by RuPaul
So in Supermodel we put in a little rap breakdown where I name check the famous models, saying that they are the heirs to the glamour of old Hollywood. But we also did an alternate mix, where I name the leading drag queens: The "Lady" Bunny, Lahoma, Tabboo, Mona Foot, Zaldy, Princess Diandra. That's because the drag queen and the supermodel are in my mind almost one and the same. If you were to see a supermodel out of her drag you wouldn't recognize her. Some of the most unforgettable women in the world are men, like Billy Beyond, who walks in all the Todd Oldham shows, Connie Girl for Thierry Mugler, and Lypsinka for Gaultier. The point is that drag is pure glamour too. It's all about playing with the essence, and that's why drag queens have become so popular recently. These girls—like the fabulous Candis Cayne, Mistress Formika, Kabuki Starshine, Girlina and Afrodite, for example— looked like they came right out of the pages of any fashion magazine. They are fierce. They're not really a parody of women, and they can really hold their own in a roomful of supermodels any day. The only difference is that unlike the supermodels, these girls will get out of bed for a lot less than ten thousand dollars. They are working girls. The new queen sings, dances, does her own makeup, her own hair, and styles herself. She makes her own clothes, she dresses up-to-date, and keeps up with the trends. They work hard for the money.
Originally the album was going to be called Starrbooty, but then as the supermodel concept took hold of my imagination, there was nothing else to call it other than Supermodel of the World. I figured why not stake my claim and go the whole way? Eric Kupper was brought in to produce and brought that classic disco in the nineties feel to it. When it was finished, I got my friend Felix Prince to record some links and segues in between the tracks.
I had always wanted Aunt Esther from Sanford and Son to be on my record, and so we called up her manager and started negotiations. Well, Lawanda may not be in the public eye anymore, but she likes to get paid— and how. I flew her in from her home in South Central Los Angeles. The day she came to the studio I was slightly tense because I wanted to get a quick in-the-studio press shot with her. But up until the moment she saw me, I had thought it best not to tell her that I was a drag queen. When we finally came face to face she did not bat an eyelid.
Because she was costing me such a fortune I thought that I would record everything she said from the moment she walked into the studio so I could be sure to get my money's worth. The very first thing she said when she got into the studio was, "Tell the man with the money to come here and pay me." I laughed and laughed and laughed, and that line became the opening line of and inspiration for a whole new song called "A Shade Shadey (Now Prance)."
The next thing was the photo shoot, and for that I called on the talents of photographer Mark Contratto. Now, before a fashion shoot the secret is to drink a cup of vinegar because it shrinks the stomach. I am also an avid advocate of my patented supermodel Tic Tac Diet: a Tic Tac for breakfast, a Tic Tac for lunch, and for dinner no Tic Tac—just a glass of water. Naturally, I don't live by any of these guidelines—and neither should you. Instead, do as I do, which is to eat like a pig and then put on a strapping corset to suck it all in. We did the shoot at Industria—Supermodel Central—and Mathu and Zaldy did makeup and styling. They also created the orange body suit and the red ruffled skirt that was the supermodel outfit.
We styled it after Versace in the days before he was on the phone volunteering his services! It was designed quite scientifically to show my feminine parts, which are my legs and my oh-so-thin waist.
In that outfit I felt like a caped crusader, and that's what it's all about, transformation from being an ordinary person into a superhero. On my way to the shoot I had worn my daytime disguise, a Clark Kent preppy drag. It was my way of being invisible. I had no eyebrows, no hair, and in khakis and glasses the camouflage was complete, a way of blending into the background so that no one could even see me. I didn't need to wear the glasses, but they were just another screen, another layer. Whether you are Superman or Supermodel saving the world is high profile stuff. It can really take it out of you. So you need an ordinary persona so that you can catch a cab, go to the bank, and go about your business without a lot of unwelcome attention.
DRAG NAMES: MIX & MATCH
FIRST
LAST
Tasha
DuBois
Tanesha
Lamour
Tina
Deville
Chena
Keisha
Sheena
Antoinette
Stanika
Thomas
Skunketta
Black
Aneka
Zena
Erika
White
Yetiva
Butts
Sasha
Shepard
Diandra
Andrews
Lahoma
Scott
Tawny
Brown
Tandy
Seville
CoCo
Fox
Sable
Alexander
Tiffany
Fairchild
Melissa
Jones
Brittany
PotatoHead
Afrika
Rivers
Freida
Nevada
Misty
LaCroix
Samantha
ThunderPussy
Crystal
St. Laurent
Gayma
Monroe
Gina
St. Germain
Chocolate
Middlesex
Felicity
Savage
Octavia
Ariagus
Octopussy
Ross
Taylor
Douglas
Cherry
Cane
Candy
Foster
Missy
Jones
Nicole
Snow
Ashley
Shantay
Chantal
Galore
Charlie
Rose
Toni
Davis
DeeDee
King
Nikki
Love
Sheba
Adams
Apple
Crawford
Trina
Bliss
Whitney
Chanel
Amanda
Goodfellow
Selena
Houston
Vicki
Summers
Kelly
Jackson
Rene
Richards
Sweetie
VanZant
Shiquitta
Matthews
Sabrina
Joy
Peaches
Mayday
Bertha
Bloomingdale
Princess
McElroy
Vida
Johnson
Lizette
Green
Hagatha
Blue
Marrisa
Cruise
Shuga
Perry
Foxy
Day
Once I was in that outfit I felt like a supermodel all right. I was the queen bee. It was fierce, assertive, and royal. And it sent just the right kind of message the Supermodel of the World would want to send to keep any challenging bitches at bay! I love the final shot I chose for the cover. It's quite a good pose, because it isn't a pose, really. It doesn't look contrived—even though it is! Of course, it's all an illusion. The real scoop is I'm wearing just one pair of cheap Woolworth stockings.
I performed Supermodel for the first time at Wigstock Labor Day of ‘92. There was a strong buzz about the single coming out, and the welcome I got both backstage and onstage was very different from the year before. The single was released on my birthday, November seventeenth. From that moment on I started doing dates. I launched the
Supermodel world tour in Atlanta, and from there went on to every city in America. It lasted for well over a year— straight through January of ‘94 when I opened for Duran Duran in Hartford, Connecticut.
In the early days I went by myself, with just my costume and a DAT tape. The promoters would pick me up at the airport and they were always surprised that I was on my own, that I didn’t have an entourage.
It was fine back then, it was much more personal, and the promoters would take me round and show me things. But once the single started taking off and the video started playing, I couldn’t do that anymore. Especially when I got to Cleveland.
The show I did was pretty much the same all over. I would begin with Supermodel wearing a bathing suit ensemble that showcased my legs. Then I would go straight into “House of Love.” After that I stopped the tape and did my monologue. And just in case you missed it, here it is one more time...
Hey everybody, my name is RuPaul—Supermodel of the world! How do you like my outfit? This is the front [pause while I turn around] and this is the back [wild applause]. Oh, I bet you say that to all the queens [laughter], I have traveled thousands of miles to be with you tonight, to bring you a message, probably the most important message you’ll ever hear in your entire life. And the message is, Ladies and Gentlemen, You Better Work. [Uproar] No, actually, the real message is this: Learn how to love yourself [quick pause] learn how to love yourself, ‘cause if you don’t love yourself, how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else, [uproar] Can I get an Amen in here? [Amen.] It’s the truth, it’s the truth, baby, I’m a living witness. If I’m lying I’m flying and you don’t see no wings do you? [Pause] Well you might see some wings on Maxi Pad, but you don’t see none on my back. [Laughter] The day I started loving myself was the day I became Supermodel of the World.
Love can move mountains. Love is the answer, hi Everybody say love. [Love.] Everybody say love. [Love.] Now drive that down the [insert local reference here—The New Jersey Turnpike, the L.A. Freeway, the Thames River, the Autobahn, the Champs Ely sees]. Now get your ass outta here.
The second part of my monologue involved taking a few questions from the audience, and the truth is they ask me the same questions all the time. So whenever I am asked how tall I am—which is all the time—I say, “Honey, with hair, heels, and attitude I’m through the motherfuckin’ roof.” Or, “Tall enough to give you a Shaq Attack.” Or “Taller than your mama.”
Some things get better the more you say them. The audience never seems to tire of me saying in that Ed McMahon voice, “You better work, bitch.” It’s become a mantra. And I’ll be saying “Everybody say love” till my dying day. These are not catch phrases with sell-by dates— these are eternal truths. “If you don’t love yourself—how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?” That’s another old favorite, and even if that was the only thing I ever said in my whole life, it would be worth it. It’s certainly the truest. That and “Learn how to love yourself.”
Anyway, after the question-and-answer session I retired from the stage for a quick costume change. I would slip into my Supermodel cape, a gorgeous white taffeta thing. It’s my homage to Diana Ross. Then, when I went back on, I would do Supermodel, and at the end I would select a few supermodels from the audience to come up on stage and work the runway. It never took much to persuade them to come up on stage and take off their shirts, even their bras, and even, on one or two occasions, everything they had on. I would cheer on encouragement, making sure that every supermodel who walked across my stage got a big round of applause.
Normally, it all went fine. Something about a drag queen commands respect—people would only come up when invited, and only then one at a time. But by the time I got to Cleveland the Supermodel phenomena had reached boiling point. All of a sudden people started coming up one after another, and soon the whole audience was swamping the stage. So I just sweetly said “Goodnight everybody,” and ran into my dressing room. It was out of the frying pan into the fire, because there I was drying off and catching my breath when this young transygirl burst in shivering and shaking. She was half sobbing, half screaming, so that the words could barely come out. I couldn’t understand what she was saying, but she was jabbing a CD toward me, so I just grabbed it, signed it, and said, “Thanks, sweetie.” It made me nervous because she was nervous, and I picked up on that. That type of hysteria is scary because it’s really out of control, and from that moment on I knew that when I went out on the road, I needed someone with me.
Generally, with one or two exceptions, everything’s always the same on the road—even the other queens working the disco circuit. When I was on the first leg of the Supermodel tour it was Martha Walsh, Marky Mark, and CeCe Penniston. I either just missed them, or they were leaving tomorrow, or coming next week. When I finally met Martha Walsh she said, “I feel like I know you—I was always on the week before you or the week after you.”
Most of the time I had very good experiences, but every now and again you get the club owner from hell, like the time I was in Key West. I did my show, but when I got offstage the club owner announced that I was going to do an encore. I didn’t have an encore to do, which, very politely, I told him. But he was drunk and on God knows what, so when he heard that he went off. “I carried your towel, I dried you off” he said, as he began listing all the things he had done for me. He became hysterical. In all my twelve years in clubs I have never seen anything like that before. I could not get out of there fast enough!
But the good times more than cancelled out the bad times. I had started the Supermodel tour in Atlanta, and six months later I went back there to really enjoy the phenomena of it all. Although I’d been home a couple of times over the past few years, this was the first time I felt like a homecoming queen. When I got to the airport I was expecting Dick Richards and the Peek sisters to pick me up.
RuPAUL’S FAVORITE DESIGNERS
- Versace: I’m living for one of his crocodile mini trench coats
- Valentino: If ever I were to go to the Oscars, I’d go in Valentino
- Todd Oldham: An American classic. I ordered about twenty pairs from his new shoe collection
- Bob Mackie: Cher! Cher! Cher!
- Rifat Ozbek: Just about the only reason to go to London
- Pamela Dennis: Timeless creations that I wear on special occasions (like in the Little Drummer Boy video)
- Thierry Mugler: Fit for a drag queen
- Karl Lagerfeld: Every girl should have a Chanel suit in her closet
- Isaac Mizrahi: He understands women’s bodies (and men-who-dress-like-women’s bodies)
- Christian Lacroix: Sweetie, Lacroix, sweetie
- Claude Montana: Gorg!
- Herve Legere: Form-fitting fabulousness
When I got to the airport I was expecting Dick Richards and the Peek sisters to pick me up in their station wagon. But, instead, there was a stretch limo waiting to take me to the Ritz Carlton. Things had really changed, although the station wagon would have been just fine.
The shows were packed, really packed. The crowd was so thick all around the stage there was no way to get backstage to change my costume between numbers.
So I had to have security escort me out to the parking lot, where I took off my dress between two parked cars, and ran back inside. In spite of my reputation for being a Glamazon, the truth is I can change almost anywhere in a pinch. Sure, every queen likes to have fancy schmancy dressing rooms with fresh-cut flowers, but in a pickle any old parking lot will do. Why, right outside Bloomingdale’s and en route to a television interview at the Plaza, I hiked my dress up, untucked, undid my waist cincher, yanked the dress down—and that was that, right there on the street. It takes a bit of practice but in an emergency it can be done. Although the street was jammed with people, I swear my only witness was a Scottish terrier who looked like he’d just laid eyes on a big fat juicy T-bone steak—which of course he had! I’ve also changed in front of the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue f
or a TV shoot. This was a complete costume change, so I had some members of the crew hold up a drape around me as a sort of portable dressing room.
One of the favorite things I liked to do on the Supermodel tour were in-store signings. When the record was first released I did one in New York at Sam Goody’s. Then I did one in L.A. at the Virgin Mega Store on Sunset Boulevard. Each of these was a complete zoo, but the best one of all was the one I did in Atlanta at Turtles record store in Buckhead. The turnout was phenomenal. Everyone I ever knew was there—Floydd’s entire family, the whole Funtone gang, teenagers who wanted me to sign their heads, and even mothers with their newborn babies. I was there for three hours and the crowd was still pouring in. In the end they had to close the doors—which I did feel bad about—and I left through the back door. On the way back to the hotel I had the limo take me through Midtown, my old neighborhood. It was just a bunch of burnt-out buildings—no more discos, barely anyone on the street. I stopped at Krispy Kremes donuts, went back to my hotel, pigged out, and then passed out.
