MY PRONOUNS ARE 'TRY ME'
“My pronouns are ‘try me‘” is a mini-reportage that offers an intimate glimpse into the life of Lebanese drag queen Zuhal –one of the most influential personas in the Arab Drag World.
This series explores Zuhal’s role as a pivotal figure in the Arab Drag World and his influence on Arab culture through his artistic expression. Zuhal describes drag as adding ‘gas to fire’ in a country where daily life is already fraught with exaggerated challenges. Despite the difficulties, his commitment to drag is unwavering, driven by a strong sense of responsibility and the confidence to inspire change. This project captures the essence of Zuhal’s spirit and the transformative power of drag in challenging and reshaping cultural norms.
Beirut, LE
2022
In a voice message right before the interview, Ziad lets me know: “No photos in my street.” Ziad lives next to a military base in the center of Beirut. It is paradoxical, as he has to withstand the military’s gaze every time he enters the street as Zuhal, his drag queen alter-ego. With lowered eyes, as he tells me, but with confidence and pride because this is how he believes change can and must happen here.
Zuhal, who he describes as glamorous and beautiful, perceptive and sarcastic, is focused on Arab culture and what he calls “Arab drag,” and he has become one of the most influential personas in the Arab Drag World. While Ziad slowly transforms into Zuhal in front of my eyes, he tells me about his childhood, the lack of proper materials and resources for drag in Lebanon, and the legal situation.
Ziad grew up in a village in the mountains with his family. His mom a teacher, his dad an old-wave graphic designer. Although being the youngest in the family, he soon had to take on a lot of responsibility. “My parents thought that I could take more responsibility than I should at this age. It made me extremely needy emotionally, but at the same time so independent. It’s the main reason why I am so hard on myself.”
My pronouns are he, she, they but I go by everything.
My gender is a threat and my pronouns are “try me”.
In split seconds his expression changes from tough to soft and back to soft. “I am my biggest enemy,” he says. “Even in my shows when I perform, each time I finish, for me it’s the worst show I ever did until people tell me otherwise and it turns out to have been a good one.
It makes me successful but at the same time it is draining.“ The magic for him happens in the moment in which his art is truely for himself, and not about popularity or success.
The boy who ran away from home because his parents didn’t approve of his sexual
orientation at first, discovered his love for Drag through Ru Paul’s Drag Race and theatre classes at university. The appreciation of his teacher and classmates gave him the much-needed validation on his way to full-time drag. He creates earrings made from CDs, hand-painted dresses, and when the electricity goes off phone lights and ring lights are saviours.
Doing drag at home in the mirror would be therapeutic,
but doing it out in public it becomes much bigger than me. It becomes political.
The boy who ran away from home because his parents didn’t approve of his sexual
orientation at first, discovered his love for Drag through Ru Paul’s Drag Race and theatre classes at university. The appreciation of his teacher and classmates gave him much-needed validation on his way to full-time drag. He creates earrings made from CDs, and hand-painted dresses, and when the electricity goes off phone lights and ring lights are saviors.
It makes me successful but at the same time it is draining.“ The magic for him happens in the moment in which his art is truly for himself, and not about popularity or success.
Article 534 of the Lebanese Penal Code prohibits having sexual relations that are “contradicting the laws of nature”, which is punishable by up to a year in prison.
Altough there is a history of drag of balls, transgender nights and and a whole ballroom scene in Beirut dating back to the 70ies and 80ies, the current drag scene in Beirut exists only since around 2016/2017. At it’s beginning, drag shows were still happening in hidden places, makeup would be done and removed on scene. Only with time, some dared to try to go out in the streets, to create an online presence, to speak up. Ziad was amongst them.
“By now it is known that Drag is legally safe but our problems lie much deeper. We still have a law prohibiting homosexuality and unfortunately, it is often misused in prosecutions for drug-related incidents but also drag as there are still a lot of stereotypes that are related to our community.
Ziad thought about leaving the country, many times. “When you go through traumatic experiences with a person or a place, you go through so many memories. You become Nostalgic. Beirut is like a tough parent to me.” he says and his childhood seems present in his words. “It teaches lessons to us we didn’t ask for but they make us grow. That is why I enjoy traveling and learning things outside that I can bring here. I still have to grow. And this place still needs to grow. I want to continue to create that change for my country and city.”
When I ask Ziad if drag is a way for him to escape some of the problems he faces every day, he replies “It’s like pouring ‘gas on fire’.”
“But,” says Ziad, “It gives me the possibility to have an identity that was not assigned to me by birth, an identity I can control – and I have the confidence that is needed if you want to create change in a place like this and I feel that it is my responsibility to do so.”
With Zuhal by my side, I leave the apartment, with lowered eyes at first, chin high up once in
busier streets and, when the first person approaches to thank Zuhal for his work, I understand.
In a country prone to exaggeration, with exaggerated problems, doing something exaggerated is not an easy path.
