By Joe Wadlington
The first time I saw Drag on Ice was years before I’d even considered doing drag myself.
I was on a date that was going well. But the SF precipitation was doing that thing where it can’t decide if it’s fog or if it’s rain, if it should fall down or blow sideways. The date and I hadn’t dressed warmly enough and we only had one umbrella. We’d had enough foresight to get holiday-flavored decaf coffees but not enough to buy some nips of whiskey. So we were shivering, and trying to be good sports because: date.
I think both of us wanted to be out of there, but then a performer came on, gorgeous, long-legged and glittery and she actually could skate!
She was made even more beautiful by the light and all the people gathered around. Proving that, for San Francisco, Drag on Ice is a wholesome, family event. And then after her came another performer charming, short, and wearing platform flip flops instead of ice skates. She fell all over the place, and it was hilarious. The audience gasped everytime a performer took a pratfall and cheered each time they hopped back up. The date and I decided to just get soaked, stay the whole show, and get ramen after.
Now, I know those two performers to be Paju Monro and Mutha Chuka, respectively. But then I just filed my memory of Drag on Ice away as yet another reason I love our strange and creative city. Where no one has to explain why watching drag performers ice skate in Union Square is the perfect San Francisco December night.
I just finished my fourth year performing in Drag on Ice.
I can ice skate exactly well enough to perform. Enough to be mostly on my feet, get in some dramatic spins, and make it look like a passionate, purposeful “part of the act” when I do eat it.
Each year I do a practice skate or two at Yerba Buena’s rink. Then the performers get 30 minutes on the ice before the show. That small amount of experience has accumulated, and I’m the best I’ve been, but it’s still scary to restart each time. I put the skates on, noting that they are blades I am tying to my feet. I step into the rink, noting that it is ice: hard and rough as pavement but frozen. I note that I’m aging and I don’t have good insurance and that when I perform I’m just a little too eager to do stupid stunts for applause.
But I step on the ice anyway and after a few minutes my body’s memory starts guiding my feet, keeping my toes, knees, and nose in line. Shoulders back.
Costuming is a fundamental part of drag. Getting into drag is its own transformation. Needing to ice skate in your look makes it even more complicated. I must consider how I can keep my wig from blowing in my face when I spin. I put two layers of socks under my tights so that you can’t see them come out of my boots. Skating is a workout, especially when I want to cover as many corners of the rink as possible in 4 minutes. So even though it’s cold, I dress as cool as possible and set my makeup differently to account for the excess sweat, and I add as many sequins and crystals as possible because they look exquisite beneath the rink’s stadium lights.
Some of the performers’ go for more of a drag figure skater moment, little metallic skirts, short hair, and diamond tights. Others dressed in moomoos, scrappy art drag, or an inflatable Christmas tree.
My first year I wore a paper mâché iceberg costume, and skated to “My Heart Will Go On.” At the climax of the song, I threw the iceberg off, revealing my giant Heart of the Ocean necklace.
My second year I used two hula hoops, four yards of brown cotton jersey, and 140 feet of white rope to make a gingerbread dress. I came out with rounded cardboard hands that eventually broke off, revealing peppermint skeleton stumps, that I showed to the audience mime-crying as audio from Shrek played. “NOT the gumdrop buttons!”
Last year, I re-wore the gingerbread dress, adding a few dozen rhinestones, more icing rope, and a twelve foot boa that I made out of inflatable silver star balloons.
Catharsis is often my creative guiding light. I think about what I want my performance to make the audience feel. Could I transport them somewhere that feels a little better? A little more confident, victorious, and sparkling? This inquiry guides which song I decide to perform to. And this year I was feeling more grunge, more rock and roll.
I’m angry and tender and want to howl. I’m mad at the world, yet find it suddenly so easy to be in love with San Francisco. I’ve sensed a shift after the 2024 presidential election. There’s a battening down and huddling in feeling. As we all prepare for Washington D.C. to become much more conservative, San Franciscans seem more appreciative of our own culture and less likely to knock it. We’re in a bubble. We may as well make it nice, right? So I wanted a song that seemed to celebrate a place.
I picked “Yoü and I” by Lady Gaga. It’s neither rock nor punk but it does come off that why while I’m covered in silver sequins, red leather, and zooming past you on the ice to climb the barrier between the rink and the crowd. Most of the performers pick classic holiday songs, so I knew my gayer more pop pick would add variety.
“You and I” is five minutes and seven seconds, which is a bit long for a club performance but perfect when I’ve got a lot of ice to cover. I could envision angrily kicking ice chunks with each guitar riff yet gracefully gliding, arms outstretched, when lipsyncing “There’s somethin’, somethin’ about this place!” So that the audience knows I mean this place. Also, the song came out in 2010, which means it’s old enough to feel nostalgic to Millennials and Gen Z and it got popular enough that most of the crowd will have at least heard it before.
I recognize that some of my criteria drift into over-thinking. But once I’m done I’ve convinced myself that there’s no better song. I’ll be giving the audience exactly what they want and I think they need. That confidence buoys my performance.
Unfortunately, no one skating to Lady Gaga covered in more sparkles than a Chritsmas tree is enough to reverse the tides of facism across our country. I know that. But I also know that when I was crawling on the ice, skinning my knee, bleeding through my three layers of tights, whipping my wig, and lip-yelling “I’d rather DIE, without you and I, I!” The crowd was losing their minds. And there’s something about watching drag performers go all-in that gets crowds into fighting shape.
So I hope they left the rink feeling better, lighter, and like they really love San Francisco. Maybe they filed their night at Drag on Ice away in their ever-growing cabinet of reasons to love our city San Francisco. I did.
Joe Wadlington is a writer, artist, and drag queen who lives in San Francisco. He’s written for The New Yorker, Vox, Food & Wine Magazine, Architectural Digest, and his monthly reading series Happy Endings is hosted at The Make-Out Room.
The Bold Italic is a non-profit media organization, and we publish first-person perspectives about San Francisco and the Bay Area. Donate to us today.
More photos from Drag on Ice 2024
All photos by Courtney Muro for The Bold Italic.
