RuPaul's Drag Race has always been a blind spot in my queer cultural canon. Lots of my friends obsess over it, and I have seen a few episodes, but before three months ago I couldn't pick out an Alaska or a Ginger Minj from a lineup. I knew some sparse details about a few cast members, but for the most part my brain shut off whenever the show became a topic of conversation. I had filed it away in the Not For Me folder in my head (also in there: Breaking Bad, The Sopranos, and Mad Men. Sorry, folks).

Did I have a reason? A subconscious one, probably. I remember being averse to a lot of gay culture when I first started coming out a little over a decade ago—and drag queens, a staple at a lot of the gay bars I cautiously went to when I first came out, often intimidated me. I could see, objectively, the skills required to be a queen: the artistry, the sense of humor. But what blinded me to a truly great drag performance—the total package the queens of Drag Race strive for: Charisma, Uniqueness, Nerve, and Talent—was my own discomfort. Even as I became more unapologetic about being gay and immersed myself in queer cultural history, I felt like Drag Race was too bright, too showy, too YAASS QUEEN!! for me. I didn't disparage it too much or too openly, but I didn't seek it out, either.

The cast of VH1

This season, however, I decided to give it a chance. One reason was that I knew one of the cast members: Alexis Michelle, whom I met years ago through a mutual friend before a comedy show in Brooklyn. ("I just unlocked the Knowing A Contestant On Drag Race achievement in The Gay Game!" I joked when the season nine cast was announced in February.) Also, my boyfriend moved in with me in the fall; sharing a one-bedroom apartment with your significant other means you're going to have to watch some TV you're not particularly invested in. (Basically, he said: "You are going to watch Drag Race with me.")

And, you guys? As it turns out… RuPaul's Drag Race is the best show on television.

Lady Gaga and RuPaul on the Season Nine premiere VH1

I have an obsessive personality: When I'm into something, I need all of it. Why eat one slice of pizza when you can have five pizzas, you know? This is what has happened with Drag Race. Since the show moved to VH1 from Logo for the season nine premiere in late March, I watched the current season—plus seasons three through eight, plus All Stars Season Two. In a few short months, I have gone from being someone who was "not really into drag queens, tbh" to someone who has texted his significant other the question, "Hey, do you ever walk down the hall in our apartment as if it were a runway? No reason, just curious, whatever, OK bye." Such is the result of watching 104 hours of drag-centric television in nine weeks.

I have gone from being someone who was "not really into drag queens" to someone who has texted his significant other the question, "Hey, do you ever walk down the hall in our apartment as if it were a runway?"

Do I have a potential drag name for the queen I'd be on the show? Not yet—but I will say that I would probably be Nicole Kidman for Snatch Game. ("But Tyler, how would you make Nicole Kidman funny?" I imagine Ru would ask. Simple answer: I'd be cold and distant, and I'd attempt an Australian accent.) (I know, I know. I'm workshopping it.)

Snatch Game is how my obsession really started. I had heard about the Drag Race parody of the long-running '70s game show Match Game, a completely stupid camp classic that I'm very much obsessed with. (I was Charles Nelson Reilly two years in a row for Halloween in college. You must be shocked that I figured out I like Drag Race, huh?) After watching the first few episodes of the current season, I demanded that my boyfriend put on an old Snatch Game so I'd finally get it. He picked Season Five, the one in which Jinkx Monsoon played Little Edie Beale from Grey Gardens. When the other queens read her for picking someone who's not exactly a current celebrity, Jinkx laments, "Little Edie is a risky character. Not everyone is going to know who she is, but I think people should know who she is." What a mantra! And that was what hooked me: the sense that this show not only celebrated the weirdos who didn't fit in within the mainstream, but in turn celebrated the weirdos who didn't really fit in with the other weirdos. Everyone finds a place in which to express themselves and share the things with which they are obsessed.

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Drag Race pulled me out of a winter funk, like some dusty wig snatched from a queen's scalp. I'd watch Nina Bo'nina Brown bemoan her own performance on the show and think: "Oh dear, do I sound like that? I need to get it together." Drag Race fueled a refreshed excitement about life. At dinner, I avoided conversations about politics or the dying media industry, instead sparking up dialogues with icebreakers like, "Is Katya the most beautiful person you've ever seen?" or "What's your favorite RuPaul track? Mine is 'Kitty Girl,' but I also can't get 'Glamazon' out of my head." I started dropping GIFs of Laganja Estranja in my work Slack rooms, and I practiced my tongue-pops à la Alyssa Edwards. Hell, I even warmed up to Michelle Visage.

I asked my best friend Christina, "Am I being really annoying about this? Do you just want me to shut up about Drag Race?" She replied, "Of course not—just imagine how much fun it would have been to talk about this over the last eight years like I wanted to." But she also reminded me of one of my biggest blunders: "Don't think I haven't forgotten," she said, "about that stupid article you wrote about it once." It's true: With deep shame I admit I once wrote about how Drag Race wasn't good without really knowing much about the show. I can't even read it now, it's so humiliating. All I can say is that I was in my late 20s then, and I thought I was the smartest person ever because, I dunno, I had seen Paris Is Burning a few times? (I can hear RuPaul reading me right now: "Tyler Coates: You thought your take was hot, but it left us out in the cold. I'm sorry my dear, but you are up for elimination." And then, if there's any justice in the world, I would get to sing "Magic Man" or something equally dramatic.)

Season Nine's Final Four: Trinity Taylor, Peppermint, Sasha Velour, and Shea Couleé VH1

I once tried to intellectualize Drag Race, but what I've learned over the last few months is that it's pointless to attempt such a thing. That's not to say Drag Race isn't smart (and it's not without its flaws and controversies). But Drag Race is foremost entertainment—entertainment that shines a light on those who don't get paid much attention, or get paid the wrong kind of attention. Anytime I found myself rolling my eyes at what seemed like heavy-handedness—the queens, getting into makeup, delivering lines that felt fed to them to explain the meaning behind the Stonewall riots or their own sad backgrounds—I had to stop and remind myself: "This part isn't for you." We live in a world where queer history isn't taught in schools; we learn it on our own, often from the families we form when we're ready and able to. But a younger generation is getting that on TV—TV made for them, who want to continue elevating the queer experience into something accessible, joyful, and admirable.

Beyond the history lessons and the ongoing pop culture syllabus sandwiched between the dick jokes and the fierce runway looks, Drag Race is an endless reminder that it's possible to find love for others—and ourselves—despite all of the shit and the pain and the heartbreak we go through in life. Sometimes we put ourselves through all of that, creating obstacles that stand in our way simply because it's easiest to set ourselves up for failure. That's exactly what RuPaul teaches us to avoid—whether you're in a dress or a suit. Loving yourself has to come first; once you've got that down, you can accomplish anything—such as looking at the bright, beautiful world around you, telling those who stand in your way to fuck right off, and finally claiming what's yours (while allowing those around you to get what's theirs, too).

By the end of tonight's season finale, one queen will earn a victory over the others (#TeamShea, btw) and nab that crown. But really, we all win when we watch RuPaul's Drag Race—because the show is for everyone, whether they know it or not. It feels as though I found it at just the right time, finally willing to hear what it's preaching. And even though I'm late to the party, and even though I stumbled on the way to the front door, it was here waiting for me with open arms, ready to lighten things up and remind me that it's not just all going to be OK—it's also going to be fucking fantastic. Can I get an Amen?

Tyler Coates Senior Culture Editor Tyler Coates is the Senior Culture Editor at Esquire.com.

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