Being Conchita

by Conchita Wurst

  It was now time for us to bid each other farewell. I presented Jean Paul with an oversized print of our joint photo at the Life Ball. He was clearly delighted: ‘C’est bon, regardez-là,’ he beamed. ‘Merci mille fois!’

  I, too, felt very happy. I’d been given an opportunity to introduce my friend to Vienna in the way I like best: by presenting a city with its heart in the right place. I said goodbye in the traditional Viennese way, saying ‘Pfiat di und baba’, before disappearing into the night. Those words mean something like: ‘Take care and see you soon!’ See you soon, that’s what we both wished.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  US VERSUS ME

  ‘So prepare for a chance of a lifetime

  Be prepared for sensational news

  A shining new era

  Is tiptoeing nearer’

  FROM THE MUSICAL THE LION KING

  Politics, some say, is a dirty business. Politics, say others, has made central Europe into what all of us today are benefiting from: a union of countries that have gone seventy years without war. Leafing through the history books, you’ll find no other era in which there was peace for so long. It seems that politics can work wonders, yet it can also frighten people or bore them, which is one of the reasons why so few young people turn out to vote. For me, politics is a necessity: if we want peace, acceptance and love, we can’t wait for all these things to fall down from the sky. We have to do something about it ourselves, and that brings us to politics.

  It’s a word of Greek origin, and what I like about it is that it focuses on the ‘us’, not the ‘me’. Thankfully, there are many musicians who stand up for the ‘us’. There’s Bono from U2, who devotes himself to the fight against AIDS and debt relief for the Third World. And Bob Geldof, initiator of the Band Aid project and its worldwide Live Aid charity concerts. Then there’s Elton John with his foundation, and Shakira with her Fundación Pies Descalzos for children in need.

  On top of that, there are the pride parades, which advocate more ‘us’ and less ‘me’. Be it Lesbian & Gay Pride, Gay & Lesbian Pride or Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Pride (LGBT Pride, for short), the focus is always on acceptance and love. On the night of 28 June 1969, the Stonewall Inn in New York’s Greenwich Village was the scene of one of the then customary police raids against gays and lesbians. On this occasion, however, the outcome was not the usual one. Some of those about to be needlessly arrested fought back, with others joining in the protest.

  Soon afterwards, the poet Allen Ginsberg, a leading figure of the famous Beat Generation, wrote the following words: ‘It was about time we did something!’ That doing something led to vigils and demonstrations. Soon the whole world was talking about the Stonewall uprising. That attempt to enforce democratic rights for all people gave rise to the pride parades. Today, they’re colourful, festive events in which it’s almost fashionable to take part, at least in the more enlightened corners of the globe. Yet the road there has been full of obstacles, and a glance at other countries around the world tells us that homophobia, exclusion and aggression are still commonplace. Even in what I just called the ‘more enlightened corners of the globe’, there are still traces of hatred against those who are ‘different’. This is why I feel duty-bound to make it clear where I stand, no matter what the situation is. Both before and after the Eurovision Song Contest, I travelled all over the place to attend as many pride marches as possible.

  I’ve been to Stockholm, Madrid, Antwerp, Manchester and many other cities. As is so often the case, it was Amsterdam that set the standard. It’s a city we can all learn from. I’m always overwhelmed by just how many people turn out onto the street to fight for the cause, but in Amsterdam the whole city gets to its feet. Whether young or old, hetero or homo, it doesn’t matter. Small children are there with their grandparents, dressed from head to toe in rainbow colours, the symbol of the movement. They sing, they dance, they’re joyous, they share their excitement, they’re not afraid of what’s different, of what’s new, they’re refreshingly open. And that makes them successful: Amsterdam is one of Europe’s top economic regions. This much is obvious: where there’s fear, there’s also economic stagnation. Where people are liberal and freedom-loving, there’s success. Crises are overcome more easily, the future isn’t viewed with foreboding.

  Perhaps its waterside location, together with The Netherland’s past as a seafaring nation, has made Amsterdam so open-minded. As a city, it has always been home to people who looked out beyond the horizon and welcomed in the rest of the world with open arms. New perspectives empowered them to create new possibilities. One of the things that sets the Amsterdam Pride apart is the kind of vehicles it uses. While other parades make their way through the city in cars and trucks, the city of canals favours transport on water. As usual, this year’s boats sported large, imaginatively designed floats – so large, in fact, that I found it hard to believe they’d be able to manoeuvre their way through the narrow waterways. I then realised just how ingeniously everything had been constructed. In just a few quick movements, even the largest float could be collapsed to negotiate the next bridge. Apart from being fun to watch, it also demonstrated that, given sufficient imagination and inventiveness, any obstacle can be overcome.

  For me, every pride festival is living proof that we’re capable of achieving a whole host of positive things when we all pull in the same direction. Motivating people to do this is how I define politics. Every parade finishes with a closing event, and Amsterdam was no exception. The aim is that, alongside all the fun and entertainment, there should also be a message. On this occasion, the message addressed a question I’ve repeatedly asked myself: ‘Will the day dawn when we no longer need parades? Will the day dawn when homosexuality is simply normal?’ When couples have the confidence to walk through the streets hand in hand? When the church has no problem with those who are ‘different’? When legislation allowing long prison sentences for homosexuals, as recently enacted by Ugandan president Yoweri Museveni, is unthinkable?

  In Amsterdam, it’s easy to forget that homosexuals and transgender people are still discriminated against, threatened and attacked. Other prides are less of a celebration and more of an outcry. ‘Will the day dawn,’ I wondered, ‘when this outcry is no longer necessary?’ I’m someone who despises violence. In the past, my response to death threats has often been somewhat flippant: ‘OK, you can kill me, but you’ll have to join the queue’. Yet, in reality, I’m greatly affected by such threats. I often have to force myself to read the newspapers or watch the news on TV, because we live in a world that risks going off the rails.

  On his return from the International Space Station, the German astronaut Alexander Gerst spoke these heartfelt words: ‘From up there in space, looking down on our little blue planet with its fragile atmosphere,’ he said after 166 days in the ISS, ‘it seems grotesque that people on Earth wage wars against each other and pollute the environment. We’re surrounded by a black nothingness, and we know of no other place in the universe where we can live.’

  His words reveal so much insight, an insight that not all of us have. I therefore see it as a duty to pass on experiences. Whether we’re an astronaut or a musician, an actor or a model: if we’re the ones in the limelight, we must face up to our responsibility to practise more ‘us’ and less ‘me’. Then perhaps it really will dawn: the day when being different is no longer a cause for insults and violence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  IT’S ALL IN THE DOING

  ‘To fight for the right

  Without question or pause’

  FROM THE MUSICAL THE MAN OF LA MANCHA

  There are some events to which I’ve become especially attached. One of them is Light into Darkness. The name says it all: Light into Darkness is Austria’s biggest humanitarian relief campaign. In 1973, it began collecting donations for social projects, initially on the radio and then, five years later, also on TV. The show goes out on Christmas Eve and lasts fourteen hours, so it needs a good f
ew hands on deck to answer the phone lines. I’ve been taking part for the past three years, and we always collect a considerable amount – almost 6 million euros in 2013. The same impressive total was reached in 2014. I’ve also released a cover of ‘My Lights’, the official song of Light into Darkness.

  Actually doing something, taking part, being active and not sitting around complaining, is very important to me. Perhaps it’s got to do with the fact that neither my mother nor my father ever sat there twiddling their thumbs doing nothing. Although I’m fond of a spot of dolce far niente, an old Italian expression meaning ‘sweet idleness’, that doesn’t mean I want to make a virtue out of laziness. I’m happy when I’ve got something to do, especially if it’s something worthwhile. I like to imagine a world in which everyone is able to do what they’re good at and what gives them pleasure. I’m sure that would take humanity a big step forwards. What’s needed is a range of options and an opportunity to take up those options. In my case, it was the fashion school in Graz, and my parents’ willingness to support me meant I was able to attend. As I believe every human being has potential, I wish for everyone to have the chance to get ahead in life, wherever they come from and whoever they are.

  This is why I was contacted by Green politician and Vice President of the EU Parliament Ulrike Lunacek. Together with MEPs from four different parties, Ulrike invited me to visit the European Parliament. The aim was to send out a message in support of the equality of lesbians, gays and bisexuals, as well as transgender and intersex individuals. As Ulrike herself is a lesbian, she knows exactly what she’s talking about. Discrimination doesn’t spare politicians – on the contrary. Although Germany has two prominent politicians who have publicly come out – Berlin’s former mayor Klaus Wowereit and former German foreign minister Guido Westerwelle – it was a long road getting there. Wowereit was in fact one of the first major politicians world-wide to dare to utter in public the now iconic words, ‘I’m gay, and proud of it.’

  Yet if we take, say, the world of industry as an example, then, with the exception of Apple CEO Tim Cook, there seem to be barely any homosexuals in the boardrooms. Even just in statistical terms, this can’t be right. Gay people can lack the confidence to reveal their sexuality, for fear it will hinder their career prospects. The situation is even more blatant in football, where no active player at the top of the game has ever come out, for fear of turning fans into enemies. That’s why I took a clear message with me to the European Parliament: quite simply, I expect greater commitment to the rights of homosexuals. ‘It’s your job,’ I said, ‘to fight for a functioning democracy and equal rights.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  GIRLS JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN – AND BOYS AS WELL!

  ‘Welcome! You’re a very nice surprise’

  FROM THE MUSICAL THE WOMAN IN WHITE

  Who was it that invented the selfie? I don’t know, but I’d be pleased to receive your answers! Whoever it was deserves a medal, perhaps in the form of a digital camera. I can’t say how many selfies I appear on, but I know one thing for sure: I’m a fan of these quick self-portraits, particularly as they get people chatting.

  I recently checked into a famous hotel. A gentleman in a smart suit came round the corner, pulled out his smartphone, asked me for a selfie and then introduced himself as the establishment’s chief press officer. ‘Do you know,’ he began, ‘I was recently on holiday in Australia with my wife,’ – excellent choice, I chipped in – ‘and we went into this bar that looked like it might be nice.’

  ‘Super. You’ve got to celebrate whenever you can.’ I was in the mood for a chat, and also keen to learn what happened next.

  ‘Well, they were all partying as if there was no tomorrow. At some point, one of them asked us where we were from, and we replied…’

  ‘Austria!’

  ‘Correct! When they heard that, they all started flinging their arms around our necks! “You won, you won,” they shouted. “What did we win?”, I asked. There was more shouting and hugging. “The competition, you won the competition, the Song Contest, the one in Copenhagen!”’

  I smiled. ‘I believe I’ve heard of it.’

  Suddenly, the man got serious. ‘Do you know what I answered? That can’t be the case, you must have got it wrong. We’re from Austria! We never win anything!’

  It seemed to me as if he was ashamed of the fact, and presumably he was. Unless it concerns ski jumping or the men’s downhill, we Austrians have rather modest expectations of ourselves. I myself have repeatedly said: ‘Before the Contest, I’d never won anything.’ While we don’t go round in sackcloth and ashes – nor is that necessary – a country with 8.5 million inhabitants is still just a small country. The metropolitan area of New York City is home to more than twice as many people as there are of us, while Tokyo has four times as many. On the other hand, we Austrians like to travel, with three out of four of us going abroad on holiday at least once a year. That could well be a record and goes to show that we look beyond our horizon. And so it is that we also find our way to Australia, to a bar where we learn something astonishing.

  ‘I simply couldn’t believe,’ admitted the press officer, ‘that an Austrian would be given such a rapturous welcome on the other side of the world. Would we do the same?’

  On the evening in question, I left that question unanswered, but the correct response is, of course, ‘Yes, we would’. I really like celebrating, and not just my own achievements, but also those of other people. How often have I heard the well-known saying ‘business before pleasure’? I’ve never really understood it. What is it trying to tell me? Business and pleasure are two things that don’t mix? So isn’t it possible for work to be pleasure? It is for me. Then there’s the time factor: we’re supposed to do our work first and have our fun afterwards. But what if we’re too tired by then, and don’t feel like it anymore? Tough luck!

  Following my encounter with the hotel press officer, these questions continued to occupy my mind for a while. Is it the reason why so many people go round with a worried look on their face? Because they’ve ruled pleasure out of their lives? Might hatred of others be a hatred of oneself, because life’s no fun anymore? Isn’t what we call entertainment just a way of passing time? Although it can be quite nice, it often leaves one feeling a bit flat afterwards. Are we just passing time, wasting time?

  If I’m looking for pleasure, what gives me most enjoyment is being active. When my friend Nicole got married in 2011, there was, of course, a huge party. Yet, wanting to do something specially for her, I decided to sew her a wedding dress. It was really exciting, and I ended up being almost more nervous than she was. As it was supposed to be a surprise, she didn’t get to try it on. And what if she didn’t like it? What woman wants to marry in a dress that isn’t the dress? I designed a three-layered circle skirt à la Swinging Fifties. This requires a lot of material, and you have to sew long lengths of it. But, for Nicole’s sake, I was happy to run my sewing machine almost red hot. Then came the moment of truth, when I presented it to her. Seeing her delight was like having a party of my own – and now the whole shebang could get underway. It’s pretty clear I like having something to do when I’m celebrating, and if I can be creative at the same time, all the better. Perhaps this stems from the time when Conchita was married to Jacques Patriaque and – together with Urinella, the third member of the group – they would perform on stage.

  For our performances, we were the Trio Infernale; in real life, we were the best of friends: Tom, Thomas and Philipp. Thomas and Philipp have been a couple for many years and are real role models to me. Despite having a lot of fun, we took our characters very seriously, constantly coming up with ideas to develop them. Urinella was a Viennese grande dame, who, although kind and likeable, was also capable of being the exact opposite. Somewhat cranky, wearing her heart on her sleeve, she was Mother Courage when it came to calling a spade a spade. Jacques, on the other hand – well, he was my husband – and the scenes from our marriage spoke volum
es. He often went to spend a few weeks in New York, and, on returning, he’d be buzzing with ideas. At the same time as I was preparing for the Eurovision Song Contest, he was bringing out a new show, Europe’s first Boylesque Festival, a quick-fire source of fun. Girls just want to have fun – and boys as well!

  On one occasion, I had the pleasure of disguising myself so thoroughly that even my closest friends couldn’t believe their eyes. It was Halloween, which is traditionally celebrated in Vienna with Miss Candy. She’s a queen among drag queens, describing herself as lighter than a soufflé but tougher than Margaret Thatcher. The venue for the event was the U4. It’s one of the best-known clubs in my adopted hometown – not because it was originally going to be a U-Bahn station but ended up becoming a club after the structural engineers got their calculations wrong, but because it’s where any celebrity looking for a big night out in Vienna is sure to turn up at some time or other.

  On the evening in question, the club was visited by the world-famous fashion designer Donatella Versace. Of course, everyone turned to gaze at her: her glamorous appearance, her long blonde hair, her slender waist, her bronzed skin. But she’d obviously been eating chilli peppers beforehand, the really hot Habanero ones. Anyone who spoke to her was sent packing in no uncertain terms, both in English and her strong native Calabrian dialect. And anyone looking to dance with her only got to see her claws. This was an evening on which it wasn’t Prada the devil wore, but Versace, and there I was, having the time of my life. Because, underneath all the makeup, underneath the cheeks drawn back as if they’d been botoxed, it was me. It was like at Carnival time, when the mythical figure of the shapeshifter is celebrated up and down the land. I love this game of disguise, which dates back to the Germanic god Odin, who took on the shape of a bird or a snake.