By Katlynn Fox

I watched as wounds turned to earth, where healing hovered just out of reach, leaving only the field of scars.

“Redneck Woman” by Gretchen Wilson is blaring through the speakers at Coconut Club, a well-known LGBTQ+ club in downtown Austin. It was early February 2023 and despite the winter temperature, Bridgette Bandit performed in denim cutoffs, a red tie-front bandana top, and high-heeled cow print boots. She looked like Southern royalty. Her hair was done up as close to God as possible, and her belt was star-studded — as glamorous as she was.

She owned the crowd, feeding off of them as she fed them — literally, as she poured a can of Miller Lite on her chest and swung its remnants into the open mouths of her awed, loyal audience.

She sang, “Let me get a big ‘hell yeah,’ From the redneck girls like me!”

The crowd obeyed happily, screaming “HELL YEAH” through smiles and the echoes of laughter.

She is larger than life. This interaction with the crowd is standard for Bandit as a veteran at Coconut Club’s Saturday drag brunch, Coco Cxnts. In fact, it’s her favorite song to perform.

“I think it’s just so fun and stupid to reclaim what it means to be a queer Texan, or what it means to be country as a queer person,” Bandit said.

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Bandit is an icon. Born and raised in Austin, she began performing at local drag shows six years ago and is now an award-winning Queen and activist. She was featured in The Austin Chronicle’s “Best of Austin - 2024” list as the city’s best drag performer.

“Winning Best of Austin by The Austin Chronicle was like, ‘oh shit!’ People know who I am. They recognize me. They voted for me,” Bandit said.

She wishes she could go back and tell her 26-year-old self, who just started drag, that she won it.

“The Austin drag community is so different from the rest of Texas,” Bandit said. “I don't think I would have found the kind of success that I found here in Austin anywhere else.”

I call Bandit at 1 p.m. on a Thursday in November. It feels like we're on FaceTime in our respective homes, sporting matching messy buns, chatting about drag, politics, our small dogs, her three chinchillas, and, of course, Dolly Parton.

We talk as Bandit gets into drag, sitting at her vanity and looking into a small round mirror.

She talks as she runs a stick of foundation all over her face.

She's going to speak at government professor Mike Gividen’s class at Austin Community College this afternoon. She’s been visiting his class for the past four semesters to talk about “queer issues, [the] power of government, how fucked up it is, how frustrating it is, [and how] it feels to speak in front of the Capitol.”

Bandit had no idea that she would eventually become a full-time drag queen, testifying at the state Capitol in vibrant wigs and bright lipstick. Before she was a drag artist, she was a student sitting in Gividen’s government class at Austin Community College as a psychology major.

“I had reached out to him initially because I was just grateful for the people who created me,” Bandit said. “Now we stay connected. He's even been to some of my shows.”

She goes over her foundation with a setting powder.

Bandit is a fiercely outspoken, bold person. She has testified in front of Texas legislators to oppose drag bans, spoken at the 2024 Texas Democratic Convention, and currently serves as Austin’s LGBTQ+ commissioner.

“I grew up Christian, going to private Catholic school, so I never really imagined that one day I would be a full-time drag queen fighting the government,” Bandit said. “That was not on my radar at all.”

She’s putting black eyeliner on her right eye.

Bandit said she’s grateful for the progressive and inclusive community that she’s surrounded by. As a non-binary, assigned-female-at-birth (AFAB) drag performer, Bandit said she had to fight to create space for herself to be taken seriously.

“Whenever I started dragging, you could probably count the number of AFAB drag performers on one hand, and now there's so many of them,” Bandit said.

Despite her personal experience with the drag scene in Austin evolving to be more inclusive, the political climate surrounding Texas drag continues to be threatened. Senate Bill 12, which aimed to restrict “sexually oriented performances,” was declared federally unconstitutional by U.S. District Judge David Hittner in 2023. However, conservative politicians in Texas still use their platforms to target drag performers. Governor Greg Abbott took to social media in March of 2024 to praise the president of West Texas A&M University for canceling a drag show on campus, writing that Texas “universities are to educate our students, not indoctrinate them.”

“Whenever we think of a more broad spectrum of the way that people see drag, it's become less accepted,” Bandit said. “Now, it’s scary to just walk down the street in full drag.”

Bandit garnered significant attention the first time she testified before the Texas Senate in March 2023 — six months before SB 12 was declared unconstitutional. She walked up to the podium like she was marching into battle, her armor was a sparkly hot pink ball gown, a matching pink wig, and an immeasurable strength. As we talk, I can tell she is the embodiment of determination. She speaks with purpose and understanding of the world at large. She is not naive, only optimistic.

“The first time I went to testify, I really thought better [of] our government and the people who are making these laws,” Bandit said. “I really thought that they just did not understand.”

Bandit spent hours collaborating with her friends and community to draft corresponding testimonies. They weaved their stories and arguments into one another, creating a web of support and reassurance. They waited hours to speak. After hearing those in support of the drag ban, all but three legislators reportedly left the room.

“Then I realized: Oh, my God, these people actually don't give a fuck; these people do not care about us.”

Instead of following suit, though she thought about it, Bandit drew strength from her community. She leaned on her drag daughter, Lawrie Bird, and stayed. Her testimony went viral online, gaining thousands of views, likes, and comments. The engagement was overwhelming. Despite initially feeling discouraged, the response made Bandit realize that her influence spanned far beyond her physical presence.

“They might not have wanted to listen to me, but the rest of the world wants to listen,” Bandit said. “They're not going to hear the end of it. They're going to know exactly who Brigitte Bandit is and what she said, especially when they're trying to draft this bill.”

She begins painting her left eyelid with the same black eyeliner.

Things were different the second time she testified. 
Bandit wore a white dress this time. Its bodice had the Texas flag painted over it, along with the names of each child killed at Robb Elementary School in 2022 and the Allen Premium Outlets in 2023.

The back of the dress read:
“PROTECT TEXAS KIDS
DEFEND OUR KIDS FROM GUN VIOLENCE
RESTRICT GUNS
NOT DRAG”

“I didn't expect to get escorted out by the police,” Bandit said. “That was not a part of the plan, but I think that is a part of what made it go viral.”

After waiting at the Capitol for 13 hours to speak, Bandit was forcibly removed from the podium for exceeding the allotted time to testify by 15 seconds. According to Bandit, the censorship at the Capitol was astounding — people were also escorted out by police if they teared up or became emotional at any point during their testimony.

Nearly three million social media views later, visibility is still the focus in her efforts to protect and fight for LGBTQ+ rights.

“I think it's important that they see us,” Bandit said. “They want us to hide in our dark nightclubs, where queer people have historically found each other because we haven't been accepted in society.”

Clips of Bandit’s performances and testimonies circle the internet daily, gaining traction from fans and attackers alike. As criticism mounts, I ask how she copes with the scrutiny.

Her answer? Unplugging and being in nature.

“I like to smoke a bowl and walk my dog around my neighborhood,” Bandit said. 

Despite running low on creativity, Bandit finds solidarity in the community that surrounds her — online and IRL.

“I feel bad for people who follow me right now — I'm sorry,” Brigitte apologized. “I don't feel fun.”

She hopes to bring a sense of joy to others in time, citing the importance of showing up when uncertainty strikes. She is still performing full-time. We bid farewell to one another as she finishes drawing on her left eye lid.

Though the future of Texas drag is unclear as the queer community is under fire, patrons still gather at Coconut Club every Saturday for the weekly show. Even through times of doubt and fear, there is an unwavering light: human connection. There are still parties, performances, drag brunches, communities of love and support. There is still hope.

“Right now, I've just been feeling just the weight of it, and trying not to feel hopeless. There always needs to be hope. Don't lose hope.” ■