From eleganza to gizza ciggie: how reality shows like Drag Race offer a window into foreign cultures
After the finale of Love Island Australia aired in the UK last week, the British public were up in arms. The couple who won – the aptronymic resident love rat, Grant Crapp, and his long-suffering girlfriend, Tayla Damir – would not have survived the first dumping in Britain.
Although the outcomes of more important votes here leave much to be desired, common sense usually prevails on Love Island UK. Character arcs and growth are rewarded. “Couples” often win on the strength of one well-liked contestant: take Jess Hayes in series one, Kem Cetinay series three and Amber Gill in series five. Had it been up to us, the class clown in Australia, Josh Moss, would have been crowned – alongside whomever he was coupled up with by proxy.
As someone who enjoys reality TV for what it tells us about our society, I also love what foreign shows can tell us about other societies and cultures. National values and attitudes are gauged not just through contestants, but through differences in editing, tone, how the public votes and what they reward. Britons abhor overconfidence and swiftly boot out show-offs. In contrast, the US asks them for an encore.
Indeed, Geordie Shore is one of the few British adaptations to outdo its US predecessor in terms of shock factor. Jersey Shore’s nights out were tame compared with its raucous binge-drinking.
For the most part, though, British reality TV is comparatively conservative. Nasty Nick, from the first series of Big Brother UK, would have fared much better on the American iteration, in which points are easier to score with the public when “playing the game”. In the British version of Dating in the Dark, the contestants were fairly chaste, but a snog on the first date was a prerequisite on the Australian edition.
Even our version of Married at First Sight, car-crash television in its purest form, masquerades as an earnestly documented social experiment, as if it could be the outcome of an extremely successful stint on First Dates. In the UK, there are four couples. The Australian one, meanwhile, is a marriage factory, with 12. They attend messy dinner parties where all hell breaks loose and affairs begin. In the US, the couples honeymoon together just so they can come to blows.
Teen Mom UK has a grittiness that makes it almost a documentary. The American version, however, is routinely accused of glamorising teen pregnancy. Its stars are regularly seen in People magazine and dominate reality-TV rich lists. Farrah Abraham, one of the show’s most famous mothers, is reportedly worth as much as $4m (£3.1m).
Nowhere are cultural differences better displayed than in the ever-expanding RuPaul’s Drag Race franchise. Over the years, RuPaul Charles, the selfstyled supermodel of the world, has been gunning for global domination, launching seven international editions of the show. Following Drag Race Thailand (and hopefully preceding the much-anticipated Drag Race Australia), the latest drop is the Canadian offering. Off the bat, it relentlessly references its roots with in-jokes that registered with foreigners even less than the celebrity judges. But that was part of the charm – an insight into a culture within a subculture.
Watching it, I heard the only French Canadian accents I have come across other than Celine Dion’s, courtesy of Quebec queens Rita Baga and Kiara. The Caribbean’s huge influence in Toronto is represented through Tynomi Banks, who hails from Jamaica, and Anastarzia Anaquway, who is Bahamian. Both dip into patois and bring dancehall to the runway.
There are the obligatory jokes about Canadians’ perceived politeness, many a maple leaf motif and a bespoke RuPaul’s closing line, this time referencing the national anthem: “Stay true, north, strong and fierce”. In the spirit of Canadian progressiveness, three judges fill the giant RuPaul-sized hole he has left as the show’s host; all vote for the weekly winners in this Ru-mocracy.
Like the country, Canada’s series is reminiscent of the US and UK versions, lacking the gloss of its American predecessor, but not its competitiveness. The characteristically self-deprecating queens of Drag Race UK were all potential Miss Congeniality winners, with Baga Chipz committing the cardinal sin of coyness when reaching the top three, saying the other finalists deserved the win more. The stark differences are summed up perfectly in one tweet, describing the vastly different entrances of imagined queens. “I came to this competition ready to SLAY,” the American announces. The British queen? “Elo, it’s Rubbish Titz, I’m a right slag.”
The UK version’s seemingly low budget felt fitting for the more downto-earth offering. There was no cash prize and it was less “Eleganza” and more “Gizza Ciggie”; if “gagging” on anything, it would likely be the fumes from the smoking area than the gowns.
The UK may not have the glamour of the US pageant system or the New York ball scene, but the show showed off its own rich drag history. Drag has been in the mainstream for longer in the UK, from Shakespearean theatre, pantomime and pubs to the likes of Dame Edna, Lily Savage and the Carry On films. These From influences lead to UK-specific idiosyncrasies; British queens are more likely to be able to sing live than lip sync. It was pure joy watching the cast indulge in a specifically British, “banterous” brand of shade – the Vivienne’s put down: “Who put 50p in Cheryl?” was one for the books.
Reality TV reveals more than we care to admit. Love Island Australia has probably taught me more than geography lessons did. Where else would I find out what a kangatarian is?