Camp; a feminist revision
You may have encountered camp through RuPaul's Drag Race, heard people toss it around when talking about films like Pink Flamingos, The Rocky Horror Picture Show or Death Becomes Her, or maybe you recognise it as the theme of the 2019 MET Gala. But what is camp exactly? Camp is a relatively established, though difficult-to-define term that knows its origins in queer subculture and slang. The easiest way to describe camp is probably to say that it is a sensibility, an attitude, a lens through which to view the world. But it’s also, without a doubt, something visual—think style, think aesthetic, think everything turned up to eleven. Camp is excess. It is layered and polychromatic, it’s playful and ironic, yet, it’s serious in all of its extravagance.
“You can’t camp about something you don’t take seriously; you’re not making fun of it, you’re making fun out of it. You’re expressing what’s basically serious to you in terms of fun and artifice and elegance.”[1]
World in the Evening, Christopher Isherwood, 1954
For some, to state that something is camp is to acknowledge that it is “so bad that it’s good” (yes, thank you Susan Sontag), whereas for others it’s “so good” that it calls into question the very notions of good taste. To further understand the complexities of camp, we must first differentiate between intentional and unintentional camp—also known as deliberate vs. naïve, low vs. high, or camp vs. campy—with the first being self-aware, deeply intentional camp that knows exactly what it’s doing, and thus, by extension, becomes campy. The latter, on the other hand, typically consists of a seriousness that fails, because it’s too absurd, too outrageous, too fantastic or simply too much—or conversely, too little—and therefore cannot be taken completely seriously. This latter category is also sometimes referred to as “true,” “pure” or “proper” camp.
Camp is often dismissed as frivolous, surface-level, or merely silly. But there is more to it than meets the eye. Taking a feminist lens, this thesis examines the political aspects and potentialities of camp, as well as its ability to challenge conventional ideas of gender and femininity. Our journey begins in 19th-century London, travels through 20th-century ‘Murica, meets an array of figures and cultural expressions on the way and finally lands in camp’s many modern-day forms.
Though camp has been explored by numerous scholars and authors, there remains a gap in the existing literature when it comes to presenting it through a more overarching, intersectional, and feminist lens. Susan Sontag’s Notes on Camp (1964) continues to be one of the most accessible entry points, but let’s be real—her essay, though foundational, now feels a bit… well, dated.
And so, we turn to bell hooks, who defines feminism as “a movement to end sexism, sexist exploitation and oppression.” It’s crucial to note that feminism, then, is not just for women. From the moment we’re born, we’re all socialised to internalise sexist thinking, and yes—gasp!—this affects men too. As hooks explains, "Cultures of domination attack self-esteem, replacing it with a notion that we derive our sense of being from dominion over another. Patriarchal masculinity teaches men that their sense of self and identity, their reason for being, resides in their capacity to dominate others.”[2]
Feminism and queer liberation movements are deeply interconnected, both rooted in oppression and sexism and both challenging patriarchal and heteronormative systems that rigidly define gender roles and norms. However, they are often treated as distinct, separate movements. This is a false division. At the root of both misogyny and homophobia lies a shared devaluation of femininity. Those who embody femininity—especially individuals who don’t conform to traditional gender norms—are often dismissed, harassed, or worse, subjected to violence.
This thesis focuses on camp within a British and American context, largely due to the dominant influence of American (and, to a lesser extent, British) media. While expanding the scope to an international perspective would provide additional insight, it is beyond the limits of this thesis due to time and space constraints. However, I believe it’s important to acknowledge the cultural specificity of camp and the fact that it can manifest differently elsewhere.
To gain a better understanding of the aesthetic and sensibility that is camp, I think it’s about time we head on a little journey through its past. So buckle up, darling… we’re going for a ride!
First stop: London, England, 1868. You may want to pour yourself a cuppa because things are about to get interesting.
Although camp as a concept didn’t have a clear label until much later, one of the earliest uses of the term can be traced as far back as 1868 when it appeared in a letter written by British theatre performer Fanny Park. Fanny, assigned male at birth, but presenting as female both on stage and off, wrote to her lover, Arthur; ‘I cannot echo your wish that I should live to be a hundred, though I should like to live a green old age – green! Did I say? Oh, ciel! The amount of paint that will be required to hide that very unbecoming tint! My “campish” undertakings are not at present meeting with the success which they deserve.’[3] The quote marks around the word campish indicate an awareness of the colloquial status of the term. Perhaps even more interesting, though, is the style and subject matter here, from the dramatic French exclamation oh, ciel (oh, heavens) to the fanciful thought of how much paint would be needed to cover up their skin if it turned green. This remains clearly recognisable as camp discourse to this very day.
From tea time to further tensions, we’re crossing the pond babes! Next stop: 20th Century 'Murica.
June 28, 1969. Early morning. We find ourselves at the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar located in Greenwich Village, New York City. Several policemen enter, find bootlegged alcohol, and begin arresting and roughing up employees and patrons. Following what was commonly known as the “three-article rule” (though not an official law), a practice aimed at preventing cross-dressing, anyone not wearing at least three articles of gender-appropriate clothing is taken into custody. It’s the latest in a series of police raids and tensions are running high.
These tensions manifest in the fact that the patrons refuse to cooperate. Instead of leaving, they—joined by onlookers—form a crowd outside, waiting for their friends to be released. As the crowd watches the police mistreat patrons, anger rises. They start fighting back, throwing pennies, beer bottles, bricks and even setting trash on fire.
In a failed attempt to control the flames and disperse the crowd, the police grab a fire hose. But ✨surprise✨: the Stonewall doesn’t have running water, so there is no water pressure. The officers call in reinforcements and a line of policemen with nightsticks forms opposite the crowd. Among the rioters are several drag queens and trans women, said to have given the fiercest resistance. They start their own line, breaking into a spontaneous chorus line, complete with synchronized kicks, all while singing a rendition of Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-De-Ay:
‘We are the Stonewall girls,
We wear our hair in curls.
We don’t wear underwear,
We show our pubic hair.’[4]
In this moment, they channel the irony and humour of camp into an act of resistance, a weapon in the fight for liberation. By performing a mockery of traditional and gendered notions of decency, they additionally utilise camp’s playful nature to openly challenge and defy these oppressive norms.
[Fig. 1]
Marsha P. Johnson flaunts one of her signature Flower crowns. Marsha was a key figure in the Stonewall Uprising and the subsequent gay and trans liberation movements.
The Stonewall Riots marked a significant shift in queer visibility. Before Stonewall, in a society where being openly gay was illegal and dangerous, people often had to search discreetly in libraries for information about homosexuality—information that, at the time, was mostly found in scientific literature that labelled it as a mental disorder. Within this context, camp served as a signifying practice—a discreet "code" that allowed gay men to communicate with each other, even while in the presence of potentially hostile individuals. After Stonewall and the subsequent rise of the gay rights movement, the attitude towards camp began to change. LGBTQ+ people, particularly in cities like New York and San Francisco, began to demand visibility, rights, and recognition. However, as the movement progressed, there was a growing desire among some of its members to be seen as "normal" and "respectable" within mainstream society. As a result, many gay men, in particular, no longer wanted to be associated with the flamboyance, excess, effeminacy and thus “outsider” status that characterised camp.
Around the same time, camp found its way to popular culture and into the academic discourse on aesthetics. Sontag’s well-known 1964 Notes on Camp essay, in which she explores camp through 58 notes, signifies an early example of this shift. She describes camp as a sensibility, a mode of aestheticism and an appreciation of exaggeration and artifice, but also states: "To emphasize style is to slight content, or to introduce an attitude which is neutral with respect to content. It goes without saying that the Camp sensibility is disengaged, depoliticized—or at least apolitical."[5]
It seems, however, like we’ve missed an important step in our journey through the history of camp. Time to rewind a little.
Although camp has long been and still often is associated with white homosexual men, this leaves bare an important part of its history. Elements of camp can be traced back to the 19th and 20th centuries, when black people in the United States performed prizewalks or cakewalks at social gatherings on plantations; dance contests in which they would mimic and thereby exaggerate and mock the pompous and stiff movements of white slaveholders. The winner of such a contest was often awarded a cake, hence the name cakewalk.
[Fig. 2]
Dancers performing the Cakewalk. From The New York Public Library
Far from being politically neutral, these performances offered a subversive commentary on the racial power structures of the time. African Americans used these performances as a means of resistance—an act of defiance against a society built on oppression. As Paul Baker points out, the cakewalks were about sending a powerful message: “You will never break me.”[6]
This early use of camp thereby directly challenges the notion of camp as disengaged, neutral, or apolitical. Rather, it demonstrates that camp is, by its very nature, a tool for critiquing and disrupting dominant norms and power structures. Camp is not simply an aesthetic of flamboyance, excess, or artifice—it is a radical tool for resistance.
Moreover, these cakewalks laid the foundation for the later Harlem Ballroom scene and voguing[7], where trans women and queer people of colour were at the forefront.
Rewind, fast-forward, and hit play—camp’s evolution through the 80s, 90s, and now!
In the 1980s, a new political wave rejected the notions of 'acceptance' and 'respectability' within mainstream society. Embracing queer theory and camp, activists used these tools to confront inequality within American culture. Amid the AIDS epidemic, a wider spectrum of people (those identifying not only as gay or lesbian, but also bisexual and transgender) began to organise themselves into action groups like ACT UP[8], and terms like queer and LGBT+ were introduced. This also entailed that more people were now able to take part in the camp sensibility. In the face of, or possibly because of, the conservative dominance of the decade, camp became increasingly vital.
[Fig. 3]
SILENCE = DEATH
Poster by the Silence=Death Project, 1986. The pink triangle, a reference to the Nazi persecution of queer people in the 30s and 40s, is inverted, reclaimed and used as a central visual symbol of AIDS activism.
[Fig. 4]
ACT UP protest at the Gay and Lesbian Pride march, New York City, June 1988.
Photo: The New York Historical Society.
The 90s, again, marked an era of an increased academic interest in the topic of camp, which was now expanded to include several subcategories. It gained a more serious status and was theorised, discussed and dissected at length. But, this almost over-analytical and very serious approach towards the topic also meant that it lost some of its fun and playfulness.
The closer we get to modern times, the more complex camp seems to become. As queer people have gained more rights, acceptance and visibility (at least in some parts of the world), camp itself has also become more visible and has entered the realm of popular media and advertising. Bruce Labruce argues: "It's a sensibility that has been appropriated by the mainstream, fetishised, commoditised, turned into a commodity fetish, and exploited by a hyper capitalist system... what's lacking is the sophistication, and especially the notion of asterism, something shared by a group of insiders, or rather, outsiders."[9]
In the digital age, camp has furthermore taken a new turn with the influence of social media. Platforms like Instagram and TikTok allow for the rapid sharing of images, with memes and viral content further blurring the line between high culture and low culture and irony and earnestness.
Katrin Horn, in turn, suggests that today, camp is no longer defined by oppression but rather by “distortion.”[10] This distortion happens when commodified images of gay- or queerness are commercialised and absorbed into mainstream culture, stripping them of their original meaning, context and subversive power. This also happens with images of "strong women," which now serve as new forms of control rather than alternatives to outdated and repressive stereotypes.
Women have long been seen as passive subjects of camp rather than active participants in its creation. This can be partly explained by the fact that women, especially in the first half of the 20th century, were largely excluded from cultural production and had even less power to influence image-making processes—such as film, art, fashion and media—than gay men.[11] Yet, women seem to be central to the classical camp canon, with the figure of the diva playing a pivotal role.
In the mid-20th century, gay men channelled camp through “a select set of fabulous women, a sparkling collection of jewels, each one with a unique cut and colour.”[12] While gay men were heavily involved in various aspects of theatre at the time, the illegality of homosexuality made it difficult for them to land prominent roles. As a result, representations of gay men in mainstream media were scarce, leaving few role models with whom they could identify. One theory explaining the “symbiotic” relationship between gay men and their “fabulous women” is that these divas served as stand-ins, embodying qualities gay men admired. They commanded attention and, not unimportantly, represented drama itself. It was the camp in these women—their theatricality, excess and blend of feminine and masculine traits—that captivated gay men. Edward R. O'Neill adds that this fascination with divas stems from an appreciation for the act of performance itself; the identification with the labour, taste, and stylisation behind the creation of these larger-than-life figures.[13] Moreover, gay men saw in these women not only objects of admiration but also figures of survival—navigating societal pressures and struggles that resonated with some of their own experiences.
[Fig. 5] Mae West. 1893 - 1980.
“When I’m good, I’m very good. But when I’m bad I’m better.”
[Fig. 6] Marlene Dietrich. 1901 – 1992.
Dietrich was often accused of displaying “masculine” behavior, thanks to her nonchalant attitude and unapologetic sexual confidence. She also challenged traditional gender norms and codes through her clothing. An openly bisexual diva, she was rumoured to be part of the infamous ‘sewing circle’, a group of lesbian, bisexual, and bicurious Hollywood women.
[Fig. 7] Josephine Baker. 1906 – 1975.
“I never took the easy path, always the tough one. But when I took it, I wanted to make it easier for those who followed me.“
[Fig. 8] Katharine Hepburn. 1907 - 2003.
"If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun."
[Fig. 9] Judy Garland. 1922 - 1969.
The “sudden” expression of outrage at Stonewall is sometimes linked to the death of gay icon Judy Garland (best known for The Wizard of Oz), whose funeral took place on June 27, 1969. While it may be an oversimplification to claim that her passing directly sparked the riots, several patrons that night had, in fact, attended her funeral earlier that day. Additionally, people frequently used her name to sign in when entering the bar.
[Fig. 10] Marilyn Monroe. 1926 - 1962.
“People think that why I’m late is some kind of arrogance… I think it is the opposite of arrogance… I want to be prepared when I get there to give a good performance to the best of my ability”
[Fig. 11] Eartha Kitt. 1927 - 2008.
[Fig. 12] Nina Simone. 1933 - 2003.
[Fig. 13] Cher. 1946 - now.
[Fig. 14] Madonna. 1958 - now.
These women, however, are more than just figures of admiration or collectables for gay men. By only highlighting them in this way, we risk stripping away some of their agency. From a feminist perspective, they also stand out as figures deserving of a spotlight of their own. So, let’s pause for a moment and go for a quick linguistic and historical detour, shall we?
The term diva itself, derived from the Latin word for goddess, was originally used in the 19th century to describe exceptionally talented opera singers—women worshipped as goddesses on the stage.[14] Yet, outside the theatre, there was a growing feeling of discomfort with feminine creativity, agency, and freedom at the time. These early divas were able to transcend the limitations of their gender only through the financial independence afforded by their profession, which offered them a unique position in society.
As the image of the diva evolved, particularly with the rise of the oh-so-fabulous Hollywood diva in the 20th century, the term began to take on a less flattering connotation. As these women became more powerful, famous, and assertive in their efforts to challenge the status quo, they quickly earned reputations for being difficult or troublesome. They had strong opinions and clear ideas about how things should be done. Yet, when they expressed these views, they were labelled as divas or bitches—terms that, when applied to men, would be seen as signs of leadership or strength (sigh). This shift towards the figure of the diva reflected broader cultural anxieties about women asserting themselves in the public eye.
[Fig. 15]
Josephine Baker performing in Paris, 1973.
Some divas used their popularity and unique position to speak out on political and social issues. Take the iconic Josephine Baker, for instance: dancer, singer, and all-around showgirl extraordinaire. Famous for her daring stage outfits—feathers, tulle, gems, and glitter—Baker didn’t just serve looks, she served purpose. During World War II, she used her freedom as a performer to double as a spy for the French, gathering intelligence. After the war, she went on to become a vocal advocate for racial equality, challenging segregation laws in the States and marching for civil rights. Now, that’s what I call camp!
The diva, in her complex mix of power, defiance, and unapologetic femininity, provides a crucial context for understanding the ongoing cultural exchanges and dynamics at play between women and gay men. As we have established, camp aesthetics have traditionally been considered to be the domain of gay men, who, in turn, have borrowed from women’s aesthetics and fashion—think of female impersonation, or the use of slang associated with “women's culture”; like the way gay men sometimes refer to each other using terms like “girl” or “she.” Pamela Robertson suggests that this exchange between gay men and women has long been perceived as being one-sided.[15] Meaning: gay men are seen as appropriating feminine aesthetics and female stars, while women are not considered to draw inspiration from gay male culture. Robertson challenges this view by highlighting how certain female stars, such as Mae West and Madonna, have deliberately taken on aspects of gay male culture.
Madonna, in particular, brought elements of queer subculture, such as ballroom culture and voguing, into the mainstream, with her 1990 hit "Vogue" serving as a prime example. While it helped increase visibility for the underground ballroom scene, it has also faced accusations of cultural appropriation. As a cis white woman, Madonna profited from a subculture created by marginalized communities without fully acknowledging the queer and trans Black and Latinx pioneers behind it. This has been widely critiqued, as it underscores how white celebrities often benefit from these subcultures, while the creators themselves remain largely underpaid, underrepresented, and erased from the narrative.
Looking at today’s icons—think Britney, Beyoncé, Gaga, Charli, Chappell—it’s clear that the relationship between gay men and women is far from one-sided. It’s a dynamic, two-way exchange. This raises important questions about appropriation, co-optation, and identity politics. Robertson argues that camp, as a sensibility embracing cross-sex and cross-gender identities, provides an important space to investigate these intersections, as well as the real differences between feminist and gay theory, and between gay women, heterosexual women, and gay men.[16] Recognising camp furthermore helps us move beyond the simplified divide between “positive” (strong, independent, diverse) and “negative” (weak, stereotypical, reactionary) portrayals of women and sexual minorities. Katrin Horn argues that this divide often ends up reinforcing the marginalisation of lesbians and gay men, even in works that try to challenge it, by appealing to heteronormative views.[17]
Finally, let’s talk camp in cinema. Of all the elements of popular culture, movies probably have the closest link to camp. In the 1990s, New Queer Cinema used camp not only to express queer theory’s deconstructionist ideas but also to visually distinguish itself from mainstream cinema. Although camp’s ironic and aesthetic sensibility is often associated with gay male culture—illustrated by filmmakers like John Waters—it also has a female counterpart: Dyke camp. Australian author Mikaella Clements writes, "Dyke camp is a movement directed not by the tastes of gay men but gay women: a specific brand of humor, manners, and sensibilities guided by lesbian identity."[18] While Dyke camp overlaps with traditional camp in some areas, it diverges in others. Where “traditional” camp revels in the love of artifice and the unnatural, Dyke camp instead focuses on the ultra-natural, nature built up and reclaimed, of clothing that could be extensions of the body, of compulsive yearning, of lesbian gestures or mannerisms multiplied by a thousand. Dyke camp, like its gay male counterpart, embraces iconic figures like Katharine Hepburn (I mean, the pantsuits, need I say more?), but also includes expressions such as Janelle Monae's pink vulva pants, Thelma and Louise soaring through the air in their getaway car, the theme song from The L Word and the hyper-specific costumes featured in the I Hate Gay Halloween trend.
[Fig. 16]
[Fig. 17]
[Fig. 18]
“I hate gay halloween, what do you mean you’re…” forms the typical caption of the similarly named I Hate Gay Halloween trend, an online phenomenon in which users share their hyper-specific Halloween costumes, often pulled from niche (online) references; memes, films, TV shows, or pop culture. Think of costumes like the tennis ball from the 2024 film Challengers, the bisexual couch from IKEA’s 2021 Pride collection, or the female Oompa Loompa from Glasgow’s Willy's Chocolate Experience.
[Fig. 19]
Thelma & Louise. 1991.
[Fig. 20]
Janelle Monáe and their vulva pants.
Pynk videoclip. 2018.
But I'm a Cheerleader
I'm a homosexual!
Cleaning the pink and blue villa.
Serving looks and legs. The boys and their very “masculine” blue suits.
A campy film that I’m personally quite fond of is the 1999 low-budget film But I’m a Cheerleader, by female director Jamie Babbit. It features a bright colour palette (largely consisting of various shades of pink and blue), plenty of pompoms, vaginal motifs in artwork and decoration, two ex-ex-gays running what is referred to as the ‘underground homo railroad’, and, of course, high-camp diva RuPaul in tight shorts and a blue shirt featuring the words “Straight is Great” in bold sans-serif. Seriously, what’s not to love here?
The film's premise seems rather bleak at first: a girl is sent to conversion therapy camp (yes, that’s right, not only is this film camp, but it also takes place in an actual camp context) by her parents, who accuse her of being a lesbian. Why? Well, she is a vegetarian, has pictures of women around and—heaven forbid—doesn’t like to kiss her boyfriend (in all honesty, who would? The guy practically attacks her with his mouth agape and tongue sticking out, you’d have to see it to truly appreciate how horrifying it is).
As the story unfolds, it quickly becomes clear that the film is more interested in poking fun at the dull, beige and brown world of ‘normal’ or ‘straight’ society—and at the very idea of sending gay teens to conversion therapy, with other gay teens (what could possibly go wrong?!)—than at the lesbian and gay teens who deviate from it.
While the girls learn to scrub floors, do dishes (while wearing pink gloves and using rose-shaped dish brushes—naturally), manicure their nails, change diapers and sit properly (sat up straight, with one leg elegantly crossed over the other, rather than slouched over and with their legs far apart (oh, no! not the manspread!), the boys are taught to fix cars, chop wood, spit and play sports.
The film’s relentless satire mocks the absurdity of rigid gender roles and the illogical and harmful practices of conversion therapy, using a camp lens to expose just how ridiculous the notion of "gender” or “sexuality correction" is. Through the use of colour, exaggerated performances and costuming alongside a highly ironic soundtrack and dialogue it offers a pointed critique of heteronormative and sexist structures. With humour and artifice, the film delivers serious, subversive political commentary.
The film additionally taps into larger questions about the performative nature of femininity, connecting with broader, more theoretical explorations of gender. In the next chapter, we will delve deeper into how femininity has evolved within feminist discourse, exploring its transformation from a set of patriarchal-imposed expectations to a performative identity that can be redefined and reclaimed.
Femininity has evolved over time and so has the way it's been perceived. During the second wave of feminism (roughly 1960s-1980s) femininity was generally regarded as a set of traits and behaviours imposed on women by a patriarchal society, reflecting their subordinate status to men. In this view, femininity is defined by men, and women are conditioned to embody it as a submissive counterpart to male power. Given this understanding, it is no surprise that femininity was seen as a barrier to liberation; something that didn’t benefit women and, therefore, needed to be resisted and defeated.[19]
In contrast, the third-wave girls of the 90s began to understand femininity not as solely imposed on women or embodied by women, but rather as something that is available to and can be embodied or performed by anyone. This definition of femininity draws on Judith Butler's analysis of gender as socially constructed, relational, and performative. Third-wave feminism does recognise the pressures on women to conform to what can be seen as submissive forms of femininity but simultaneously emphasises how women may collectively deploy transgressive forms of femininity or counter-hegemonic[20] meanings of 'girly things' as tools to disrupt gender hierarchies.[21] These "girly" tropes are then repurposed as tools to disrupt gender hierarchies and challenge societal norms. In this way, femininity is regarded as something that can be performed—an action, not an inherent quality.
And, here, we arrive back with our dear old friend, camp. Within this context, camp is interesting because it offers a form of gender parody. Camp both challenges and deconstructs gendered norms by mimicking and exaggerating them, thereby revealing their performative nature; gender as something that is learned and constructed by society rather than natural or inherent.
A key element of camp is transgression, stepping outside what’s considered normal, and in doing so, breaking expectations (often unspoken) around how different people should behave, look, or sound.[22] A prime example of this can be seen in the camp figure of the drag queen. But, how exactly do we define a drag queen? The Cambridge Dictionary offers the following definition: a person, often a gay man, who dresses in highly decorated women's clothes, wigs, jewellery, make-up, etc., as a costume and performs as a woman for entertainment. While this definition holds up in a basic sense, I believe it’s also what has led some feminists to criticise drag, arguing that it’s simply men "pretending" to be women for laughs, thus turning women into the butt of the joke—and, by extension, reinforcing misogyny.
I understand where this criticism comes from, but I think it overlooks an important point. Drag isn’t simply about impersonating or mocking women; I would rather argue that it’s a way of exploring and challenging gender roles and stereotypes, through enacting playful subversions of aesthetic and gender codes. In some of its forms, drag could even be viewed as a challenge to patriarchy, or at least to heteronormativity. Moreover, this criticism fails to acknowledge that drag is very diverse—drag encompasses a wide range of performances and identities. However, it’s still true that drag kings don’t receive the same recognition as drag queens, which is probably partly linked to the idea that mocking men (or masculinity) doesn’t have the same comedic or cultural power as mocking women (or femininity).
RuPaul’s Drag Race has played a significant role in shaping the mainstream understanding of drag. The reality competition show, where contestants are judged on Charisma, Uniqueness, Nerve, and Talent (it’s Drag Race, so yes, the acronym is indeed very much intentional), has been criticised by some for commercialising drag. On the flip side, Drag Race has definitely contributed to an increased visibility and acceptance of queerness and drag. The fact that the show has expanded much beyond its intended gay male audience additionally forms yet another indicator that camp humour has become mainstream.
[Fig. 21]
RuPaul in drag.
Drag Race has, however, received criticism for its attitude towards trans people; think of the use of terms like ‘tranny’ and ‘she-male’ on the show or how trans people weren’t allowed to compete until relatively recently. When asked about this in 2018, RuPaul stated that he probably wouldn’t have allowed a contestant who had transitioned to compete.[23] Drag queens are meant to be witty and a little offensive or, as they put it, fishy. And it's precisely because of their stylised and exaggerated drag personas that they can push boundaries in ways they wouldn’t be able to outside of drag—I believe this is also part of what makes them so entertaining. But, this is also where camp humour in the 21st century becomes tricky: when is something genuinely funny, and when does it cross the line into being degrading or hurtful? RuPaul admits: “Drag is dangerous. We are making fun of everything. But when someone doesn’t get the joke or feels offended by it, it’s a lose-lose situation, because you can’t explain a joke. It isn’t funny if you explain it.”[24]
To make things even more complicated, this short exploration of drag wouldn’t feel complete without acknowledging the existence of female drag queens (even less represented) and a relatively new addition to the drag scene. This leaves us with an enjoyable mess to sort out; these are women acting as what would have been a guy acting as a woman, at least historically. How do they view their position within drag themselves? British female drag queen Hollester points out that while feminism has made great strides for women, it has also suppressed opportunities for women to be camp. In turn, fellow queen Miss Malice explains how drag gave her the opportunity to challenge a society that labels femininity or being femme as weak or frivolous, and that suggests smart or feminist women shouldn’t wear long nails or lipstick.[25]
[Fig. 22]
“For me, drag is not performing a woman, drag is performing femininity.”
Drag Queen Victoria Sin. Photograph: Holly Falconer
Moving from drag to more “everyday” attire, I would like to highlight a fragment of an interview with Billy Porter that I saw a while back and that was quite eye-opening for me. To set the scene: Billy is a guest on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, where Colbert asks him whether he believes fashion is political. He responds that it can be and goes on to discuss fashion’s complex relationship to gender; “We’ve moved beyond the idea that women wearing pants is a problem… Women wearing pants is powerful, it’s strong, everybody accepts it. And it’s associated with the patriarchy, it’s associated with being male. The minute a man puts on a dress, it’s disgusting. So what are you saying?” He continues: “Men are strong, women are disgusting. I’m not doing that anymore. I’m done with that. I’m a man in a dress, and if I feel like wearing a dress, I’m going to wear one.”[26]
So, to briefly summarise: Dressing like a man (meaning: wearing what is traditionally considered to be male attire; think pants, suits, maybe a cheeky tie) "elevates" a woman, since it’s associated with power and masculinity, whereas a man dressing like a woman (again, wearing what is traditionally considered to be female attire; think dresses, skirts, ruffled blouses, make-up) "lowers" him to the level of a woman, reinforcing the patriarchal idea of women's status as inferior. Although this now seems so obvious to me, I think this is the first time I’ve heard someone articulate it so clearly.
That being said, I want to clarify that I'm by no means saying we should all swap pants for dresses and skirts. Instead, I'm proposing that we critically reflect on the societal messages we associate with femininity and masculinity, and question the power dynamics embedded in these gendered expectations.
In conclusion, camp started as an underground signifying practice, a secret code language rooted in oppression. But times have changed. With the increased visibility of queerness, the once-gay underground sensibility has sashayed its way into the mainstream and is ever-so-present in memes, online culture, films, TV and even advertising. Yes, sweethearts, it's everywhere! This oversaturation and accompanying dilution have, however, reinforced the sensibility’s reputation as merely frivolous, flamboyant or surface level. Yet, camp was never purely about aesthetics. As Juan Antonio Suarez so powerfully describes it, camp expression is not only "adventures in taste as much as war cries, expressions of protest from communities actually claiming social and cultural spaces forcibly denied to them."[27]
Historically, camp has been closely tied to male homosexuality, and women have often been relegated to passive subjects in the cultural expression. However, (trans) women and gender nonconforming individuals have forever played a crucial role. Additionaly, the iconic “divas” of the 20th century—figures like Josephine Baker, Mae West and Marlene Dietrich—didn’t simply follow the script; they co-wrote it. These women embodied camp aesthetics, playing an essential part in shaping it. The rise of Dyke camp as a counterpart to male camp further expanded this space, offering a vital platform for lesbian and queer women’s identities to be expressed and celebrated.
Within a modern-day context, I argue camp remains present and necessary as a tool for queer and feminist resistance, offering a space for questioning and reimagining rigid, conventional notions of gender and femininity. The camp sensibility refuses to conform to patriarchal expectations of how people of different genders should look, behave, and sound. Camp furthermore continues to serve as a "queering" device—a tool for deconstructing dominant cultural narratives.
And, of course, let’s not forget: camp is fun. As powerful and transformative as it is, camp too, injects joy into our world. A world without it would be dreadfully dull. In fact, seeing the world through camp-filtered glasses every now and then wouldn’t hurt anyone—especially in a world that can sometimes—increasingly so, sadly—feel like a dreary, monochrome nightmare.
So, on that note, skedaddle and keep up your campish undertakings—be they successful or gloriously messy!
I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to my supervisor, Ilga Minjon, for their patience, encouragement, and invaluable feedback throughout this process.🌀A special thanks to Thomas Buxo and François Girard-Meunier for guiding me through the website development process, and to Pascal de Man for additional coding help. 💻
I am also incredibly grateful to my friends and family for their constant support. A special shout-out goes to Eliza Khodabux for her thoughtful feedback and proofreading.💖
[1]: Horn, Katrin. Women, Camp, and Popular Culture; Serious Excess. Palgrave Macmillan, 2017. 3.
[2]: hooks, bell. Feminism Is for Everybody: Passionate Politics. Pluto Press, 2000.
[3]: Iglikowski-Broad, Vicky. “The Queer Victorian Origins of the Word ‘camp.’” The National Archives, https://beta.nationalarchives.gov.uk/explore-the-collection/stories/earliest-use-of-the-word-camp/
[4]: Baker, Paul. Camp!: The Story of the Attitude that Conquered the World. Footnote Press, 2023.
[5]: Sontag, Susan. Notes on Camp. 1964. Penguin UK, 2018.
[6]: Baker, Paul. Camp!: The Story of the Attitude that Conquered the World. Footnote Press, 2023.
[7]: Voguing is a dance-performance style consisting of rapid movements, originally inspired by the poses of white models in Vogue magazines. Queer people of colour reappropriated these images, using mimesis as a means of carving out space for themselves.
[8]: For more information, see ACT UP Oral History Project, https://www.actuporalhistory.org/.
[9]: LaBruce, Bruce. “Notes on Camp/Anti Camp.” 7 July 2015, https://brucelabruce.com/2015/07/07/notes-on-camp-anti-camp/
[10]: Horn, Katrin. Women, Camp, and Popular Culture; Serious Excess. Palgrave Macmillan, 2017.
[11]: Robertson, Pamela. Guilty Pleasures: Feminist Camp From Mae West to Madonna. Internet Archive, 1996, archive.org/details/guiltypleasuresf0000robe_f8w4.
[12]: Baker, Paul. Camp!: The Story of the Attitude that Conquered the World. Footnote Press, 2023.
[13]: O’Neill, Edward R. “The M-m-mama of Us All: Divas and the Cultural Logic of Late Ca(m)pitalism.” Camera Obscura Feminism Culture and Media Studies, vol. 22, no. 2, Jan. 2007, pp. 11–37. https://doi.org/10.1215/02705346-2007-002.
[14]: Diva. 26 Oct.2024 - 2 Mar. 2025, Kunsthal Rotterdam, the Netherlands.
[15]: Robertson, Pamela. Guilty Pleasures: Feminist Camp From Mae West to Madonna. Internet Archive, 1996, archive.org/details/guiltypleasuresf0000robe_f8w4.
[16]: Robertson, Pamela. Guilty Pleasures: Feminist Camp From Mae West to Madonna. Internet Archive, 1996, archive.org/details/guiltypleasuresf0000robe_f8w4.
[17]: Horn, Katrin. Women, Camp, and Popular Culture; Serious Excess. Palgrave Macmillan, 2017.
[18]: Clements, Mikaella. “Notes on Dyke Camp.” The Outline, 17 May 2018, theoutline.com/post/4556/notes-on-dyke-camp?zd=1&zi=pcuwq3g2.
[19]: Schippers, Mimi, and Erin Grayson Sapp. “ReadingPulp Fiction: Femininity and Power in Second and Third Wave Feminist Theory.” Feminist Theory vol. 13, no. 1, Apr. 2012, pp. 27–42.
[20]: “counter-hegemonic” refers to actions, ideas and expressions that challenge or resist the dominant cultural norms, values or power structures. In the context of femininity, hegemonic femininity might be understood as a traditional and idealised form of femininity that aligns with subordination.
[21]: Schippers, Mimi, and Erin Grayson Sapp. “ReadingPulp Fiction: Femininity and Power in Second and Third Wave Feminist Theory.” Feminist Theory vol. 13, no. 1, Apr. 2012, pp. 27–42.
[22]: Baker, Paul. Camp!: The Story of the Attitude that Conquered the World. Footnote Press, 2023.
[23]: Aitkenhead, Decca. “RuPaul: ‘Drag is a big f-you to male-dominated culture’” The Guardian, https://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2018/mar/03/rupaul-drag-race-big-f-you-to-male-dominated-culture.
[24]: Nicholson, Rebecca “RuPaul: 'Drag is dangerous. We are making fun of everything'.” The Guardian, https://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2015/jun/03/rupaul-drag-is-dangerous-we-are-making-fun-of-everything.
[25]: Nicholson, Rebecca. “Workin’ it! How female drag queens are causing a scene.” The Guardian, https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2017/jul/10/workin-it-how-female-drag-queens-are-causing-a-scene
[26]: The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. “If Billy Porter Wants to Wear a Dress, He’s Wearing a Dress.” YouTube, 13 June 2019, www.youtube.com/watch?v=fY058WwzR7s.
[27]: Horn, Katrin. Women, Camp, and Popular Culture; Serious Excess. Palgrave Macmillan, 2017.
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