A SCAR IS BORN

Forget RuPaul’s Drag U: Christeene Is The Filthy Future Of Drag

 

Soileau had already performed for several years as Rebecca Havemeyer, a drag character that he created while waiting tables at a Manhattan bistro. He discovered the name Havemeyer from a Brooklyn street and thought it sounded like Vanderbilt, Rockerfeller and other 1920’s robber barons. History revealed that the Havemeyers had made their fortune in sugar and so Soileau imagined a burnt-out Brooklyn socialite whose great great grandmother had an affair with the sugar king.

Rebecca grew up taken care of and remains decked out in 1930’s platinums and powders (dresses Soileau picks up from secondhand shops), charmingly ignorant of her own shortcomings. During one Christmas show, Rebecca asked the bacon-eating, wish-granting Child of Prague to make Santa come a week early. When a half-formed Santa came down her chimney gibbering like a mutant, Ms. Havemeyer concluded the show and spent the night carousing with audience members still dressed in her wig and gown.

In his small East Austin home, hidden behind a canopy of drooping magnolias, Soileau pulls out one of Havemeyer’s gowns near the hatstand where he keeps her and Christeene’s wigs. The elegantly simple gown has smudges of makeup, street food, and dirt on it. “A lot of the dresses have tp be dry cleaned,” Soileau laughs. “And I’m broke.” He then pulls out Christeene’s costumes — scraps like her pillowcase dresses, the belts she wears as bras, a denim garter (“she thinks denim is like diamonds”) and a pair of panties that haven’t been washed since last September. Christeene throws them into the crowd every show and they always somehow get back to her.

I’ve seen Christeene’s show — it’s shockingly filthy. She’s a man whose not afraid to show her penis in see-through panty hose or eat chocolate pudding out of her backup dancer’s ass. Soileau lets me smell the panties — they used to be baby blue. Now they’re purple, stiffened with sweat and smudged with the makeup that Soileau bruises onto Christeene’s thighs. The twisted panties have a blood stain on the crotch and reek of ball stank — even six inches away, I can still taste the smell.