I imagine the feeling I have following Pride each year is rather similar to the one felt by Santa Claus after Christmas: exhausted, gratified, and grateful to get the heck out of drag for a while.
This year was no different. It took me an entire week to recuperate, both mentally and physically. My feet still aren’t talking to me. It also took me a week to stop waving and yelling “Happy Pride!” every time I entered a room. Still, I wouldn’t trade being in the parade for all the cheap hair in Thailand. A drag queen just isn’t a drag queen without a parade.
The feeling you get the first few moments your float turns onto Hennepin Avenue is pure, unadulterated magic. Whether or not the tens of thousands of people cheering and celebrating even know who you are, their effervescent joy is intoxicating. The entire experience is practically a blur, as you get lost in wave after wave of undulating adoration. At least that’s how it plays out in my head.
Most importantly, it’s safe to say I would have been just another man in a dress parading down Hennepin Avenue were it not for incredibly talented people like Robb Grier and Wayne Laberda. Additional big thanks to Matt, Adam, all my trolley tramps, Lavender, Twin Cities Trolley, and The Firm. Their hard work and determination prove that it really does take a village to raise a drag queen!