AMROU AL-KADHI
On stage and in drag, I’m uncompromising. There’s something about being in drag that allows me to say and do whatever I want, without fear, in whatever way I want. People who have watched Glamrou on stage believe that I’m a relentlessly self-assured person: I have no anxiety singing break-up songs to Allah in front of audiences or having sex with a pill-shaped stuffed toy when I’m on stage. It’s almost like being possessed by the spirit of fearlessness.
The truth is, out of drag, I live in constant terror. Drag helps me escape the feeling of hypervigilance and fear of rejection that permeates my daily existence: it’s the one space where I don’t doubt myself. Which is why it’s so sacred to me.
Singing in a dress to a thousand people fills me with no nerves, but a date with someone I actually like is a truly terrifying prospect. This has come from a childhood where my mother told me that I am “impossible to love” and an entire adolescence of being reminded I was monstrous. In drag, I’m able to embody this feeling of monstrosity with autonomy and control and sublimate it into something powerful and positive; out of drag, it’s an inner turmoil I can’t shake.
It’s why relationships have historically been very difficult for me. I’m very comfortable accepting the bare minimum — and I don’t even feel fully deserving of that. After a childhood where none of my emotional needs were met — and were even violated — I’ve had nearly zero experience at expressing what I truly want in a relationship, or even believing that I deserve these things. So, I’ve put up with a lot in my romantic life — being ghosted over and over, being called ugly, having to chase someone I’m dating to even go on a date — in a relentless pursuit for basic affection. Given this is the exact dynamic that orchestrated my childhood, it’s habitual. It almost feels surprising when someone registers genuine interest and affection and presents themselves as emotionally
