There’s a lot of pressure (it is a competition!) and queens cope with performance anxiety by turning it into draaaama. There are screaming fights, secret alliances and all kinds of stunning confessions, such as when Season 11’s Mercedes Iman Diamond, the show’s first Muslim queen, disclosed that she had spent years on the no-fly list, or when Season 9’s Kimora Blac asked, “What’s an adjective?”

These queens are here for the crown. But failing that, they’re here for the screen time. And one of the best ways to keep your mug front and center is to spend your time torturing the others, earning the all-hallowed villain edit. In Season 11, the holder of that mantle was arguably Ra’Jah D. O’Hara, the Dallas pageant performer who couldn’t seem to stop schoolyard insults flying out of her mouth. There was season 4’s Phi Phi O’Hara (no relation), who went full Maleficent when she told the eventual winner Sharon Needles to “Go back to Party City where you belong!”

And then, of course, there’s Tyra Sanchez, the abrasive second-season winner whom RuPaul once caught napping in the middle of a challenge. Tyra also holds the distinction for being the only queen from the show who may be an actual villain: In 2018, she was banned from attending a major drag convention in Los Angeles for a tweet in which she seemed to threaten to bomb it. Will the British queens be able to match this American penchant for performing malice? We’ll have to wait and see.

Back stories on parade

“Drag Race” has been hailed as a standard setter for diversity on TV (at least in front of the camera). Just look at the most recent season, “All Stars 4.” Eight of the 10 cast members were people of color, and the series featured its second openly trans competitor.

But the show’s commitment to the underdogs of society runs much deeper than mere representation. It’s a show by L.G.B.T.Q. people about L.G.B.T.Q. people — in learning the back stories of the queens, the audience comes to understand just how diverse a community that abbreviation encompasses.

We also meet queens who had to endure conversion therapy because of their intolerant parents, and queens who were abandoned by their parents at bus stops as babies. Viewers are forced to confront how the queens have been “other-ized.” Plus, the emotional oomph helps to break up what would otherwise be 90 minutes of camp. It can, though, come off as overly produced: If a queen’s tell-all moment is shown after she’s struggled in a challenge, you can bet she’s been marked for elimination that episode.