A queer artist finds solidarity through shapeshifting into their drag persona
CJ believes there are many different ways to think about drag because the art form is so intersectional. “At the end of the day, it’s something that just makes me happy,” he says
January 18, 2023 | Photo essay by Valentina Sarmiento
This article is part of Atrium’s Winter 2023 issue. To view the print edition online, visit our Issuu here
The metamorphosis begins with a glue stick tube straight to the eyebrows. Then, three shades of foundation are painted over every pore.
“I really hope that whenever someone walks away from my performance, they’re not only just thinking about what I was wearing or what song I was doing, but they’re actually taking meaning behind that,” CJ says.
CJ unrolls a pair of beige pantyhose.
The rest is a frenzy of exaggerated eye makeup, human hair wigs and an authentic ostrich feather boa that is worth one month’s rent.
“It’s really important to acknowledge where we came from and still use drag as a form of resistance,” CJ says.
CJ values fostering a sense of community within queer spaces. Not all queer people are accepted by their biological family, which can be scary, they say. “As queer people, we have our chosen family,” he adds.
Wigs mounted on styrofoam mannequin heads are stored atop the shelves of CJ’s apartment.
A spotlight follows Whorealis as she makes her entrance. “I step foot on stage, and just being able to see peoples’ faces, having the light hit my face and really being in the moment — it feels like pure euphoria,” CJ says.
Finally, after four hours of preparation, Aurora Whorealis emerges.
More than 500 anti-LGBTQ bills have been introduced nationwide in 2023. Christian Acevedo, a 24-year-old drag queen from Florida who goes by CJ and uses he/they pronouns, performs in spite of them all. “If you don’t like the performance that I’m putting on, that’s all on you,” he says.
Whorealis re-emerges for her second number at University Club following an outfit change.
CJ is a frequent performer at University Club, Gainesville’s first and only gay bar. Through the artistry of drag, he and other performers are able to build and strengthen shared communal bonds, demanding visibility and asserting their presence.
CJ’s craft is controversial. There have always been people who hate drag queens. “But to see the magnitude that it’s at and to see elected officials pushing this hatred towards our community is mortifying,” they say.
Whorealis collects tips while embracing the audience at University Club.
To fend off prejudice, CJ surrounds himself with other queer folks who understand the narratives and obstacles intrinsic to queerness. People who can share in both his pain and joy.
“We’re not going anywhere,” they say. “We’ve been here since the beginning, and we’re gonna continue to be here.”
Whorealis dons rhinestone earrings and a plunging rhinestone neckline. She’s a perfectionist. Her black Mugler gloves ride evenly past both elbows.