Race, What a Drag!
How TV Reflects Discrimination and the "Visibility Trap" in Policing Drag
RuPaul’s Drag Race has been a cultural juggernaut for over a decade. But for all its glitter and glam, the show holds a mirror to society – revealing uncomfortable truths about race, policing, and the public perception of marginalized groups. Racialized drag queens, (also referred to as queens), often find themselves battling not just for a crown but also for the recognition of their humanity. Tension is reflected in the way the show edits, perceives, and even discards racialized queens. Drag Race has become a microcosm of what happens when racialized individuals navigate the intersection of public performance and systemic oppression.
At the heart of this issue is the “villain edit.” The show has a long history of casting queens of colour, particularly Black and Brown queens, as the "villains" or troublemakers. Take The Vixen, one of the most memorable and polarizing queens in Drag Race history. The show portrayed her as an angry woman, constantly clashing with other queens and the judges, even though her outbursts were a direct response to her being constantly disrespected. In this context, her anger was weaponized and racialized, turning her into a caricature of the "angry Black woman" stereotype.
But The Vixen wasn’t alone. Queens like Aja, Kandy Muse, and even Tamisha Iman have all found themselves in the crosshairs of this narrative–cast as aggressive, confrontational, or difficult. The pattern is telling. Racialized queens, particularly Black and Latina queens, are given less grace than their white counterparts. When they show any emotion other than the pleasant, bubbly demeanour expected of them, they are quickly branded as problematic or unprofessional. Meanwhile, white queens often get away with similar behaviours without the harsh judgment.
This isn’t just about drama on TV. The treatment of racialized queens in Drag Race directly mirrors how racial minorities are treated in society, where expressions of anger, frustration, or vulnerability are often criminalized. The “villain edit” serves to reinforce a larger societal narrative that positions racialized people as "other," as less deserving of empathy, and as inherently "troublesome."
The “villain edit” is just the tip of the iceberg, though. Drag Race provides a lens through which we can examine how institutional systems, like policing, impact people of colour. The reality of policing is made glaringly obvious in many of the stories we hear from queens who must navigate a world where their sheer existence is criminalized. Many queens of colour, especially trans women, openly discuss experiencing profiling, harassment, and even violence at the hands of law enforcement. Yet this issue rarely makes it into the mainstream drag narrative unless it's framed as a personal tragedy or an isolated incident, when it’s a daily reality for many people of colour in the 2SLGBTQ+ community.
But when we talk about policing and its impact on queens of colour, it is not just about physical violence. It’s also about the institutional violence embedded into the system that leads to over-policing and under-policing (i.e., the lack of police assistance) when they are victims of a crime. Implicit bias within law enforcement assumes certain groups are more likely to commit crimes. This extends to legal practices that disproportionately affect people of colour. With 41% of Black Americans reporting being stopped or detained by law enforcement simply because of their race, or 21% of Black adults being victims of police violence, the haunting reality of racial biases in policing becomes apparent.
Beyond law enforcement, recent efforts to criminalize drag in the United States speak to a broader war on the lives of the 2SLGBTQ+ community led by conservative politicians. Tennessee was the first state to sign an anti-drag bill in 2023 in response to an unwarranted moral panic about drag queen story hours in public libraries. Despite gun violence being the leading cause of death of children in the U.S., the ACLU is now tracking over 300 anti-LGBTQ bills in the U.S. during this legislative session, many of which target racialized trans youth and drag artists. Clearly, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. While Drag Race has done wonders to bring drag artistry and queer culture to the mainstream, it has been met with equal political opposition to strip protections in a phenomenon that academics would refer to as “the visibility trap.”
These biases, ingrained in police training and public policy, are the same ones that Drag Race enforces on-screen through the villainization of Black and Brown drag queens. When racialized queens are pigeonholed into these roles, the message is abundantly clear: they must be monitored, controlled, and punished for simply being themselves. It feeds into a dangerous narrative of dehumanization that directly influences how people of colour are policed and represented, not just on TV but in broader public policy.
But here’s the thing: Drag Race is also a space of resistance. Despite the racialization of queens, many have used their platform to challenge the very systems that oppress them. The Vixen’s confrontations weren’t just about her temper; they were about the way society forces Black people to swallow their anger while it erases their voice.
The fight for visibility and respect for queens of colour on Drag Race is part of the same fight being waged on the streets. Policing – both literal and metaphorical – of racialized communities is part of a larger pattern that seeks to control, marginalize, and silence. What Drag Race reveals is that, even in the world of glitz, glamour, and glitter, the struggle against systemic racism in the policing of drag is ongoing. If we want to understand how policy and the racialized experience intersect, we need to start by looking at how these queens are forced to navigate a world that often feels more like a cage than a stage. If we truly want change, we need to understand that these queens aren't just performing for a crown; they’re performing for their survival.
Dr. Al-Amin Ahamed (he/they) is a Communications Manager of The Bell and a double graduate from the University of Toronto (HBSc, PharmD). As a front-line healthcare worker and amateur drag artist, Auntie Biotic, Al has been an outspoken advocate for racialized, gender, and sexual minority rights. With an innate interest in the intersections of policy and health systems, Al enters the MPP program as a McCall MacBain Scholar, striving to optimize health equity for marginalized peoples.