Hobart's Drag Kings Thrive After Gay Bar Closes in 2020

Soph Keegan sits on stage in a mullet and flannel, rolling a cigarette and lip-syncing about Centrelink waiting music. As drag king Dirty Damo, this Tasmanian mum has discovered a confidence she never knew existed.

"Being raised as a woman you go through these things of being told to not take up space, to be smaller, to be quiet," Soph says. Dirty Damo changed all that.

When Hobart's only dedicated LGBTQIA+ bar closed in 2020 during the pandemic, the city's drag kings faced an uncertain future. Instead of losing their audience, they found a bigger one.

Drag performances have spread across Hobart's venues, bringing kings and queens into traditionally straight spaces. Shan Hooper, who performs as drag king Gary Snow, says there's now barely a week without a drag show somewhere in the city.

Shan spent 24 years in the automotive industry, building a tough persona to survive daily toxic masculinity. Gary Snow, their flannel-wearing, painted-beard character, transforms that survival strategy into celebration and community.

"I don't think either of us are the same people as what we were when we started this journey," Shan says about their duo act with Barry Bothways.

Barry, performed by 53-year-old Phoebe Adams since 2013, draws inspiration from post-war masculinity and family members. The character helps Phoebe, who is non-binary, express a more masculine identity while feeling at home in their body.

The Ripple Effect

Something unexpected happened when these bogan-styled drag kings started performing in mainstream venues. Straight, cisgender men not only enjoyed the shows but became genuine allies.

"Those type of dudes, we hang out with them and they feel seen," Phoebe says. "They like us and treat us like mates when we're in drag. They even use the right pronouns."

The performers say their satire of traditional masculinity actually breaks down barriers. Men see themselves reflected and feel comfortable, while the drag kings model a different way of being masculine.

For Soph, playing Dirty Damo unlocked parts of herself she'd suppressed for years. "I really feel like doing drag has helped me come into who I am," she says. The confidence and community she's found through drag have transformed who she is outside of performance too.

What started as a loss for Hobart's LGBTQIA+ community has become an unexpected win, spreading drag performance throughout the city and building bridges where walls once stood.