Essay: Trixie Mattel, good intentions and the danger of language

My brother liked the word “faggot.” He also named his cat the “N word,” if that tells you anything about his character. I was just a kid then, without any role models, straight or queer, but even I knew those words were shameful. There was something deeply troubling about his inflection, and his eyes would grow darker, as if a malevolent cloud had been cast overhead. It was terrifying.

From a small farming community tucked away in the hills of West Virginia, I was taught that being different ⎯⎯ not ascribing to society’s definition of masculinity or not being white ⎯⎯ was disgusting. Language can be especially powerful, and words like “faggot” and the “N word” are meant to strike fear, to show dominance, to discard another’s self-worth into the fiery flames of another kind of Hell. I don’t even like hearing “faggot” from fellow LGBTQ+ individuals; I can’t shake its connotation. My stomach is in knots just writing this.

I know what you’re thinking: “oh, little boy, aren’t you triggered.” I’m going to stop you right there. Words can damage you for life.

So, when I (initially) skimmed through Saving Country Music‘s review of Trixie Mattel‘s new record One Stone, the sterling follow-up to 2017’s Two Birds, I was floored by writer Kyle Coroneos’ choice of words. “I would be lying if I said it wasn’t completely jarring to see the caking of eye makeup she dons to do the drag queen shtick, and not from classic homophobia, but from just a sheer distaste of image-driven anything, especially for shock value,” he writes.

But there’s more.

“One serious suggestion I would give to Trixie Mattel is that if she wants to be taken seriously in the country and folk realm, lose the drag queen getup in this context completely, and let the music speak for itself. Don’t take this as a bid to stamp out Trixie’s freedom of expression, but simply put, the audience of this music is limited by the polarizing aspect of the imagery. Instead, what better time to present yourself simply as a person, similarly to how the music and approach here is stripped down. Don’t give the closed-minded the opportunity to discredit the entire effort before a peep of music has even been heard.”

OK. A few things, 1.) I didn’t realize homophobia had different models (“classic,” as opposed to what? Homophobia 4S? 6 Plus? X?); 2.) “Image-driven” is literally Music Business 101 (everyone has a brand, an aesthetic); 3.) the music is good enough “to be taken seriously” on its own merits; 4.) Mattel is. a. person.; and 5.) stop placing blame everywhere but where it should be. The close-minded are at fault here.

Let me tell you a story. I once dyed my hair blue and donned a pink-stripped button-up and my favorite silver rings and bracelets before heading to a hunting conference with my father and his girlfriend. I had been an openly gay man (I now identify as non-binary, for the record) and was feeling empowered to dress how I wanted. That brisk fall day was rather eye-opening, however; the stares, the whispers, the smugness, all of it was pretty overwhelming. NOW THAT WAS JARRING. I had been studying theatre at West Virginia University, and admittedly, I was only ever surrounded by people that loved me and accepted me. I knew there would be a day when I stepped out in the world and I would be met with icy stares and coldness. Even without language, they didn’t have to say anything for me to understand how they felt.

Since we’re talking about the power of language here, earlier that day, my father addressed my coming out, saying, “I like seeing two girls kiss.” I’m not kidding. My new-found identity had been reduced to nothing more than his voyeuristic hobbies. I was 20, impressionable, still unsure of myself and that’s how he expressed acceptance. To this day, I still don’t know if he actually accepted me or not, and I guess I’ll never know.

But I digress.

Following SCM’s review, Mattel took to Twitter to relay her feelings about the story. “I took it as a compliment,” she tweeted in response to one fan’s concerns. Her story is not my story and vice versa. We have different birth places, upbringings, experiences, journeys. I respect and admire Mattel for her stance ⎯⎯ it’s jus not mine. Coroneos’ verbiage is problematic for may reasons…

Coroneos writes in the final paragraph: “If you completely eliminate the image and name from this music, fans of songwriting from all stripes would praise this effort to the rafters, just like they did when they first heard the voice and songs of Charley Pride without know[ing] who they were listening to. This is not music that is meant for fans of cross-dressing drag queens. There’s no political messaging here. This music is strikingly universal, and not just respectful to the traditional country audience, it is meant for them, and meant to grow the appreciation for true country music in whomever listens.”

Later, he adds, “The most important lesson is that country music is for all. In this unusual time when so many people want to classify people in certain ways and pit them against each other, when individuality and even genre is under constant attack due to misguided ideas that sameness is somehow a window to diversity, it’s a drag queen of all people who proves why the purity of traditional country music is eternally relevant, universally resonant, and timeless in its appeal…if it’s only given a chance.”

If you “eliminate the image and name from this music,” you thereby erase individuality, expression and what makes Mattel so damn special, things Coronoeos claims to champion. The hair, the makeup, the outfits are just as much embedded in One Stone, an honest and organic collection of heartfelt tunes about growing up, navigating identity, falling in and out of love, and understanding the world, as Brian Firkus is. I will cosign some of what Coronoeos has written, though: Mattel’s two studio albums are crucial to the story of the LGBTQ+ community and in opening up the listenership of country music, to dismantling bigotry and to exposing more minds to the truth.

Coroneos might have good intentions, but the execution is severely lacking. The words you choose and how you build them is important. If I were 12 years old again and read that review, I would have been even more confused and angry and ashamed of who I was. And I would have believed it to be true. I might have succeed one of many times I tried to kill myself.

Please, when writing about queer musicians, singers and songwriters, know our story is riddled with pain and joy, struggles and triumphs. It’s never cut and dry.

For once in your life, listen.

Photo Credit: Lisa Predko

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