San Francisco Sentinel
February 2, 1990
Street Talk
Dear Doris…
By Doris Fish, Sentinel Arts Writer
The letters have been piling up and it’s time to air them out before they get too passé.
Manny, a native of West Germany now in town, writes, “What do you do about sweaty strumphosen?” And “What do you do if you are in an earthquake and your heels break? How do you prepare for such a situation?”
Dear Manny, well, the closest I could find to “strumphosen” in my American College Dictionary was “strumpet”, but I suspect there is some connection between the two. Have you tried airing it out? Or hosing it down? As for breaking a heel, one doesn’t need an earthquake, believe me! Some Queens do carry extra shoes in their purses, but I seldom prepare for bad experiences, believing as I do that the more one prepares for disaster, the more one is likely to encounter it. Besides, a broken heel can sometimes make one look more approachable if not more attractive, so why worry about it?
My expose of the inner working of the Imperial Court last month caused a flood of letters:
“I wasn’t surprised when I read…(of) the Imperial Court and their refusal to allow Miss Romé to run for Empress. Who are these elitist bitches and why?” Asks Tony Cosas.
He continues, “…These are the ‘90s and you better believe there are lots of us who happen to like our Mistresses of Drag in tattered fishnets, butts exposed and balls hanging out. There is no doubt you girls like to play and have great fun in your gowns, but face it, you all need a facelift and Miss Romé is it. She is the quintessential ‘90s Empress. I cast my write-in vote for him/her.” Thanks, Tony.
Unfortunately, I don’t have the space to print the entire contents of these next letters and I apologize to the authors, Hanna-Barbaric aka Honey Marbit, Rena McDonald, Twisty Daniels and Host S. Snowball, all local readers:
“Dearest Ms. Fish and her keepers at the Scentinel (sic) c/o charge nurse: “…your tepidly cruel and overtly jealous attempt to dismiss Miss Romes (sic) candidacy (as if something so beautiful could go away so easily) takes the heavily frosted cake.
“We’re deeply concerned with your derangement, a thredbare (sic) and pitiful ‘remnant’ struggling to conceal your mania of self aggrandizement and debasement. …Perhaps this underlies your paniced (sic) responses to the ease with which Miss Rome wears her nudity. Perhaps you fear your own nudity would reveal a crippled, wire frame, or at least testicles, equiptment (sic) weilded (sic) fiercely by Miss Rose.
“Spare us your senile and cloying mythologies of pre-Stonewall (sic), pre-Cockette (sic) days. Even your idealism is boring and droning.
“The column seems nothing more than the opportunity for a dead fish to stink.” Claws in, Miss Puss! Queens should be nice to one another.
Anyway, the letter goes on and on, deriding “the lacquered, embalmed, grotesquely inflated characatures (sic) of persecuting feminine mother-types currently passing for drag queens…” and finally, “you (are) the least sister of all.”
In another tome on the subject, Ms. Snowball adds, “Your sorry column reeks of pointed prejudice toward anyone who is an antithesis of yourself or your obviously base aesthetics and style…A short time with your wig out of the Fishtank (sic) might do you some good.”
Other letters have been less exciting but more welcome. “I must say I applaud you, you are truly wonderful,” writes Demian. And from Australia, “I’m glad you’re enjoying writing for the paper. I bet your columns are terrific. But then you’ve always been so talented. Write soon. Love, Mom.”
And write soon, too, dear readers. I love a friendly note.
Love, Doris
P.S. Have you seen the posters for Empress candidate Vinnie? She is promoting herself as “human”. What species are the other two? Cows? Dogs? I’ve also heard that she is keen to get an endorsement from the outlawed candidate, Miss Romé and her consort, Greg Taylor, whose candidacy for Emperor was also denied. This is the first campaign I’ve really enjoyed.
