From Māori drag activism to trans visibility and safety, and the wisdom of drag elders, Oliver Hall talks with Daniel Williams, Hugo Grrrl, Slay West and Adena Delights about the world premiere of D.R.A.G. (Dressed Resembling a God), Silo’s Queer Christmas Spectacle.
Step inside Q Theatre this November and you’ll be transported to Lady T’s, a drag club dripping in sequins, sweat and survival. It’s the kind of place where laughter cuts through the haze, where a political jab can land just as hard as a high note, and where queer past and present dance shoulder to shoulder.
Equal parts party, protest and performance, D.R.A.G. is a love letter to Aotearoa drag. Three artists fight to save their beloved club, navigating diva antics, fragile alliances and the creeping threat of a world outside that doesn’t always value queer spaces. Each night brings a different guest star, from Anita Wigl’it to Tom Sainsbury, ensuring no two shows are alike. But the heart of D.R.A.G. is not chaos, but a story about community: fragile, defiant, and fiercely fabulous.
Looking Back to Look Forward
The show marks the theatre-directing debut of Daniel Williams, a longtime Silo set designer and drag performer known as Lady Trenyce. For Williams, D.R.A.G. is more than spectacle; it’s a reckoning with queer history.
“We are paving the way for the future of drag and what that looks like, but to celebrate and pay respects to the past was definitely something I wanted to hero in this work,” Williams says. “Looking back to look forward is an important part of being queer and it’s a key story point within D.R.A.G..”
Williams cut their teeth in the Wellington and Auckland drag scenes of the early 2000s, and much of what unfolds at Lady T’s is drawn directly from lived experience: the dressing-room banter, the moments of chosen family, the inevitable arguments and mishaps.
The design team, Micheal McCabe and Sean Lynch, are steeped in the same queer lineage. McCabe’s academic research on queer spaces in Aotearoa and Lynch’s celebrated theatre work combine to recreate the essence of venues like Carmen’s Coffee Lounge and The Purple Onion. The result will be immersive: Q Theatre will become a nostalgic cabaret venue that pays homage to a scene of the past.
The Politics of Drag
Drag has always been political, Williams tells us. “From K’ Road gentrification to Brian Tamaki, Luxon, Georgina, Chloe and everything in between, we knew we would cover some polarising subjects,” he says. “Slay’s character has a passion for activism and social change. Weaving a strong Māori perspective into the narrative through dialogue and performance is integral to the piece.”
For Hugo Grrrl, one of New Zealand’s pioneering drag kings and a proud trans man, those politics are lived daily. Hugo knows first-hand how fragile queer safety can be: he was at the centre of the Destiny Church protest against drag storytime back in February, and the art form that saved him as a young performer is still under attack.
“Wellington in the 2000s was an incredible place to start out,” he recalls. “The venues were open, nobody stopped you from getting on stage, and you could clock up an enormous amount of stage time. I didn’t feel like the biggest freak in the room, I found my weirdos there, and that made all the difference.”
By contrast, Hugo feels Auckland’s drag scene today is more commercialised and less accessible. He points out that some new performers have to drive to Hamilton just to get stage time. “Drag just doesn’t get programmed in the same way anymore,” he says. It’s a shift that mirrors a global trend: drag moving from underground resistance to corporate commodity.
Indigenous Drag Meets Digital Activism
For Slay West, a proudly political Māori queen and member of Indigenous drag girl group The Tīwhas, the question of drag’s purpose is clear: it’s about visibility, sovereignty and survival.
“It’s an honour to get to sing in te reo and use poi and make our own haka,” Slay says. “It’s amazing for people to see it with a queer twist.”
Her drag is rooted in culture but also unapologetically modern, shaped by the TikTok generation. She sees social media as a tool, not for clout but for mobilisation. “We should use our profiles to spread the word of what petition to sign or where to donate or protest,” she says.
Slay also acknowledges the duality of online platforms: empowering community while exposing queens of colour to racist backlash. She’s received hateful comments, but she laughs them off. “I am very proud to be a POC drag queen and I try to incorporate my culture into my drag as much as I can,” she says. “If I get ignorance, I’m happy to educate – or put people in their place.”
The Wisdom of Elders
While Slay represents drag’s digital future, Adena Delights embodies its seasoned legacy. A veteran queen who has worked in both Australia and Aotearoa since the 1990s, Adena has seen how much drag, and queer nightlife, has changed.
“For me the physical space of having a club was so important,” she reflects. “I never would have had the opportunities in my drag career, and gained the friends I have, if it wasn’t for physical spaces. We need to have somewhere to go that we feel comfortable.”
Adena welcomes the explosion of new talented drag artists but worries that something essential has been lost. “It is very different now. There isn’t the same community feeling as there was when I did drag in the late 90s and early 2000s,” she says.
Her perspective adds depth to D.R.A.G.’s central tension. The fight to save Lady T’s isn’t just a plot device; it’s a metaphor for the precariousness of queer venues everywhere.
Intergenerational Drag
Taken together, the voices of Hugo, Slay and Adena reveal drag not as a monolith but as a living, evolving conversation. Hugo speaks to the precariousness of safe stages; Slay brings the urgency of activism and identity; Adena reminds us of the fragility of queer spaces and the wisdom of elders who built them.
Williams sees this interplay as essential. “Some one-liners and scenes have directly come from lived experience,” he says. “I’m sure the community will recognise themselves or people they know within the world we have built. It truly is a cross-section of Aotearoa drag.”
The drag hierarchy, such as it is, doesn’t quite hold in Aotearoa. Hugo notes that because drag here rarely sustains a full-time career, people dip in and out, leaving fewer rigid tiers. What remains is something more valuable: a patchwork of artists across generations and identities, carrying drag’s radical heart forward in different ways.
By the time Lady T’s closes its glittering doors each night, audiences will have witnessed more than just a drag show. They’ll have been immersed in an archive of queer resilience, activism, humour and joy. A reminder of why queer spaces matter, and why they’re worth fighting for.
D.R.A.G. (Dressed Resembling a God) runs from 13 November to 6 December at Auckland’s Q Theatre. Tickets from silotheatre.co.nz.
