born naked, everything that follows is drag,” to a drag queen his friend once saw perform. Honesty is a key trait of this biography. RuPaul oscillates between brash confidence about his photogenic appearance and humble admission of his own embarrassments. A particularly heart-wrenching account is of him flunking in New York and returning to his mother in San Diego.
The memoir is constructed in the classic fashion of an epic journey. RuPaul recounts a trip his pregnant mum took to a fortune teller who prophesied that her unborn child would be a boy, destined to attain fame. His story mirrors many mythical heroes, including a brush with hubris and even drawing parallels with how Zeus conceived Athena from his mind. However, this narrative does not focus on how RuPaul climbed the ladder to attain stardom on Drag Race. Some of the most touching sections are the ones understated, like the time he enjoyed peanut-butter cookies in the park with his sibling. The concluding chapter is aptly named “Home”. This journey, though made lively by RuPaul’s magnetism, is principally a pilgrimage in search of a sense of belonging.