As a result of this expanding platform, it has become increasingly clear that the song choices are made with less concern for queer authenticity. They have begun to serve the larger goal of appealing to new demographics, capitalizing on the show’s popularity with, for example, young straight women. In the past three seasons, we’ve seen lip sync battles set to hits by Trainor, Ariana Grande, Katy Perry, Demi Lovato, Britney Spears, Lorde, Miley Cyrus, and Nicki Minaj—none of whom are inherently unwelcome on the show, of course. But oftentimes the songs have nothing to do with the queer community, or the songs (like Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl” or Lovato’s “Cool for the Summer”) actively trivialize them. One could easily imagine Rita Ora’s recent controversial song “Girls” appearing next season, presented uncritically and heralded as an easy, breezy, queer-friendly hit to lip sync to. There is simply something strange about this concerted effort to include evermore current chart-toppers while simultaneously drawing down the number of club classics or diva house ballads that not only define the earlier seasons of the show, but also the musical lives of many queer people.

From Cher to Madonna to Lady Gaga, the queer community’s embrace of (mostly straight) female pop stars has always been a feature rather than a bug. With very few out mainstream stars, queers have traditionally coalesced around pop icons who exude the liberated sexuality and fierce cultural power that they embody or envy. Naturally, then, this music is canonized alongside queer artists, part of a greater assemblage. What’s frustrating is how, for example, Apple Music Pride playlists like this one are full of these kinds of artists and few others. “Drag Race” is in danger of losing that balance entirely.

It’s not an either/or situation. All of this can coexist within the particular canon of “Drag Race.” But the growth of one to the detriment of another is indicative of a larger shift occurring in the queer cultural understanding of this series, as we come to see how limited it truly is. There are many sonic stories to tell within the LGBTQ+ community, some of which Pitchfork explored earlier this month, and it would be unrealistic to expect one reality show to satisfactorily engage with them all. However, it’s not a reach to critique the ways “Drag Race” has allowed itself to become more palatable and less subversive, either through song choices or by giving in to heightening queen drama, like the shows it claims to parodize.

In season six of the show, contestant Bianca Del Rio, dubbed the queen of mean, had developed a reputation for brutal reads and immensely clever insult comedy. However, she began to reveal her generosity and maternal instincts, eventually helping competitor Adore Delano to sew a garment and generally acting like a mentor figure to her. It was a reminder that reading and shade, words and concepts introduced to so many through “Drag Race,” have always been couched in love and affection. Bianca become a fully rounded contestant, ultimately leading to a deserved win. On the other hand, early on in season 10, Asia O’Hara spent a competition helping several other queens with various tasks, and the judges admonished her for it. That quality, which was encouraged and celebrated in Bianca, was effectively pushed out of Asia in a season more committed than ever to queen infighting and courting mass appeal.

Likewise, the ordination process of the “Drag Race” queer musical canon has narrowed mostly to current female pop hits, undisputed gay classics, and RuPaul’s own music. While season 10 has featured a couple of exciting additions, including Hole’s “Celebrity Skin” and Lizzo’s “Good As Hell” (with Courtney Love and Lizzo respectively present as judges), this narrowing continues to suggest that “Drag Race” may be ready for some upheaval. While Lizzo is a fantastic choice for a current artist with an alternative spirit and LGBTQ+-inclusive songs, why not consider unabashedly queer performers like Janelle Monae, Perfume Genius, SOPHIE, MUNA, or Shamir, as well? Or what about digging into drag’s past and battling to one of Divine’s songs? Why not explore musical theatre more, tapping into a major queer music tradition? And as far as queer history is concerned, there’s Jobraith’s “I’maman,” Age of Consent’s Stonewall chronicle “History Rap,” or Bronski Beat’s “Smalltown Boy,” featured memorably in last year’s ACT UP film BPM. Dig deeper, bring in disco, pull from the history of drag and house balls in New York and elsewhere with Tronco Traxx’s “Walk 4 Me” or Kevin Aviance’s “Cunty” (assuming VH1 allows it). These are all mere suggestions, perhaps my own wishlist, but they make an argument for “Drag Race” as a space where there should be a greater willingness to explore queer music down every avenue.

Structurally speaking, little has actually changed over 13 seasons; meanwhile, the world has, and so has the show’s place in it. In fact, this inflated deference to convention and trends is the most notable development in the series’ history. If Ru wants to continue to be the transformative cultural force he has undeniably been since his breakout hit, “Supermodel (You Better Work),” in 1993, “Drag Race” will have to reckon with its stagnation and its willingness to downplay queer herstory in favor of Emmy wins and wider success. Otherwise, Ru may be letting his inner saboteur win.