Ru Paul’s Drag Race has become such a cultural phenomenon that I think it’s impossible not to have watched at least some of it at some point. Wendy and I certainly watched a season or two years ago, though didn’t stick with it, as it wasn’t really our kind of thing: a bit too forced, a bit too formulaic (every episode is essentially the same), and perhaps a bit too exploitative (in the way that most reality television feels a bit exploitative). I’ve never understood the strength of feeling about the show, or what about it drives such a devoted following.

If you feel similarly, then I’d encourage you to read Mendez’s excellent essay in the latest London Review of Books. As so often with the LRB, it gave me a wholly new perspective.