Don’t look now, but Alaska Thunderfuck may have found the future of competitive drag.

This past weekend, Alaska and LA drag star Jackie Beat co-hosted an event at the Montalban Theater entitled quite simply the Drag Queen of the Year Pageant Competition Award Contest Competition. It was a fascinating blend of classic schtick, contemporary glamor, and avant-garde entertainment, providing not only a glimpse at drag’s current state of evolution but the next set of social barriers that the art form is poised to smash.

“Drag is for everyone at all times,” Alaska bellowed at the start of the show. That pointed tone was clearly directed at other contests, which have been slow to accept non-cisgender performers. (In past years, Drag Race has used terms considered anti-trans slurs, and last year, RuPaul expressed widely-criticized skepticism about allowing trans contestants before walking back the statement; other competitions, like the Miss Gay America pageant, have been known for trans-exclusionary rules in the past.)

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In contrast, Drag Queen of the Year was open to all performers of all gender identities. The show “kind of came out of a response to …” Alaska said, before taking a long pause to consider her words and start over. “There are arbitrary rules sometimes that happen in other pageants, that say you have to be assigned this gender, or you can’t have this or that kind of performer. … I thought it would be interesting to do an experiment and see, if we opened the application process to everyone, who would apply and what that competition would look like.”

Matt Baume

What it looked like was an intriguing mix of eras. Jackie Beat, who’s been hosting drag shows since the stone age, anchored the festivities in comfortable tradition; Alaska’s association with Drag Race lent the proceedings a contemporary credibility; and the diversity of the contestants was excitingly fresh.

The competition opened with an all-leopard-print runway experience, moved on to a jokey question and answer portion, and then blasted the audience with a talent category that served up one surprise after another. Calypso Jeté, Sabbyiana, and Aurora Sexton wowed the audience with a high-energy dance number; Kat Sass provided live operatic singing with pyrotechnics; Gigi Monroe presented a convincing Liza lip-sync; Abhora lurched amidst creepy clowns; and Astrud Aurelia was nothing short of jaw-dropping with a barrage of sultry crooning, dance, and glittery drumming.

As the night wore on, it became clear that a competition that did not limit itself to cis men would only up the ante for jaw-dropping performances and talent.

The panel of judges, sitting in the front rows, were clearly charmed throughout the night. “I think this is the first all-inclusive pageant to ever have existed,” Drag Race alumna Gia Gunn declared, to happy applause.

Peppermint, another Drag Race competitor, stood up during a lull in the proceedings to announce that the judges had spontaneously decided to donate $1,500 to the Los Angeles LGBT Center in honor of the night’s queer-inclusive mandate. She asked the audience if anyone would pledge to match their donation, and within seconds someone volunteered.

Matt Baume

That spirit of philanthropy grew as the night progressed. Representatives from the Center were present to sell raffle tickets, but they were clearly caught off-guard by the escalating largesse of the crowd. During breaks, members of the audience held out money and hollered for raffle tickets. When a judge lost their pen, an audience member supplied a replacement along with one hundred dollars for the Center. Alaska ate half of a potato chip and jokingly asked if anyone wanted to bid for the remaining half, and was then shocked when someone held out two hundred dollars. A person from the balcony shouted out that she’d pledge three hundred dollars if she could run up on stage with one of the judges, comedian Nicole Byer. (Byer accepted, and performed a cartwheel.)

Matt Baume

“We wanted to have an element of giving back and activism,” Alaska told them., but she never expected that they’d raise around eight thousand dollars.

That generosity could put an end to concerns that shows with an eye toward inclusivity are somehow less commercial than traditional, gender-limited competitions. The sold-out crowd of around nine hundred people clearly had money to spend.

And the financial opportunities didn’t stop at donations. Alaska’s team had cleverly structured the entire event to be a sort of infomercial for her new album, Vagina. Amidst frequent reminders that the album is now on sale, the show teased various tracks from Vagina throughout the night. What’s more, there was a camera crew present, filming for what Alaska said could become a documentary. But you may not have to wait until it’s released to see some highlights from the show.

“I want to release all of the performances on YouTube,” Alaska said. “The contestants brought so much. I definitely want those to be out there.”

Matt Baume

With the competition now behind her, she’s begun thinking about staging another next year. Initially only planned as a one-off, the enthusiastic response suggested that an annual event might be in order.

But even when pressed, Alaska declined to predict what that show might look like. “That’s the thing about drag,” she said. “As soon as you think you have it pinned down, it changes itself into something else. That’s why it keeps surviving and why it endures.”

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