San Francisco Sentinel
May 31, 1990
Street Talk
A Quiet, Dressy Evening
By Doris Fish
I pride myself on being very sophisticated and broad minded, but even I saw some things that surprised me last week. The host Mr. Bob Davis, a big handsome straight musician, greeted his guests in a purple gown and matching turban — not that that was too disturbing, but he was braless!
I always thought that transvestites loved to wear women’s underwear, you know, bras and panties and naughty little see-through nothings, not to mention lots of heavy makeup. Mr. Davis just wore a little smudge of blue metallic powder around his eyes and a very tasteful dark pink lip-gloss and, most shocking of all, no shoes! Its’s one thing for real women to abandon high heels, but when men start to do it I think that’s a very disturbing trend. I’m all in favor of being comfortable, but not right out in public!
But of course, being tolerant and sophisticated I held my tongue and made no mention of our pretty host’s fashion faux pas. But then I was sufficiently distracted by the arrival of world-renowned ‘Female Approximator’ Mr./Miss Ambi Sextrous, a real one-of-a-kind party guest. Ambi actually looked fabulous, which was the really amazing jaw-dropper of the night. Having made a very successful transition from serious substance abuser to sober socialite, her appearance has blossomed, making her younger and prettier than ever, despite the glittered beard, though even that was not unattractive. Am I becoming so tolerant that I can admire things I normally would condemn? Or has the seventies revival made facial hair and cosmetics compatible again? The real answer may be that Ambi has by sheer devotion to her own ideas of beauty become a Drag Icon, obeying no laws of fashion save her own inscrutable rules of self-décor.
While we’re on the subject of self-décor, the winners would have to be that lovely couple, Carmel Sanger and her husband, Robert. Only a few areas of their bodies remain tattoo-less. Robert has delicate portraits of his daughter and wife on his forearms with a charming set of scenes including The Strip in Las Vegas and a lovely picture of their apartment house on Castro Street. As we conversed, he continued to display more of his married man’s body, causing perhaps the most severe disturbance I had felt all evening. His wife then joined us and matched her husband body part for body part, surpassing him only when she revealed her ant farm on her leg. This amazing display rivaled our hosts’ own display of ‘Female Impersonation and Related Arts’, which filled two large comfortable rooms of the top floor of the Folsom Street mansion. Guests perused the enormous collection of books, magazines and photos, some of which depicted Drag Artists of the last century, with amused bemusement.
Mr. Davis proudly pointed out his favorite pieces: an autographed copy of Christine Jorgensen’s autobiography, the complete collection of Female Mimics magazine, a a rare copy of Newsweek from the forties with Milton Berle (in drag, of course) on the cover, a fabulous book of Japanese traditional Drags and a very amusing photo of some college boys from the twenties.
And I was proud to be represented in the collection by my portrait of Mr. Davis with myself, his girlfriend Tippi, and Miss X. The painting was unveiled to the delight of the plethora of art-loving party guests, most of whom were still sober enough to appreciate the subtleties and delicate details which suffuse my work. Only a few people, Silvana Nova for instance, asked, “Where are you in the painting, Doris? I only see beautiful young queens.” I ignored the implied insult and answered graciously, “I only paint beautiful young queens, Sil darling, which is why I’ve never painted you.” Got her where she lives.
Most of the party guests ignored all this culture around them and devoted themselves to loud drinking and smoking out on the back deck. Even Miss X who had taken several hours to get ready, without any discernible improvement, chose to ‘git down’ with the ‘kids’, joining Phil Ford and the late-arriving Popstitutes as they bantered crude jokes and drunken insults back and forth, passing them off as sophisticated conversation.
Meanwhile, Tattoo Goddess Carmel suggested that I paint a mural in her salon, ‘Pink Tarantula Hair’, when she moves to her new SOMA premises. The portrait also prompted Didi Aster, the curator of the upcoming art show, “Tools of Camp” to invite moi to exhibit later this month when the show opens. No doubt you’ll hear more about that in a future column.
By this time Miss X’s raucous laughter was beginning to give me a headache, so I bid our gracious host, whose demeanor was showing traces of anxiety, a brief farewell and headed for the relative safety of the streets. Even from the sidewalk I could hear Miss X’s favorite party threat, “I am going to sing all night long!” At the top of her lungs. I had left, not a moment too soon.
