There’s been a drag revolution in Ōtepoti this year. The revitalised queer scene has been spearheaded by Ōtepoti Drag Directory founder Ann Arkii, who has firmly established herself as Dunedin’s queen of drag. Earlier this year, Ann Arkii was quoted in a Local Produce column article saying, “There was a scene that died out about a decade ago and I am often credited with revitalising the scene here in Ōtepoti.” Critic Te Ārohi delves deeper into the historical roots of drag as a vehicle for queer liberation in Aotearoa, and the glitter and politics behind the people of Dunedin’s revived drag scene.
“Drag”: In its simplest terms, drag is an art form where a person subverts gender through exaggerated costuming. Performers of drag are known for their lip-syncing, dancing, and comedic shows. As a typically queer art form, drag is interconnected with the LGBTQIA+ scene both today and historically.
Camouflage in Plain Sight
To learn about the history of the revitalised drag scene, Critic Te Ārohi spoke to University of Otago Gender Studies Professor Chris Brickell, an author on queer history. Drag came to the shores of Aotearoa on settler ships from the 1870s onwards, Chris explains. It began as a common feature of colonial theatre, featuring men dressing up as women for comedic purposes – the sort of drag that’s seen in the Capping Show’s Selwyn Ballet.
Of course, this drag lacks the full over the top, camp sensibilities that we associate with drag today, but there’s a reason for this. While the appeal was often laughed off as “isn't it interesting, a man dressing as a woman!”, drag during this time was “a form of camouflage in plain sight,” describes Chris. All forms of buggery (male homosexual acts) were made illegal in Aotearoa in 1840 and not officially decriminalised until 1986, meaning all expression of homosexuality had to be done in secret. On-stage drag was a way for queer people to express themselves in public.
One of Chris’ written works on queer history is a photographic biography of Robert Gant titled Manly Affections (1854–1936). Gant, who is remembered for his photography of men during the Victorian era, lived alone with his male partner Charlie Haigh until his death. Gant performed and photographed himself in female clothes, which Chris identifies as being connected to his queerness: “He was someone who was playing these female roles in musical theatre, but I think for him, there was a camp sensibility to it.” While drag was not explicitly outlawed in Aotearoa, it was connected closely enough to homosexuality that a man being in possession of something considered a ‘feminine item’ (such as a powder puff) was considered evidence enough that he was queer.
Drag of this double nature continued into the 20th century, particularly in largely male areas of society. During World War Two, a New Zealand theatre group called The Kiwi Concert Party (originally called the NZ Entertainment Unit) was founded within the Second NZ Expeditionary Force. “The Kiwi Concert Party drew on that 19th century idea of drag. There was a kind of private meaning for the performers and all their friends, and then a public meaning for the general public who just thought, ‘Oh, isn't that guy good? He can dress as a woman and is really convincing,’” says Chris. “So it's more about the skill of being able to convincingly transform yourself. The party trick is, at the end, revealing yourself to not be a woman after all.”
Peeking Out the Closet
During the post-war period, as Aotearoa increasingly urbanised, the queer scene saw dramatic changes. Although buggery was still illegal, the gay scene quickly grew in the 1950s, which Chris attributes to “gay culture mov[ing] from being really subcultural to being much more open, a bit similar to in the way we have now.”
Increasingly, drag was being done at private parties by groups like the Dorian Society (the first NZ organisation for homosexual men) rather than only being done on stage as part of larger theatre productions. In these private settings, drag became bigger and bigger, camper and camper – morphing into drag that is “very obviously a costume that's not meant to be convincing” featuring over-the-top “paper mache breasts” and dramatic makeup. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, drag was coming into its own and leaving behind much of the subtlety of the past.
By the 1970s queer culture had radically shifted from its place in the shadows. Though queer groups such as the Dorian Society had existed before, it was during the 1970s that queer organisation and protest really kick-started. In 1972, queer activist Ngahuia Te Awekotuku gave a speech to her fellow Auckland University students where she exclaimed: “Who out there is crazy enough to join me – and let’s start gay liberation!” Not long after, she founded Aoteaora’s first gay liberation group in her flat: the radical and provocative Auckland Gay Liberation Front. Similar groups later cropped up on campuses in Christchurch and Wellington.
As the battleground to legalise buggery raged in the ‘70s, Wellington was becoming one of the most liberal cities in the world for drag. The capital was home to Carmen Rupe, the first queen in Aotearoa to reach celebrity status. Carmen was known for her political activism, and matriarchal status amongst fellow Kiwi queens – much like Ōtepoti’s own Ann Arkii. She frequented coffee bars, which employed drag queens as both performers and sex workers and saw these coffee-bar-queens wearing elaborate costumes featuring two foot-high Antoinette-type wigs made from curled paper, as well as sequinned frocks with plunging necklines.
Carmen first made history in Aotearoa in 1966 when she was arrested by police for wearing women’s clothes, charged with “frequenting with felonious intent.” While this initially stirred a bit of an upset, the court case would end up being monumental for drag queens and transgender people in Aotearoa when the judge ruled that he was “unable to find anything in our law which says that it is unlawful for a male to attire himself in female clothing.”
Drag and the queer liberation movement were not separate entities during this time – which the court ruling further proved. “Gay liberation in the 1970s and trans rights were interconnected and intersecting,” says Chris. “[Drag was] seen as a form of politics, it could be seen as a form of political practice and dissolving the boundaries was seen as really important and significant [...] This idea that you would separate trans and gay never even occurred to me when I wrote Mates and Lovers: A History of Gay New Zealand in the late 2000s. That idea is much more recent, it didn't even occur to me that Carmen wasn't a part of the gay scene. Because that's how she understood herself and that's how everyone understood her.”
The Homosexual Law Reform Act passed in 1986, legalising sex between men aged sixteen and over. Queer liberation wouldn’t have been made possible without drag. The camp displays of 1970s drag were far removed from their colonial theatre past. Drag queens – Carmen Rupe among them – became important activists in their own right. But even the mere existence of drag queens paved the way for modern queer rights, as they embodied the “out and proud” mentality that’s so integral to queer culture today.
The relationship between politics and drag continues in the modern day. Boo Khaki, a drag king of the current Ōtepoti scene, refers to drag as being “inherently political.” Ann Arkii’s drag performances often reflect this sentiment, from her name – which she chose for being “distinctly political and part of a warning” – to her ‘revolution’ themed drag nights at Yours.
“My stage is specifically a safe space for political acts,” says Ann. “You won’t get your lights cut or your music cut. If someone heckles you, we will throw them out. It’s really important to me that it’s a safe space for performers.” And the performances at their shows reflect this mentality, featuring everything from Brian Tamaki aimed insults to stage molotov cocktails. “Don’t worry about me making your kids gay. Worry about me making them a communist,” says Ann Arkii.
The Decline, and a Resurgence
Much less history has been written about the drag scene in the 1990s to 2010s, but it was undeniably present – particularly in Wellington and Auckland. Recounting his own time in Wellington, Chris says, “Wellington and Auckland dance parties of the 1990s had quite a drag element to them. It's just not often talked about now.”
While movies like The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994) and TV shows such as RuPaul's Drag Race (2009–present) drew recognition for drag internationally (with RuPaul notoriously continuing to platform drag to this day), the drag scene in Dunedin reduced to little more than a “drizzle” at this time, according to Chris. D*Liria, a local drag queen who came to Dunedin in 2014, tells a similar story, saying that “there wasn’t much of a queer scene when I was first here.”
Perspectives on drag shifted during the 2010s alongside the rise of TERFism. TERF stands for Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist, a movement that – unlike the equitable ethos of feminism – seeks to exclude transgender women. With its aim of separating gender queerness (particularly transgenderism) from homosexual rights under the guise of feminism, TERFism exists in stark contrast to the 1970s gay liberation movement.
“The anti-trans movement, I believe, attempts to reinvent the history of feminism. Very little feminist writing between the 1870s and the early 2000s looks much like today’s ‘gender critical feminism’, whose anti-trans hostility has – in spite of claims to the contrary – emerged from the much more recent culture wars,” says Chris.
Sadly, TERF ideology has spread throughout the 2020s and Ann Arkii is no stranger to its members. Earlier this year, she was the target of TERF protestors when she hosted a rainbow story time at the Dunedin Public Library, who were kept out by security while Ann read to a bubbly group of brightly-dressed children inside – surrounded by a protective circle of parents, fellow drag performers, and friends. One protester lurked in the surrounding library shelves, and was eventually asked by library staff to leave.
“Ultimately I wasn't really surprised that there was backlash from the bigots,” Ann tells Critic. “I just wanted to read to the kids. I used to do it in highschool and I really enjoyed it. I think about how if I went to a drag reading as a kid it would be life changing. It was disappointing more than anything to see the same thing [...] Me reading to kids in drag is no different than hiring a party princess for your kids’ birthday.”
But it’s not all doom and gloom for the Dunedin drag scene. Its flames have been resparked in the past year, a reignition pioneered by Ann.
Call Me Mother
Ann Arkii is undeniably the monarch of the Ōtepoti drag scene – even if they are humble about admitting so. Before their debut as a drag performer in 2022, Ann says she’d had a lifelong interest in drag – and it was only a matter of time before she took to the stage. “I have always been an admirer of the art form. I can’t remember a time in my life where I didn’t know what a drag queen was. I had always had a love and an admiration for it,” she says.
Ann can trace her appreciation for drag back to her mother’s love of films like Hairspray and Rocky Horror Picture Show: “So I would say my mother is quite a big influence on me getting into drag. She showed me Rocky Horror when I was 15, and I loved it. I made myself a Columbia costume, as screen accurate as I could get it.” Ann (sporting her Columbia costume) and her mother went to screenings of Rocky Horror together, the second of which was hosted by two drag queens who fawned over Ann’s costume.
During the show itself, Ann remembers the queens locking eyes with her from onstage during the Time Warp scene before bringing her up to join in with the lip syncing and dancing. “And I just felt so loved and appreciated and celebrated for my queerness and my art,” says Ann. “That was the point I wanted to be a drag performer. I want to bring this same kind of joy and happiness to other people, you know?”
Ann started their drag journey fairly solitary, performing alone in their room for six years before getting the chance to perform at a UniQ show last year. They performed under the name ‘Ti Tanus’ but changed the name so they could do more family friendly drag in future shows. Now ‘Ann Arkii’, her persona is based on goth characters from cartoons who she brings to life: think Ruby Gloom, Sam Manson and Buttercup. The name is an intentional play on “anarchy” (in case you missed it): “I wanted to have an outright political name so people can’t get mad when I just shit on billionaires and their private jets.”
Ann’s reputation as Dunedin’s queen of drag is due to her founding the Ōtepoti Drag Directory in January this year. Recognising the lack of performance opportunities in Dunedin for drag artists, Ann wanted to do something about it. As an owner/co-operator of Yours cafe, she was able to avoid the booking fees that might come with other venues: “I could just start the thing. It is often about creating your own opportunities.” Now if you take a walk through Central Dunedin, you’ll find most flat surfaces plastered with hers and other drag queens’ faces to advertise drag shows that have now become a regular occurrence.
A Safe Space
The increase in drag shows has been met with widespread enthusiasm. A recent Yours drag show only had standing room left. The cafe was packed with people loudly cheering and finger-clicking with acrylic nails for each act. “I just love it!” one attendee told Critic. “It gives me and everyone in the room so much confidence.” Another attendee shared that they’re still figuring their identity out and, when asked if the drag shows help on their personal identity journey, replied: “Honestly it does.”
Drag as a safe space for queer expression is incredibly important to Ann Arkii. She has had teenagers express their gratitude for the drag shows, citing homophobia in high school as a push to seek safe queer spaces. “These kids really appreciate having a queer space to come to,” says Ann. And while Otago Uni is generally considered a safe queer space, drag king Boo says that it’s important for students to be able to seek community in spaces outside of Uni, too – especially in a city that some consider to be quite hostile to its queer citizens.
Many of the drag performers interviewed for this piece touched on the fact that drag is not only a safe space for the queer community, but the neurodivergent community as well. Our Culture Editor Lotto (AKA Boo Khaki) is neurodivergent and noticed the prominence of neurodivergent artists within the drag scene. Neurodiversity often refers to developed mental disorders such as ASD (Autism), ADHD, and OCD. For people with neurodivergent disorders like autism, they can often deal with sensory issues. This is the case for Honk Ers who is autistic: “Often I don’t wear wigs, shoes, lashes. I can’t do full glam makeup because it is too much energy.”
Autism can also lead to hyperfixations – which can be cool, but also debilitating. “As soon as I get an idea for a costume I have to do it,” says Honk Ers. Cherri, another performer, was told they were “too special and smart” to be neurodivergent when they sought a diagnosis (a problem for another article). “Luckily it does not affect me too much with my drag. I just take it one day at a time and have fun with my performances.” D*liria, who has ADHD “and whatever else is going on”, says it goes hand in hand with their drag: “The dopamine kind of snowballs because I get it from making the outfit, then performing in it, then having people compliment it which makes me want to keep going.”
While drag is traditionally done by cisgender men dressing as women, the art form is seeing increasing representation from transgender performers. “A lot of people discover they’re trans through the art of drag,” says Ann. Personally for Ann, as a trans man, drag holds a deeper relationship with their identity: “I was doing drag for the first 20 years of my life [...] Out of drag I’m a gender queer trans man mainly because the gender binary is bullshit and made up. Ann is the same. I've made her gender fluid so she can be whatever she wants. I made her a vessel to express myself in any way I want. You can make your persona anything you want.”
Ann’s Children/Royal Subjects
Ann Arkii may be Dunedin’s queen of drag, but she says, “Ultimately there would be no drag scene without everyone else in the scene.” Critic Te Ārohi interviewed her fellow performers that make up the revitalised drag community.
Boo Khaki (he/him)
Boo Khaki is one of the king’s – if not the king – of Ōtepoti’s drag scene. They began performing drag around the time they were getting an autism diagnosis: “Every day was a performance for me. Every day was drag for me.” Boo’s mother was influential for their love of drag, even though it was more the trashy reality show aspect of RuPaul’s Drag Race rather than the actual artistry of drag that appealed to her. Back in Auckland (where Boo is originally from) there was a casting call for a drag king show. “That was massive because drag kings are under-represented throughout. There’s a more appealing aspect to being a caricature of feminine aspects rather than masculine. King shit has always been appealing to me.” Boo was the host for the UniQ (un)talent show and performed alongside Ann, meaning they also helped start out the drag scene in Ōtepoti.
Honk Ers (they/them)
Honk Ers is the jester of the drag scene in Ōtepoti, often mixing in stand-up comedy as well as classic drag to their performances. To them, drag is “expressing your queerness through the art of performing – it shows who you are and your opinions on a stage.” Honk got into drag when they saw a show in Auckland and knew it would be a lot of fun to do. “Then I saw Ann Akrii had their show and I was like, ‘Yup I’m doing that.’” Honk is a fan of the scene in Dunedin due to its understanding of different kinds of performers. “None of them are like, ‘You have to do it this way.’ You can do it any way you want and most performers don’t fit the classic model of King or Queen.”
Cherri (she/her)
Originally from Invercargill, Cherri's interest in drag sparked after watching Gottmik on Season 13 of RuPaul’s Drag Race. “I’m a trans man who does drag, so I had closed my doors mentally forever pursuing that interest until I saw Gottmik, who is a trans drag performer – and it opened the doors again.” It was April this year where they got into full drag for the first time. Cherri then saw a Critic article about Ann Arkii upon arriving in Dunedin. “I saw Revolution 3 and went up to Ann at the break and was like, ‘I do drag’ and I joined the show the next month.” Dunedin drag is special to Cherri because it’s the first drag scene she has been a part of. “There is NEGATIVE in terms of a drag scene in Invercargill. There is nowhere suitable to even host that kind of thing.” Cherri also mentions how drag means something different for everyone: “It means being different, it means being the same.”
D*liria Hevelius (she/her)
Before doing drag, D*liria used to paint oil portraits. They even put their work into exhibitions but the passion died out quickly. “I realised all those spaces are quite racist and full of old white boomers so I had to find a new creative outlet,” says D*liria. As a Māori queen, D*liria often uses Māori culture as inspiration for their drag, incorporating Poi and other aspects of kapa haka into her performance. “I always gravitated towards the more feminine side of kapa haka so being told I have to be aggressive and slap my chest I was like, ‘Babe I’m not doing all that.’ Originally from Stewart Island, D*liria moved to Dunedin to go to art school. “There wasn’t much of a queer scene when I was first here so it’s cool to help and be a part of a new scene.”