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A few weeks ago, I put out the question to the world: what does one wear to the VIP section of a record release party for a drag queen at the McKittrick Hotel (where they do Sleep No More)? The answer, I was told by multiple sources, was: “sequins.”


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(Look at that fucking SAUSAGE CURL I’ve got going on there! I think since I’ve started ponytailing my hair, I’ve also started doing this nervous hair-twirling thing? I think it gives me weird 1950s barrel curls, or whatever that’s called.)

(Also, why yes, I AM very good at make-up, THANK YOU!)

So yeah, Meredith, who also, incidentally, took me to the Regretsy drag queen party at the Chinese restaurant , because apparently these are the kinds of events she gets tickets to, told Jill and me about Sharon Needles’s record release party. Her album is called PG-13, and it’s pretty adorable, in that gothy-drag-club-music kind of way? “I Wish I Were Amanda Lapour” has been stuck in my head for like three days now, if that’s a recommendation?

Alaska Thunderfuck (Sharon’s boyfriend), Sharon Needles, Ana Matronic from the Scissor Sisters, and Amanda Lepore:

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We hung out, we sparkled, we took selfies, we bought $12 drinks. Sigh. I felt kind of old.

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Goddamnit I CAN’T NOT MAKE A FACE when I take a fucking photo, though, right!? How do humans DO that!?

They showed a cute little documentary and Sharon’s video for “This Club Is a Haunted House,” which is actually pretty adorable, and then she performed a few songs. I totally saw her underpants.

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We stood in the audience next to her mother, who was beaming and waving while her son talked about kai-kai and cocaine. She was wearing a very fancy dress and no makeup. (…The mother, I mean. Sharon may or may not have been wearing makeup; I couldn’t really tell.) The whole scene was kind of like that: oddly sweet. Sharon and Alaska, like, being nice and kissing and working together, and Sharon’s mom, and the people in the audience getting really excited when they saw themselves for a second as extras in the video, and Sharon kind of sleepily teasing her assistant (whose name is Potatoes), and her dress kind of didn’t fit that well, but she looked beautiful, sigh, and the tall second-tier drag queens who arrived in a limo, pointedly ignored those of us standing in line, and huddled tightly together to smoke while one of them shouted into a cell phone: “We’re here. We’re outside. We’re HERE. WE ARE HERE!” and everyone staaaaaaaarrred at her because we were not sure whether or not she was famous. It was a Sunday night; no one seemed too willing to completely debauch.


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