ABSTRACT
In 1994 Daytona Beach city elders refused to play host to MTV’s “Spring Break,” a weeklong televised spree of lascivious beach games organized around live musical interludes. A year earlier, in its customary Florida venue, they had taken offense to the hedonistic goings-on, including the now-famous drag queen performer RuPaul’s fierce debut at this event. There, at the forefront of commercial youth culture, in the midst of all the dating games involving cross-dressing, suddenly, whoomp! RuPaul was the real thing on the runway. The mostly white college jock audience in Daytona that spring responded with seriously muted applause—a reaction that was probably part embarrassment, part homophobia, and part jaw-dropped amazement at just how damned good she was. This was the same crowd that had bayed with cosexual appreciation for the other black men on the bill—Shabba Ranks, the sexed-up Jamaican toaster, and Naughty by Nature, featuring Treach, with masculinity to spare in his minimalist moves.
