The room is dim, lit mainly by the soft glow from the bar tucked in the back. Attire varies a lot. You might see a guy in jeans and a T-shirt, an older woman dressed to the nines, or a sparkly twenty-something in a rainbow jumpsuit. The air carries that familiar mix of booze and stale hotel convention-room musk. It’s unpolished, a little chaotic, and full of heart.

Curious eyes peek through a slit in the curtain. They catch glimpses of the queens behind the curtain, prepping for their big moment. They catch quick glimpses of the queens before their big entrances. After each performance that wows the crowd, the audience watches as they leave. They go to their makeshift “dressing room,” a curtained-off spot in the hallway. The mic glitches, one host is nowhere to be found, and seats are still empty—but the room hums with anticipation. This little show is about to make magic.

And much like a night at Hellspin Casino, it’s not about polish or perfection — it’s about boldness, flair, and the rush of unpredictability. Because this, darling, is DRAG.

There’s a lot to tackle before showtime. The transformation doesn’t happen overnight.

Drag demands serious skill. Imagine someone who can beat a face, pick the perfect outfit, own the stage, and charm a crowd—that’s a drag artist. They need to lip sync and engage the crowd. They must memorize music and dance moves. Also, they should be fit to perform the choreography. After setting up their performance and persona, artists need to network. They must find venues to perform at. They might also have to travel and cover those costs. Sadly, these challenges are the toughest. Drag artists often struggle to perform or to be accepted at all.

In many progressive places, the stigma around drag is fading—but not in Rapid City, South Dakota. Rapid City has a population of 80,000. It is primarily conservative, white, Christian, and Republican. It sits far from big cities and has a strong conservative history. Being openly queer here is tough, and drag shows often struggle to find support.

Still, local drag performers keep going. One of them is Patrick Fitzgibbon, also known as Dixy Divine. He’s been doing drag in Rapid for six years.

“I’ve worked hard, and so have my girls, to build up drag at Aby’s,” he said. “We do a show every month—thanks to me.”

Fitzgibbon stands as a cornerstone of Rapid City’s drag scene. Divine Productions is one of the few companies in the area. It’s a rare success in a challenging environment.

“As a trans woman in South Dakota, I’ve felt ignored and rejected,” Grace said. “Pick any harsh word—you name it, I’ve felt it.”

Drag and trans identities are deeply connected. For many trans folks, drag is more than performance—it’s a creative outlet or even a path to better understanding themselves. Drag plays with gender. Men dress in feminine styles, while women adopt masculine looks. Many others find a mix between the two. Sometimes, people discover new things about themselves by dressing up for a show.

That kind of self-discovery can be powerful. But not everyone gets it—or accepts it.

“I laugh off the hate,” said Fitzgibbon. “You can joke about it a little, but don’t let it ruin your day. Our community is facing far more pressing battles than a few ignorant comments.

Queer people face daily hate—from strangers on the street to headlines on the news. Coping takes both community and courage. While support helps, it also takes inner strength. For Cynthia Grace, that strength comes from living boldly, without apology.

“This isn’t about drag,” Grace said. “As a trans woman, I’ve seen how politicized everything has become over the last decade. I’ve learned that I have a choice. Not everyone can do what I do—I know I’m loud, bold, and stand out. But someone has to. Someone needs to say, ‘I’m not hiding. I’m here. I’m not your enemy—I’m like you.’”

Drag and trans identities often get dragged into politics, but drag itself is so much more. It’s creativity, joy, expression, and yes, sometimes a form of protest. But at its core, it’s art.

“It’s all about being entertained,” said Grace. “Come to a show,” Grace said. “You’ll see all kinds of people and styles.” Like any art, it’s subjective. If it’s not your thing, that’s fine — you’re free to leave.”

But at its heart, drag is about fun and self-expression.

Backstage, the nerves kick in. Your heart’s racing, your lashes are on, and you’re seconds away from stepping into the spotlight. The crowd is out there—and you’re ready to light up the room. You peek through the curtain—a few people are waiting, smiling, holding tips. When your name is called, you take a deep breath, lift your chin, and walk out there ready to shine.

Because no matter how small the show or town, drag is here — and it’s beautiful.