He’s So Unusual: Donnarama’s World

It’s girls night in, complete with pedicures, wigs, hot chocolate, and dishing on celebrity scandals. It feels like those winter slumber parties when I was twelve. We’re doing makeovers and everything. Sound like fun? Oh, it gets better- because my BFF for the night only is Toronto’s most eligible bachelor. He’s a heartbreaker, all right- smoldering eyes, sexy tummy, five-o-clock shadow, and oh, yeah- a tickle trunk full of wigs and glitter. Vince Pincente always dreamed of being a star, just like millions of little boys. He had no idea it would actually happen. The catch? He’d be wearing a dress.

Meet Donnarama, a free-spirit who longed for the stage- or at least the camera- and hoped to be a famous horror movie actor when he grew up. Fate would have it that he’s a dead ringer for Barbra Streisand, instead, if he shaves and adds a little lipstick!

Happy for an audience by any means necessary, Pincente started showing up at amateur talent shows dressed as Barbra. One day, she found an old wedding dress at the Goodwill and envisioned Madonna, writhing away on stage in the gown. Donnarama was born: it was short for Madonnarama. The dress got recycled quickly from crooning Like a Virgin to rocking Courtney Love numbers. Donnarama thought the drag world was overloaded with Cher and Babs, and could use some old time rock’n’roll.

“Celebrity sure beats telemarketing and retail,” says Donnarama. “I woke up one day and found I was a cult on You Tube.”

Donnarama didn’t have to scrounge around at talent shows for long- youth, beauty and creativity were all on her side, and instead of getting lost in the catty, cut-throat, drug-saturated underculture of men who wear hose, Donnarama was determined to remain sweet-natured, fun, and funny.

Today, she is Toronto’s drag legend and she’s not even 30. She won already, and she’s going out again for Toronto’s prestigious Drag Idol award. But it’s not just a gay thing- the straight newspaper voted Donna Best Drag Star in Toronto. She’s won umpteen awards, trophies, badges, and whatnot, and there’s no doubt that the best is yet to come.

“Come on in, girl,” Donnarama calls from somewhere inside when I arrive. The halls are decked with garish amounts of Christmas décor. With glitter and candy canes and colourful balls everywhere the eye can see, the decor gives new meaning to the term ‘festive.’ I trip over some killer thigh-high boots and slip on some kind of lace.

“What do you think?” Donnarama appears in a tank shirt, arms rippling, track pants sliding slightly to reveal a yummy backside. Ah, well, paradise not for me. “Sorry, I’ve only got my face half-on, darling,” He bends down and picks up the slip. “With the boots? When it’s freezing outside, nothing else?” He steps back into a pile of crinoline to get a look in the mirror. “That would definitely be a taxi only night!”

It’s hard to imagine that this gorgeous guy is also Toronto’s most gorgeous girl. “I wanted to be a star,” he says. “I thought I’d be an actor or a rock star. I’m definitely not a girl, but I don’t mind playing one on TV!”

He beckons for me to come down the hall to his room. It’s very much a boy’s room. There are horror movie posters and plastic axes and whatnot everywhere, and dozens of old beat-up video boxes with titles that contain ‘return’ or ‘revenge.’ The bed is utilitarian, and guy-style, it looks like it hasn’t been made in months. The sheets aren’t pink or satiny, just grey. I poke around curiously in the bookshelf. There are some old John Saul thrillers and a stack of more literary ghost stories like Shirley Jackson’s The Lottery and some Poe.

Donnarama reaches for the stereo volume and suddenly strains of New Order’s Regret starts pumping loudly and the feeling is instantly nostalgic. A closet door swings open and her legendary tickle trunk is pulled from the closet floor.

“They say gay people are more outrageous but it’s not true, they’re a rather conservative lot,” she says, “overall.” A few extremely outrageous gowns surface, and she pulls them out of the trunk, one after another, like scarves or rabbits from a magician’s hat. “We’re far too pulled-together and clean-cut. Now Bjork, that’s a fashion icon I look up to. She’s the most fucked up human being who ever dressed and she lives in a fantasy world.”

I can’t believe my eyes when Donnarama pulls an ….egg purse? …from the trunk. “I made it myself, “ she says proudly, holding it against her. I’d already guessed that. Years of working at Value Village made her expert at spotting goodies- from Chanel castoffs to old Sears junk- wild patterns that she can tailor to a more contemporary fit. Donnarama makes everything herself. Once she sewed a bunch of cloth dolls she bought at the Goodwill, fused together into a ‘baby doll’ dress. She calls her ‘line’ Salvation Armani.

“An EGG PURSE!” she squeals. “You know, to go with Bjork’s swan dress.”

Donnarama is the kind of drag queen who makes a dress out of garbage bags, writes GARBAGE on it in big letters, and then performs as Shirley Manson. (And she interviewed his idol Shirley for Fab Magazine!) She’s just never what you expect. It MIGHT be Celine Dion, but then, it might be a tampon fight tonight, a re-enactment of that infamous scene from Carrie. One day it’s a pregnant Catholic schoolgirl. She’s a brilliant comedian, a true actress. I’d make her go out there as ‘Sandy Kaufmann’ but I doubt anyone would get it. Here’s a girl who works hard for the money, but refuses to get too serious. “In this business, you can’t get tripped up over a ripped nail or a wrinkle or a missed phone call. Cookies crumble, okay?”

She tosses a photo from a stack of clippings that are falling everywhere. I’m so amazed: it’s Donnarama, somehow transformed into Frida Kahlo. The thick, dark hair pinned back look like her own: a handy Mac pencil gave her the mannish brows Kahlo was famous for. “I try to go for uncharted territory,” she says. “And Frida spent her life in bed, sick. I wanted to let her out for a bit. Besides, I think that is the first time anyone went onstage intentionally with a unibrow.” We titter and giggle like children.

She ruffles through more news stories about her act and finds a photograph of her with a sweet bob, a red and black polka dotted dress, and mouse ears. Minnie Mouse, perfection. Another- skintight yellow suit, all curves-it’s Uma from Kill Bill. “There should be a little Priscilla and a lot of David Lynch.” I don’t know if she means Priscilla Presley or Priscilla Queen of the Desert, but I don’t bother asking because Donna’s chattering on freely about bringing joy to the world.

“It’s all a sense of fun, something less serious with room for everyone. I don’t have room for bullshit politics.” Donna’s drawing on those lips. She has a lot of Mac pencils in various colours and quickly sketches Donna’s features over Vince’s. She snaps on some false eyelashes. Rush Hour by Jane Wiedlin starts up, and she dons a pair of neon green striped tights, dancing madly. I’m in the middle of an ’80s Bananarama video or something.

“I gave drag up, you know.” I remember, because my arts collective had been begging her to do a routine for an art show we were throwing. It was ‘Re-introducing Donnarama, back by popular demand.” It was hard to get her to come back out of the closet. But she did.

“I gave it up because I was feeling unappreciated. I was a quitter. Things weren’t going my way. I was selfish, I was young.” She sighs. “I missed it so much. And I decided it couldn’t be about catty, competitive bullshit or you couldn’t survive. I brought my humour in. Humour opens doors. Joking around lets people know what I’m all about, to make you laugh. You can be a boy or a girl. Who cares? EVERYTHING is funny!” Donnarama picks up her guitar and starts belting out some Hole.

But it wasn’t all guns and roses for this one. She’s famously quiet about her private life, family and past. It’s wise in showbiz, but then it’s not exactly a secret that Donna’s mom looks just like Donatella Versace and her sister was cracked out. Along the way, Donnarama also lost a few friends to AIDS and drugs. “Like that’s anything new to any community, get real! Life is life. Sorrow is a given. I won’t complain about a bad childhood… it’s one that nearly everybody shares- I mean, get real, who grew up perfectly loved and pampered?”

“You want to know about my childhood? My mom was our best friend. We listened to Kiss together. I lived in my own little world. I hardly went to school. I did whatever I wanted. I loved most to make people laugh.”

Later, after the laughter and the tears, with fresh glittery talons in place and the Raggedy-Ann red lips (simply called, Mac Red), I gather up my notebooks and scarves and gloves. As I’m trading in some too-big patent silver pumps for my more wintry Uggs, I notice a giant poster of Barbra Streisand’s famous profile by the kitchen. “You really do look like her!” I say, kissing her goodbye on her big nose. I see a caption on the poster and look closer to read it. “Funny Girl,” it says.

visit the writer, Lorette C. Luzajic, at www.thegirlcanwrite.net.
take a chance on me! support small press literature and order my book, The Astronaut’s Wife: Poems of Eros and Thanatos, which Donnarama lists among her favourites! you can get it at my site, or online with indigo or amazon.