How You Get Famous | Pasulka, Nicole

Kurze Beschreibung
A 'funny, poignant, dishy, and even enlightening' adventure through a tight-knit world of drag performers making art, mayhem, and dreaming of making it big, this book is 'the story of America now' (Alexander Chee, The New York Times).


Lange Beschreibung
A 'funny, poignant, dishy, and even enlightening' adventure through a tight-knit world of drag performers making art, mayhem, and dreaming of making it big, this book is 'the story of America now' (Alexander Chee, The New York Times).

In How You Get Famous, journalist Nicole Pasulka raucously documents the rebirth of the New York drag scene, following a group of iconoclastic performers with undeniable charisma, talent, and a hell of a lot to prove. In the past decade, drag has become a place where edgy, competitive showoffs can find security in a callous and over priced city, a shot at real money, and a level of recognition queer people rarely achieve. But can drag keep its edge as it travels from the backroom to the main stage?

A 'joyful and scrappy' (Esquire) portrait of the 21st-century search for celebrity and community, How You Get Famous is 'dripping in plush detail and drama' (Mother Jones) and 'stitched together with great respect and love' (The Guardian). It's the story of an aimless coat check worker who sweet-talked his way into hosting a drag show at a Brooklyn dive bar, a pair of teenagers sneaking into clubs and pocketing tips to help support their families, and eclectic performers who have managed to land a spot on TV and millions of followers...all colliding in an unprecedented account of a subculture on the brink of becoming a cultural phenomenon.

'If you like to have a good time, you want to read this book!'-BuzzFeed

Rezensierung
'Funny, poignant, dishy and even enlightening... it's the story of America now.'
-Alexander Chee, The New York Times

Buchausschnitt
Chapter One: Welcome to New York City CHAPTER ONE Welcome to New York City
'Don't you fall,' Aja warned, rushing Esai Andino toward the J train, their high heels scraping along the pavement. Putting Esai in the shoes had been a risk. Even in sneakers, the fourteen-year-old boy tripped-over curbs, steps, nothing at all-pretty much every day. The fat cans of Four Loko they'd polished off while getting ready in Aja's room hadn't helped Esai's composure. As soon as their makeup was dry, seventeen-year-old Aja had rushed Esai out the door and into the cold night: two Brooklyn teenagers in search of attention, cash, and adventure in the big city.

Then the pair turned a corner and, sure enough, Esai's ankle rolled. He screeched and keeled over. Fall 2011 had been mild, but in the evening chill his breath was visible in small puffs. Esai leaned on Aja as they hobbled into the station and up the stairs.

It was their first night out in Manhattan as drag queens. Their first night trying the thing they'd been talking about for months. Earlier that day, Aja had earned fifteen dollars reading a woman's tarot cards and used the money to buy Esai a pair of gold sparkly heels. Esai paced on the train platform, shivering and limping slightly. He had on black tights and a star-print skirt over a polka-dot bathing suit. Aja, who had been raised as a boy but prefers the pronouns 'she' or 'they,' was wearing a floral shirt she'd made for a class project at the High School of Fashion Industries.

They arrived at Bar-Tini on Tenth Avenue in Hell's Kitchen early, to avoid getting carded. A drag queen named Holly Dae, who'd recently changed her name from Holly Caust, was hosting a competition for newcomers called Beat That Face! In the drag world, 'beat' could be a noun or a verb meaning a face of makeup or the act of applying makeup. Esai had chosen a drag name: Naya Kimora, because he loved Kimora Lee Simmons, the fashion designer and former wife of hip-hop mogul Russell Simmons. Aja's name came from the chorus of a catchy Bollywood song. The other queens there had on long dresses and shiny, blond, expensive-looking wigs. Aja and Esai should have felt out of place-conspicuously underage and unpolished-but alcohol had steadied their nerves.

The bar filled up. When it was Esai's turn to perform, he collected himself at the center of the stage and waited for the DJ to cue his music. The drums began, and Esai started swinging his hips, turning slowly in a circle.

Esai lip-synched as JLo sang, 'Let all the heat pour doooown.'

The shoes chewed into Esai's feet. The beat hit. He ignored the throbbing in his ankle, kicked his leg in front of him, pivoted, and began to twerk. People in the room tittered and politely cheered.

'Dance for your man,' JLo commanded. 'Put your hands up in the air-air-air-whoa oh-oh-oh,' she sang. It was a good thing the words were simple, because he had not practiced. Esai left the stage panting and joined Aja, who had performed 'Judas' by Lady Gaga, a song about toxic love, with dark synths and a wailing chorus.

Brave and foolish, these two New York City children had done something many older, wiser, and more experienced queers would never dare attempt. They'd gotten into drag, walked into a bar, and jumped onstage, without hesitation and with very little concern for the consequences. They were new, and they were rough around the edges, but even in this utterly amateur moment they had the priceless combination of guts and hunger that helped seemingly small people do big, scary things. Kicking and twirling while lip-synching in front of an audience felt like flying.

Aja lived with her mom on Hopkins and Throop in Brooklyn, where hipster W