Reflecting on the past decade, Now You See Us is a collection of stories told by members of Boorloo’s diverse LGBTQ+ community. This series of interviews features an exploration of palpable cultural change, memories of love, life, acceptance, and fear.

Hemlock Honey is a drag queen, performer, and host based in Western Australia. With horror at the forefront of their art, Hemlock brings a unique perspective to the world of Boorloo’s nightlife. In this interview, they recount their experience as a queer person over the past decade.

Ronin Thomson (RT): Take us back to 2013. What did life look like before all the gore and wigs?

Hemlock Honey (HH): 10 years ago, I was fresh out of uni and working a reception admin role. Every year, I would wander down to the Fringe World Festival so I could watch incredible performers on stage, but I very much envisioned myself as an appreciator of the arts, not a creative.

RT: Yet you’re now one of Perth’s premier alternative artists, a self-proclaimed ‘homicidal cannibal drag queen.’ How did your drag persona, Hemlock Honey, come to be?

HH: When Hemlock Honey was created, I was already a regular in the local nightlife and drag scene as a spectator and club kid. I was exploring my creativity by creating over the top and often themed looks just to attend events. My production partner, Eroica Red, and I were talking a lot about the scene; both what we loved about it and where we could see space to grow. One of those spaces was alternative and darker leaning drag. By this stage, Cherry Bomb was a popular amateur competition for new performers – but there were limited opportunities for more experienced drag artists to create polished and paid performances outside of October. This was the seed of our event, Death of Glitter. I figured if I was going to produce a drag night, I really ought to get some first-hand experience doing drag. I just never stopped.

RT: The past decade has brought drag to the mainstream with the global success of RuPaul’s Drag Race. Though the show doesn’t necessarily define drag as a concept, it has altered the general perception of drag hugely. Do you feel that the world of drag has changed?

HH: RuPaul’s Drag Race has absolutely done huge things for drag as a viable entertainment career globally. But Drag Race is a narrow depiction of the art form in a very unique setting. Its fanbase and broader impact has limited and warped the popular understanding of drag. It’s kind of like if your only exposure to cooking was a singular cooking reality TV franchise. You would know something about cooking, but it would be limited to what worked well on TV; flashy, broadly appealing, with enough drama to keep you engaged. As a result, not all drag artists have benefited from increased demand for Drag Race’s kind of drag because they simply cannot fit that mould. As the visibility of one genre of drag grows, the shadow it casts gets bigger. The downside of this is that drag kings, queens who aren’t perceived as cisgender men, and avant-garde performers have less opportunity to get paid for their art. The audience for drag has grown, but they now have expectations based on what they see on Drag Race. It makes sense that, in response, drag artists would (and have had to) lean into this particular style to keep the crowd happy and their bills paid.

RT: Talking about exposure, it’s surprising to think that same-sex marriage was only legalised a few years ago. Do you have any memories of that day?

HH: It’s more frustrating, as it wasn’t expressly forbidden in Australian law until 2004 when the Howard Government amended the marriage act to forbid it. The fact we had to have a national poll to undo that was always outstandingly stupid to me. An unfortunate reminder that progress isn’t always linear, it’s often more a zigzag. Marriage was never something important to me personally, but I’m glad it happened for my loved ones who did go down that path.

RT: What went through your head when you heard the news?

HH: Fucking finally, I’m glad that’s done.

RT: The title of this story collection, Now You See Us, refers to the growing visibility of the LGBTQ+ community. What does visibility mean to you?

HH: Visibility to me goes hand and hand with diversity. Visibility of a minority is only tokenistic if there’s no nuance or diversity to that visibility. It’s very hard to be comfortable being something when it looks like there’s only one path or way to be it. The more we see, the more we need space for nuance, diversity, and complexity. That’s what makes us human.

RT: Do you have a specific memory of the past decade you’d like to share with our readers?

HH: I have a specific memory of a horror drag event we ran back in 2021 immediately after the COVID-19 lockdown over New Year’s Eve. For obvious reasons, it was a quiet event with low turnout. We knew we’d have to pull money from our pockets to ensure that the other performers got paid, so I was stressed, disappointed, and wishing we had just cancelled the night. Then a friend came up to me and told me that they’d been chatting to a group of people who were excitedly telling them how much fun they had, how excited they were that events like this were running in our little city, and that they couldn’t wait for the next one. I was completely overcome with emotion, standing there, covered head to toe in fake blood – remnants of the Carrie act I started the night with – and just burst into tears. That’s what I love about the spaces drag has created.

Hemlock Honey is a drag artist, performer, and nightlife host. Their horror night, Death of Glitter, features dark drag, burlesque, and alternative drag performances. As a self-described ‘bad guy based in Boorloo,’ their performances bring a vibrant diversity to Western Australia’s drag community. You can find them on instagram at @mx.hemlock.honey.

Ronin Thomson is currently studying a double major of Professional Writing and Publishing and Creative Writing at Curtin University. Interning with Centre for Stories, this interview collection marks his first publication.