Over the course of a few decades, drag has grown from its early days of illegal private gatherings where people shared a hidden part of themselves into the mass media sensation of today. We’re now in a drag boom, where art is sometimes held hostage by commerce. I chatted with my pal, Katrina Slippery Slide, who came of age during drag’s glorious and tragic turning point in the early 90s. As a stalwart of one of drag’s most enduring traditions, bingo night, Katrina Slippery Slide highlights the importance of maintaining the roots of drag: community.
Tell me about the genesis of Katrina Slippery Slide. Where and when did she start?
I was in college and I went to my first gay bar when I was 21 years old, and I actually met my drag mother that evening. She was sitting at the bar having a cocktail—not in drag, but just as a boy—and he was very sweet and kind to me. There was no sexual tension or anything. It was just like, hey new friend, hey new boy from the local college town, let me make you feel comfortable-
Let me just interrupt—where was this?
Bellingham, WA at a bar called Rumors. Ruuuuuuuumors. It was the only gar bar and basically the only disco club in our college town, so if you wanted to just go dance as straight people, this is the place you went. It just so happened to be gay. And at that time, this was the early 90s, so we’re still in the AIDS crisis, and the whole drug scene was insane in WA at that point. I basically befriended this person who later asked me if I would be interested in doing drag. As a theater person, of course I was like “why not, that sounds fun—I don’t know what this means, but I’ll figure it out.” Once they found out I was a theater person, the court itself—because this was part of the Imperial Court at the time-
What’s the Imperial Court?
The Imperial Court is basically people going to these big pageants to run for Empress, [kind of like] Drag Race with the best drag queen. This would be like old royalty with the Empress, Emperor, Prince, Princess. They raised money for the community. At that time, they were raising tons of money for the AIDS crisis. It was a way for young and old people to get together and celebrate drag and celebrate performance and have fun. They’d rent a fancy hotel in all the different places you’d travel to once you won a title. Everybody would be at the hotel and they’d rent the big ballroom and do big, extravagant numbers, and they’d have food and drinks. It was just a really fun fundraiser for the community, and a way for people to get together and celebrate diversity. And you know, drag in the early 90’s, nobody knew what the fuck that was. Everyone kind of just assumed “oh, you’re a tranny, you’re transsexual.” Or “you’re a cross-dresser, you want to be a woman.” Very few people were exposed to it, so nobody had any knowledge of it at that time. It was like old-school, legendary drag, like Lady Bunny and RuPaul, when they were doing stuff nobody knew what drag was. They were constantly trying to justify the fact that they were in female clothing. Once the court found out that I was part of the theatrical community, they wanted to get me in. Basically, I befriended a group of people who were heavily involved the court system and they gave me an honorary title to start.
Which was what?
Which was The Imperial Prince. But I ran in drag, so I was The Prince Without Pants. (laughing) I was engaged to be married. I was with a woman, and like-
To a woman???
Oh yeah.
How did I not know this?
You didn’t know this? Oh yeah, I was with the lead actress of my college. I was the lead actor at my college. We were THE acting couple. And I genuinely, absolutely loved her and felt straight. And there weren’t any sort of queer—you know me, if I had known a gay person in fifth grade, I would have been in drag and out in fifth grade. I just wasn’t exposed to any of it, so I didn’t know any of it. I didn’t know about the other sexual options. And of course, as soon as I did, I was like “uh, this is me.”
Yeah, nobody gave you a menu at that point.
I came out to my mom a week later. I came out to my drag mother. Broke up with my fiancé—it was unofficial, an unofficial engagement. There were no rings. It was just like, after college we’re gonna get married and move in and all that dumb shit.
So, wait a second. Did you know you were gay when you went to this gay club? Or, like you said, this was a place where everybody went, and then it dawned on you later.
As soon as I walked in there and I felt the energy and I smelled the room… (laughing) Don’t use that. Okay, you can use that. (laughing) You know, it was just like “oh, shit, this world I had no idea existed—of course this is my world. Fuck. Now what am I gonna do? I’ve gotta make things right. I can’t stay with this woman who I love to death and think that I might be gay.” Because at that point, I was like “well, I might be gay.” I was having feelings. Not for my drag mother, but just being in that space of queer people making out. It just felt totally normal to me. And then I couldn’t fairly continue to be in a relationship knowing I had these feelings. And she was just devastated. It was like, “oh, I’m a jerk, I led her on, I knew the whole time.” Thinking that I knew and was on the downlow. It was nothing like that. It was never anything like that. And the reputation that we had, and all of a sudden I’m gay and on the cover of the college magazine two months later in full drag.
Next thing you know you’re the gayest person at your college.
(Nods emphatically.) Speaking to anthropology courses about drag and sexuality! They hired me. So, Prince then turned into Emperor, the number one title. So, there’s Empress, Emperor, Prince, Princess, and then like, Miss Gay Washington, Miss Gay gah-gah-gah. But Emperor and Empress were the top two titles. So, I actually ran for the boy version. Usually it’s a drag queen as an Empress, and like a butch kind of Murray Hill kind of thing for the Emperor, and we ran as two drag queens and won. And then we were the first two drag queens coming up and down the state. If you look up the court system, it originated in Portland, OR with Darcelle and that whole sort of thing. It’s been around for a long time.
Is it still going on?
Yeah! It’s called the Imperial Court of Evergreen Empire. That was mine. But there’s the Imperial Court of Seattle, there’s the Imperial Court of Portland. There’s a huge thing in New York that they do at the Gay and Lesbian Center. I know you’ve seen those pictures with the crown and the scepter and the whole thing. It was an amazing, amazing experience that definitely made me the queer person I am today. But on the flip side of it, because of the partying and because of the sexual promiscuity, all of those people, including my drag mother and my Empress, they’re all gone. Then I went to Portland and just did it for fun after a year of pretty hard core, every weekend, coronations, and traveling all while going to school.
How far did you travel?
When I say travel I mean a two-hour car ride to Seattle, or we went to Vancouver, we went to Canada a lot, or Spokane. Especially our chapter of the court system. My Empress, Java, was very connected. She was huge in Seattle. I was immediately just kind of sucked into this family and this community after coming out. I just went in 190%.
Up to the elbow. What was the Portland drag scene like at that time? We’re talking like, mid-90s at this point?
Yeah, this would be ’93, ’94. I moved to Portland ’94, ’95-ish? I knew a lot of the queens there from the court system. I performed at Darcelle’s when I was an Emperor, and my best friend Howie Bag A Donuts knew all of them. I started just connecting the dots. Poison Waters, she’s huge Portland name, was my friend during the court system. She basically got the business when Darcelle passed. Portland scene—that’s the Rose Court—was more bar-y, just like the local ten gay bars performing for other Emperors and Empresses as their guests. So that first kind of drag was all kind of pageantry and coronation, and stepping up and stepping down, and bowing with tips, and giving your respect to the people that were in titles before you. Pageantry was huge.
So how did the money happen? Did you have to pay to be part of it, or people came and watched and you got tipped?
All tips. Most of the time if it was a fundraising event, we would give half of our tips to mostly Cascade AIDS Project or any sort of AIDS fundraisers that existed at that time, which there was a desperate need for. We raised a lot of money for the community and met very cool people that are unfortunately not around anymore.
It’s so wild. Today’s kids, I don’t think they even understand how lucky they have it in terms of growing old being such a blessing and a gift, and knowing older people. There was such a hole in time where that just was not the case.
I mean, it’s a blessing in disguise, because if I literally did not lose all my friends, I would be gone, too. Because I would have stayed there, I would have not pursued my dreams. I would have got sucked up in this sort of dark party world and would have made really bad sexual choices. Because I saw people making bad sexual choices and bad party choices, I was like “oh, that’s not gonna be me.”
When did you move to New York?
I graduated college, went to Portland for three years, then moved to New York in ’98.
Compare the two drag scenes. Like, how was the New York scene different from the Portland scene?
Like I said, I’m not really involved in the court scene in New York. I’ve watched some videos. It’s very old school. I think it’s one of the oldest court systems in the country. The New York Drag scene is clubs and, especially now with Drag Race, but back then Drag Race was not a thing. Back then it was like, if you were a queen in the city, you were doing every single popular gay club throughout the weekend. You’re at Industry, you’re at Pieces, you’re at Stonewall, you’re at dah-dah-dah-dah-dah. That was never me. Actually, I did a little bit of it when I did my Muffins at Stonewall, it was kind of that scene, but was only once a month.
What has the influence of the Ru Girls been on the drag scene? How have things changed for the non-RuPaul drag queens? Have you noticed a shift?
Oh, for sure. I guess I would be considered a community queen. I’ve been doing drag for 30 years. I’d be considered from the old-school legends of people who came up in the early 90s and the 80s and were doing it for the community. Once you get on Drag Race, you’re not doing it for the community anymore. You’re doing it for the money. You’re doing it for the brand. Even the queens that I knew before Drag Race, they’re gone. I see them and they’re so famous and there’s no possible way that they can just be down to earth and real anymore. When I do bingo it’s for the grandma and the grandpa across the street that have lived in the Lower East Side for 70 years that maybe have never seen a drag queen before, that now five years later come on a regular basis and know things about my life and my husband, and all of these personal experiences that I don’t think you can really share when you have the fame thing.
In terms of booking gigs for non-Ru queens, do you feel like it’s harder, or do you feel like the Ru Girls are in such a different arena that it actually hasn’t had an effect on the drag bingos and club spots and stuff like that.
I mean, it helps me in terms that I can charge more. You know what I mean? Because I know what the going rate is. It helps negotiate a better rate because of the caliber of the drag and the time and the energy that it takes, because I’m not just doing makeup in 30 minutes and putting on Amazon costumes.
Maybe watching Drag Race has given people an insight into how much work it is, so people know they should be paying more.
For sure. People who watch it know that if you want this, this is what it’s worth. I would like it to pay more, because I always end up putting in more money. If I do a good night of tips at bingo, I’m buying a new wig. So, I’m never really keeping that money for myself. It’s always going back into investing in the art. It’s a never-ending cycle.
Tell me about Drag Bingo.
Drag Bingo started when I had [my theater] The COW. I’d close up there at like, three o’clock and I’d want to just go have a drink, because I’d been working my ass off all day long. So, I stumbled upon Mary O’s, which was on the walk home. She’d unlock the door and let me in, because she closes early, and we just kind of befriended each other as business owners. We connected on the struggles of owning a business and what’s gonna help us pay the rent, because the rent is so ridiculous. You know, we just had a bond. She was looking for ways to have events that would bring in a crowd. I was like “hey, I do drag and I’d be willing if you think the community would be into it.” And it’s the Lower East Side, so which has always been super-
Capital G-A-Y.
G-A-Y and inclusive, and like, avant-garde. And she’s like, “oh, of course, I can get this going.” And I was like “great.” Five years ago we started that, and now it’s a monthly thing. I don’t do drag in the summer very much. I hate sweating. Usually, July and August I take off. And so, regulars from the community, all the neighbors that would go to Mary O’s, the queer people came out of nowhere, because now all of a sudden they have a queer event to go to. They feel supported. You know, I’m not just doing bitchy, catty, sassy comments. I’m actually trying to build a community [by] knowing more about the people in the room. It kind of energizes me. I want information about you. Tell me where you live, where you’re visiting from, what are your favorite foods. Over five years, there’s this core group that come there and it’s part of their monthly ritual. They get to see me grow and change over the years. Random people come in off the street and are like “what is this place?” Because if it was a Drag Race event, you wouldn’t be able to get through the door. You can get a seat. It’s like Cheers. I enjoy it. It’s a lot of work, because I’m talking for three and a half hours straight, and trying to do new material and doing six or seven numbers throughout the night. But it’s very supported, very community, like, love. Mary O created this theme song, it’s Lou Rawls “You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine” that I sing at the end of every bingo. She makes everybody get up and we all dance together around the drag queen.
When is the next one?
It’s always the last Sunday of the month from 6-9pm. What’s great is you can just go and play $1 bingo cards and not eat or drink and just try to win bingo, or you can buy a package and she makes authentic Irish buffet. Every month it’s different food. So, you pay one lump sum, it’s all you can eat, all you can drink for three hours. It’s very community based. And then of course after I spent four hours getting ready, I need to go out and share my beauty with all the drunks at the local gay bars. (laughing)
I want to talk about your drag family. Hearing you talk about the community, I’m so curious about your relationship with your drag mother, and how you gave vaginal birth to your drag children.
(Laughing) I have seven now, I think. Slick Shave is the newest one. Watah Slide. Darold was my drag mother’s boy name. Super kind, lovely, sweet—he could tell I was nervous and that I was really out of my element. Having that relaxed me 100%. Katrina is based on—I played Kathy in Caryl Churchill’s Cloud 9, which is a six or seven-year-old little girl. It was the first character I ever played-
Sorry, this is for everyone who doesn’t know you. How tall are you, Katrina?
Six foot two. (Laughing) Two hundred and fifteen pounds. Yeah. And wearing a little Shirly Temple dress on stage. So, when I was thinking of my name, I thought, of course it has to be Katrina since I was Kathy, so the mature version of Kathy would be Katrina. And then Slippery was my sister. My only drag sister’s name was Slippery Slide. When she passed away I took her name as my middle name. And then Celita was my mother. Celita Slide. Slide is like, once you become a family member, that’s the name you always have. Generally, you get to pick your first and middle name. But the history that I know of drag queens is that you usually put your middle name as somebody who was a part of your family. [Slippery] was really lost. That was a hard one to watch. But yeah, she was very cool. And it just became like a family. I’d go over there and we’d bead for hours. Hours and hours and hours. And I’d never beaded before. It was such an insane experience. And then I go back to college on Monday and try to get good grades and graduate from school. It was a crash course in being queer, and being a drag queen and living that sort of lifestyle.
How did you meet your drag children and how did those relationships start?
My first drag daughter was a straight woman. Her name is Eula and she was one of my dearest friends in college. She would go on adventures with me. She’d come to coronations with me. She’s still alive, thank god. She would just dress fabulous and come as my friend. I was like “well maybe we should, like, do you UP up with makeup,” and she was like “of course.” She was Cinnamon Slide. So, I had a lot of spices in there, I’ve got Tarragon Slide, I’ve got Harietta Slide. I’ve got a gay friend that refused to shave his beard, so you know you can’t have any other name but Harry Slide. And this was way before bearded queens were even trendy. It was close friends, people that I adore that were interested and wanted to have a nice, fun night out, whether it was for Halloween or whatever. We’d perform, and then we’d go to Shari’s, which is basically like a West Coast Denny’s, and we’d walk in in full drag, six of us, and we’d get a booth and order French fries and hot dogs and hamburgers. And this is like, smalltown Washington in the early 90s, and they’re going “what the fuck is this.” We got a lot of crap from drunk people at four in the morning for just being in drag.
Oh, and I’m sure those people were coming from church.
There were some great moments where I feel like I really connected with the people from that world, and then of course some really awful ones, too. But that’s just part of being in the community.
Do you go out in drag alone now?
I have. I get in a car. The staff makes sure I get in a car at the end of the night.
Do you know Rose Wood? She has the raunchiest set I’ve ever seen. One time at The Box, I watched her shit on a pizza, eat the pizza, then puke on the audience. But she told me she needed a car from door to door because it was too dangerous.
Too dangerous. But in the late 90s and early 2000s, that’s what the drag scene was. You’d put a milk enema up into your butt and you’re squirting it in some cereal and you’re eating it. Like that whole Foxy Dollars and The Cock and Mario Diaz and that whole world. I was in that. Mostly just [as an audience member] being like “I love this.” Not Katrina.
I don’t know Foxy Dollars.
Oh, Foxy Dollars was the old Cock. Basically, when you paid a cover you’d get twenty Foxy Dollars and you could give them to whatever performer you like the most, and whoever got the most Foxy Dollars at the end of the night won a cash prize. Very different scene than it is now.
Oh, yeah. I mean, I always felt like I couldn’t go to The Cock too much, because as a straight woman I don’t want to overstay my welcome. But that place… I remember a woman who used to sell cigarettes and DVDs outside, but when she came into The Cock, she sold porn. She’s be like “horsey horsey?” That was the kind of porn she was trying to hawk at The Cock.
See, I miss that! I feel like Drag Race has changed that. Right?
Yeah, I miss the filth.
I miss the old-school filth and the old-school queens that have been around forever. There’s a lot to be said about paving the path, because I feel like I’ve done the work to pave the path. Now it’s just like, watching every single tutorial on YouTube, just copying their makeup. You have no history to drive it. There’s a huge history in drag that’s not Drag Race that I feel like queens like Linda Simpson and I, and Bunny, and Ru in the day, that is what it was all about.
It was bringing people together.
It was being together, it was singing together, it was embracing, it was “let’s go have fun.” The drag shows that I go to, it’s become very commercial. I don’t like that.
Yeah, I like a little bit of grit.
I would love to make that money and to be able to pay off this house, and all the great things that come with that fame. Who knows, maybe things will change and I’ll be the next Phi Phi O’Hara.
Because you know you’d be the villain of the season if you did Drag Race.
I’d totally be the villain. After twelve hours in drag and I’m pissed, they’d be right there asking me all the questions that they know are gonna push my buttons. I’ll be like “fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you!” The next day I’m like (sweetly) “I don’t know what happened.”
And you would be nothing but buttons. Just little clitorises of anger.
It’s the perfect scenario for what they’re looking for. I’m sure I would audition once and I would get it immediately, and I’d be stuck in that character which doesn’t match Katrina at all.
I mean, I would watch the shit out of you.
Everybody would. I think it would be so much fun, too, but then you’re selling your soul to the devil. Not like it’s devilish or bad. You’re now committing to being a professional drag queen until you die. I get it. I pay for it and I watch it and I’m addicted to all the franchises, just like Housewives.
Is there anything else you want to add?
I feel a pride in doing drag for 30 years and witnessing—would I like all my friends to still be alive? Of course. But drag changed my life. That community of people changed my life. And I’ve been able to stay centered and focused and not have fame and fortune overtake me and my life. And that’s important.
*Edited for time and clarity.
**No Drag Bingo in December.