Soft spoken, short and funny are the things that make Leslie Jordan so wildly successful and charming. But as a kid growing up gay in Chattanooga, Tennessee, it made him the target of bullies. He found refuge in the 1970s Atlanta drag scene at a club called the Sweet Gum Head. (“Before TV, Leslie Jordan was Miss Baby Wipes,” Bitter Southerner, Oct. 8, 2020; photo courtesy TheLeslieJordan.com)
I worked in archives for most of my career, but it wasn’t until I shared a home with my husband that I learned how we live in them too. The clutter, the books, the art works, the curated ephemera of a life lived instead of the one planned or hoped for: They all take on meaning that transcends their material and purpose. It’s true: Our kitchens store our histories and feed our sense of belonging. (“Object Permanence,” Gravy, October 2025. Image courtesy Gravy and Daniel Fischel.)
“The town of Sweet Gum Head still exists, but it has no train station, no bus stop, no grocery store. Aside from a church and Ard’s Cricket Ranch, the town is hardly there, and hardly ever was. Though it exists mostly as a hazy recollection of a loose family of farms that dates back less than a century, it serves as a reminder that the queer history of America presents itself everywhere, even in the quiet, empty quarters of the South…” (“Underneath the Sweet Gum Tree,” Oxford American, Summer 2020. Photo courtesy Susan Raines)
Sheena Cassadine whirls across the crowded restaurant, her pool wrap funneling into a rainbow tornado. Limbs twisting, one knee ricocheting to her side at a 90-degree angle, she whips and drops back-first to the ground in what drag queens call a “death drop.”
The patrons at Twisted Soul’s inaugural Atlanta Pride drag brunch watch in awe: Lithe twinks rub elbows with hairy bears and mingle with beautiful femmes, while servers deliver waffles and syrup to genderfluid folk who wear beachy dresses and toast each other with bottomless mimosas.
I fear for Sheena’s wig as she spins, but she has it under control. And, really, if you haven’t lost a wig over a plate of collards and fried chicken, have you really even done drag? (“Your Fried Chicken Has Done Drag,” Gravy, Spring 2020)
Martin Padgett 