A Nouvelle Vague of Queer Cabaret Takes Paris

In a 13th-century building on the Left Bank, in a basement with stone walls and vaulted ceilings, hostess Ruby on the Nail lies like Manet’s Olympia on the small stage of Le Cavern sipping her namesake cocktail, a mix of honey, lime juice, and Sailor Jerry spiced rum. The spotlight highlights her contoured nose and sleek lob wig, rendering Ruby in the likeness of Barbra Streisand, whose image is projected behind the performer. The audience loses their damn minds, screaming Ruby’s praises while snapping their fingers.

Over in Saint-Ouen-sur-Seine, a fast-gentrifying quartier just north of the Paris Périph, where high-rise new builds sprout up like spring tulips, a sprawling food court and community space called Communale is swarming with bourgeois-bohemian 30- and 40-somethings. Visitors are gathered around pine wood tables, many of them flanked by toddlers, enjoying Meteor draft beers, artisanal pizzas dotted with clouds of burrata, and crisped smash burgers on glossy buns. Tottering on impossibly high platforms, drag artists Lula Strega and HitsuBlu take turns cranking a metal bingo cage and calling out numbers to the crowd’s hoots and groans.

Meanwhile, inside Madame Arthur, one of the city’s oldest cabarets perched in the hills among the neon lights of Pigalle, PowerBeauTom, bearing Budo Fight boxing shorts and a heavy chain draped around their neck, belts out a French rendition of Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” while pianist La Mulette smashes the ivories. They’re sensational. The crowd screams along in unison. Outside, in a liminal room between performance spaces, a vendor with a dimpled smile makes piping-hot crepes for customers, many of them tipsy, many of them straight.

These vignettes, which might take place on any given night in Paris, capture more than a well-spent evening with some of the city’s most talented performers. They populate a map of the expanding drag scene, which has spread throughout the snail shell of arrondissements. They also illustrate how queens, like Ruby, Strega, and HitsuBlu, and drag kings, like PowerBeauTom, build upon decades of cabaret traditions in the city, while finding new forms of self-expression ranging from light-hearted to poignantly political. The result is an increasingly mainstream art form that centers Paris’s exceptional LGBTQ artists.

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Paris’s history of drag cabaret dates back to the 1940s at least, when France’s first trans stars, like Zambella, Bambi, and Coccinelle, took the stage at Madame Arthur and Carrousel, a luxe 8th arrondissement cabaret a stone’s throw from the Champs-Élysées. In those days, looks were decidedly feminine: a burlesque bejeweled bikini with feathery headdress, say, or a smooth Marilyn Monroe coif paired with chandelier earrings and a form-fitting spangly mermaid dress. Makeup was bridal-party appropriate. Performances were coquettish.

Though they headlined at popular clubs, the artists were subversive. Post-war Paris was celebratory — Parisians were out for a good time — but it was hardly hospitable to trans women. Police could arrest individuals assigned male at birth for dressing in women’s clothing in the streets. Bambi describes protests over the so-called immoral shows at Carrousel. Those early cabarets were a refuge.

King Chefs & Drag Queens

Though there was a worldwide bump in interest in drag in the ’90s following the release of films like The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert and Paris Is Burning, gender sociologist Arnaud Alessandrin of the University of Bordeaux told French daily 20 Minutes that the scene largely fell out of the spotlight until about a decade ago. Then RuPaul’s Drag Race helped once again whet appetites for drag performance throughout l’Hexagone, paving the way for Drag Race France, now in its third season (starring, among others, Ruby and Lula Strega).

“Drag Race France completely turned the drag scene upside down,” says Leo Tremaine, a Paris-based producer who hosts the Oh Wow!! podcast, where he chats with local queer and drag artists. According to Tremaine, the show both expanded and narrowed the scene, catapulting queens onto ever-bigger platforms (like the Cannes Film Festival) while limiting certain opportunities to “Drag Race girls.” As Tremaine puts it, “Magic always takes when it gives.”

Still, the show jump-started the contemporary drag scene in Paris, including third-wave artists who began exploring experimental performances that wouldn’t have appeared in traditional cabarets.

“We’re more connected to a newer wave of queer expression and not necessarily what is traditionally French, like female illusion or impersonation,” says drag artist Oona, who began performing in Paris in 2020.

You’ll often find Oona hosting the weekly drag shows at Sister Midnight, a craft cocktail bar and nexus of nouveau drag, tucked away on a side street descending from the belly of Pigalle. There, near midnight on a recent Saturday, Kahlos Éphémère, eyes framed by cerulean shadow and a Mia Wallace wig, elicited goosebumps as they read an opening poem-prayer inspired by Mark Aguhar’s “Litanies to My Heavenly Brown Body,” before launching into an expert lip-synch of Douglas Hodge’s rendition of “I Am What I Am.” On another night, Éphémère used a staple gun to affix paper blood drops to their body, wince-evoking symbols of the sometimes painfully isolating experience of being queer.

In another recent performance, Oona simply laughed — hysterically, maniacally — for seven minutes.

“She got a standing ovation,” Tremaine says. “People were freaking amazed.”

Spaces like Sister Midnight foster a different kind of relationship between audiences and performers. The pocket-sized bar has no stage, co-owner Joseph Boley illuminates performers with two skinny flashlights, and patrons are close enough to smell the sweat and perfume. When burlesque artist Vesper Quinn (who also performs as drag king Thomas Occhio) stripped down to a thong and tassels, lay belly-up on the bar, and doused their body in ice water, patrons felt the splash. On many nights, the line between artist and audience disappears.

King Chefs & Drag Queens

At the same time, drag kings are gaining prominence. Before the COVID-19 pandemic, there were very few in Paris, and everyone knew each other, says PowerBeauTom, who appeared in the French documentary Devenir Roi (Becoming King) and has been performing in Paris since 2022. As the pandemic slowed, interest in drag kings began percolating. Performers created their own scenes. Workshops began popping up around the city.

That germinating interest is starting to bloom into real opportunities. In May, the Sorbonne hosted a drag king atelier and show in collaboration with Kings Factory Paris. PowerBeauTom became the first drag king on the roster at Madame Arthur (an enviable gig given the exposure and the compensation), where they now regularly take the stage wielding an acoustic guitar.

“The drag king scene is still pretty underground,” they say. Still, together with other artists, they’re rethinking cabaret. “It’s a broader expression of queerness. Not just drag queens and kings.”

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“Pigalle has a rich history of drag and transgender cabaret performers, from Le Chat Noir to La Nouvelle Eve, Chez Michou, Madame Arthur, and more,” says Jen Riley, who co-owns Sister Midnight. But, apart from big-ticket venues, most queer bars in the 2000s and 2010s served bottom-shelf alcohol and cheap beers; the drinks came second to providing a safe space.

With gentrification rising in the early aughts, Riley says, the neighborhood was losing its particular mix of grit and glam, becoming a “mini north Marais,” even as it was becoming a hub for craft cocktails. When it opened in 2019, Sister Midnight was able to tap into that trend by offering premium drinks, while still honoring the neighborhood’s past with a “’70s Bowie Berlin years” spirit.

“It felt important to us to reinvigorate Pigalle’s history and provide a stage to queer performers, and to also provide quality,” Riley says.

Today, the Sister, as regulars call it, offers a dirty vodka martini that contends for the best in Paris, perfectly chilled with a shot of brine and a meaty Bella di Cerignola olive. It’s just one example across the city of how dedicated food and beverage programs have helped generate momentum for drag performances.

Food heads the bill at Le Cancan too. Opened in August 2020, in a former “hostess bar” in Pigalle, the snug restaurant is decorated with reclaimed ’70s neon lights and Georges Seurat-esque paintings, which owner Arthur Rech says he unearthed beneath four layers of wall (if only they could talk). The kitchen churns out elevated comfort food like pulled beef, slow cooked for 12 hours, served on a mound of hazelnutty mashed potatoes. From a stage the size of a queen mattress, Marie Jo Dassin hosts a weekly variety show. A recent Wednesday featured a mashup of trivia, comedy sketches, and riotous French interpretations of American bangers like Rihanna’s “Umbrella” — para-para-pluie-pluie-pluie.

Even the divey Le Cavern offers spreads of charcuterie or fromage and cheeky house cocktails, turning a touristy stretch of the 6th arrondissement into a drag destination. There, Ruby helped create the biweekly La Boîte à Bijoux (jewelry box) show in September 2020, which proved popular enough to withstand a national pandemic lockdown and strict citywide curfew.

A focus on food has also helped drag performers fill establishments that predominantly serve straight cis crowds who have never taken in a drag show before.

At Yaya Secretán, a sun-splashed Greek restaurant in the 19th arrondissement, Sundays are for family-style brunch and drag bingo. Customers circle a bare wooden table, an olive tree sprouting from the center, and pile plates with spiced moussaka with bechamel and fluffy scrambled eggs with spinach and creamy house-made tarama. Around 3 p.m., as cups fill with espresso and Balkan wine, Mademoiselle Kiss, with a creamsicle-colored wrap dress and Dolly Parton blond wig, captivates the restaurant with bingo that’s more performance than game, but still highly interactive.

At Ground Control, one of Paris’s trending food halls (which tend to double as community centers hosting various activities), visitors can take a hatha yoga class, get a tarot card reading, tuck into Japanese okonomiyaki made by Top Chef contestant Cesar Lewandowski, and end the evening with Tremaine’s popular Blu.e Velvet drag show, hosted by HitsuBlu in their signature Dalí mustache.

Even traditional cabaret institutions have found success in combining drag performance with high-end cuisine. At La Nouvelle Eve, most nights feature traditional cabaret, with cancan, Édith Piaf ballads, and plenty of feathers, but in 2024, the mythic Pigalle club is hosting King Chefs & Drag Queens, a roving series where drag performances meet haute cuisine. For 155 euros ($166), customers receive a four-course dinner from Michelin-decorated chefs like Jacques Maximin and a show featuring drag artists like La Grande Dame (Drag Race France Season 1), Mami Watta (Season 2), and Cookie Kunty (Season 2).

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As the audience for drag grows and the spaces become more popular, performers may face more challenges. The Sister has had its fair share of recent recognition, including being named among Time Out’s 15 best cocktail bars in Paris. Occasionally, patrons come for the fresh mixology, unaware of the drag performances.

“Once, I heard someone say, it’s sad because the show is ruining the vibe of the place,” Tremaine says. “I looked at her and said, ‘Baby, that is the vibe of the place. If you do not agree with that, you can leave.’”

Other times, ignorant passersby can be downright dangerous. Oona shared an incident at a club in Bastille, a neighborhood known more for its student bars than its queer spaces; crowd members attacked a drag performer after a show. “We learned that they were straight, drunk, and not into queer art,” Oona says. “In my time as a performer, I’ve only seen that once.”

King Chefs & Drag Queens

Partly driving the conflict, in Oona’s view, is France’s far right, which has historically opposed LGBTQ rights and marriage equality and recently focused on trans rights in particular.

Risks remain the unfortunate price of mainstreaming drag, but for many in the community, conflict makes visibility even more urgent. Performers and allies are fiercely protective of queer spaces, including cabarets.

“There is a massive wave of drag performers coming to say, hey baby, stop,” Oona adds. “We’re here, we’re queer, we’re ready to use entertainment to teach people that we’re free and we care for each other, and we’re creating a space for self-expression and fighting for minorities.”

There remains a stark contrast between the careers and treatment of Paris’s most famous drag stars and other artists, the “glass ceiling between Drag Race performers and the rest,” as Oona puts it. But little by little, all sorts of performers — and all sorts of venues — are breaking through it, broadening and strengthening the entire community as they prove the vast diversity within the drag scene.

Caitlin Gunther is a trilingual journalist with words in Saveur, Bon Appétit, Condé Nast Traveler, the New York Times, Travel + Leisure, Harper’s Bazaar, the Washington Post, and others. She’s based in Paris, and has lived and cooked in various parts of Spain, including Madrid, Bilbao, and Mallorca. Caitlin is currently working on a memoir about leaving her lawyer job to cook in restaurants in Basque Country.