Do you like elimination based reality shows? Do you enjoy watching people compete in challenges centered around fashion, makeup, and shit talking? Do you wish you were surrounded by bitchy, flamboyantly gay men who can were contouring long before Kim discovered it? If you answered yes to any of those questions (and if you didn't, I'm not sure I want to know you), then boy do I have a treat for you. It's called Ru Paul's Drag Race, and it's fucking perfect.
If you already watch it, condragulations, you’re among the enlightened. If not, I am here to educate you about the finer points of reality TV. Drag Race is the like the meaner, gayer version of America's Next Top Model. The host, Ru Paul (duh), is drag royalty and has built a Lucius Lyon-esque empire around his career, but without the homophobia, obvs. He's about ten times fiercer than Tyra Banks and his hair changes just as often. Instead of Janice Dickinson, you get Michelle Visage, Ru's right hand (actual) woman who's as just as blunt and vodka-soaked as Janice could ever hope to be. Together they rip into the very bleached assholes of men with better legs than you on a weekly basis. This show is literally too gay to function.
Now on its seventh season, it's not like drag race is even remotely new. So why am I writing about it, you're probably already angrily commenting below? Well, honestly, it's because I was late hopping onto the bedazzled, cross-dressing bandwagon, and I regret every second of the past six years that I wasn't watching this vodka and glitter fueled shit show. It was one of those things where I accidentally stumbled onto an episode while I was hungover channel surfing and 8 hours later I re-emerged from my stupor with a new addiction and a vast understanding of drag terminology (for instance, never confuse Ki Ki and Kai Kai. You will regret it).
If you're like me and didn't know about this gem hidden away on the otherwise irrelevant Logo network, you're in luck. The new season just premiered this week, which means you can start watching ASAP. What it lacks in subtely or reason it makes up for in terrible puns, Bad Girls Club caliber bitch fights, and fantastic music. You truly haven't lived until you've watched two men in full drag and tear-away dresses “lip sync for their lives” to Whitney Houston on national television. Take my word for it, you will love it. And if not than you can chanté right the fuck away from me.