If They Want to Keep Knocking Us Down, We're Going to Keep Coming Back Up... An Interview With Pussay Poppins
- INTERVIEW
- Mar 21
- 15 min read
Updated: Apr 7
In the world of drag, there are artists who entertain, and there are artists who transform communities. Pussay Poppins is both. Tasmania’s premier drag queen and a legend of the local queer scene, Pussay is more than just a striking performer – she’s a community leader, a political voice and fervent LGBTQIA+ rights advocate. She also tells one hell of a poo joke.
I first saw Pussay at an event in Nipaluna/Hobart featuring Trinity the Tuck, Jinkx Monsoon, and Monét X Change. Despite the presence of these world-renowned RuPaul’s Drag Race alumni, it was Pussay Poppins who received the most passionate cheers of the night – a testament to her deep-rooted impact on the local community.
In the aftermath of COVID-19, when Tasmania's drag scene faced uncertainty, Pussay stepped in and rebuilt it from the ground up. She started Judy’s Tasmania, a monthly club space for the LGBTQIA+ community and their allies, giving local drag artists of all levels a chance to showcase their talents – and Junior Judy’s, a regular under-21’s event for youth of all sexual orientations and gender identities.
But being a trailblazer comes with its challenges. As an outspoken public figure, Pussay bears the brunt of hostility and ignorance from those who fail to understand the power and significance of drag. Yet despite the backlash, she continues to use her platform to uplift others and push for change.
It was an honour to sit down with the incomparable Pussay Poppins to discuss the current generation of inspiring queer youth, the devastating blowback from reading storybooks to children and why the art of drag remains a radical, vital act of self-expression and resistance.
On Coming Out and Starting Drag
Growing up Lebanese and Catholic in a small rural town, it wasn't exactly cool to be queer – it was very hard for me to come out. So, when I turned 18, I put all of my feelings about my gender and sexuality into a character so then Andrew could be straight and masc. And Pussay could be this extravagant escapism for funnelling in all the things I hated about myself. Over time, it became a thing that I'm celebrated for and really came full circle for me, to be actually accepting of every part of myself, because what that does is give me more power and more strength and more realisation. That's why I started doing drag – it's such a powerful tool to not only express myself from a gender perspective, but also express myself from a political or comedic perspective, or give someone respite in their life because doing a stupid number about beetroots is funny to me. That's where it started, and I've been doing drag for about 12-13 years now...
On Family Reaction to Coming Out and Starting Drag
So, coming out was one thing. Drag was another. It kind of came in stages. I reached a point when I was 16 and came out to my friends from school, never came out to my parents. I moved from my rural town to Sydney to study my degree and I remember my parents asking me in the car, when I went back home to visit, ‘Who is the guy you took over to your aunt's place?’ I'm like, ‘Oh, that was my friend,’ and then they were like, ‘Are you gay?’ I was like, ‘Yep!’ The next 10 minute car trip was just dead silence.
Later, I could hear my dad and mum talking in the other room. She was like, ‘What do we do?’ And Dad's like, ‘Nothing. What can we do?’ And she's like, ‘But this changes everything’. He's like, ‘Not really. It doesn't really change too much’. I remember I made a joke at the dinner table not too long after and Mum was like, ‘I wish you were joking about something else’. Snide comments like that kept coming in and then we didn't really talk for about 3 months – we would normally call every second day or a couple of times a week, just to touch base.
We were always brought up to believe, your family is the only thing that's consistently there for you, it's that blood connection. But it's one of those things when you have your family distance themselves from you and it's like, maybe it isn't as tight as we think it is. So that was hard. It took three or four months for them to process everything and then we came to somewhat of an acceptance and we use comedy as a barrier breaking kind of thing.
Then drag was better, to a point. They were like, ‘Oh, you've always wanted to do acting, this is a great outlet for you, but don't let it impact your life’. And then when I started working my arse off – working 18-hour days, seven days a week – they’re always like, ‘It's not worth it, the money's not worth it, the stress isn't worth it’. It's that weird addictive personality where I'm always chasing that high of performing and connecting with people and giving people that, ‘Oh my god, I really resonated with that thing you said,’ or ‘I still think about that number you did seven years ago where you dressed up as this, this and this,’ or ‘That just sits in my head rent free’. And that is a nice feeling, to have that impact. I think that's my abandonment issues, that feeling of, ‘Oh my god, someone actually wants to book me for a show or come to one of my events,’ because it makes me feel like I'm wanted.
On Starting Judy’s Tasmania
When Flamingos shut – it was the longest-running queer venue in the state – and COVID-19 happened, I was working in a major hospital as a physiotherapist, developing policies and procedures and treating COVID-19 patients. So, drag stopped because I was isolated in my house. I was very lucky to have a job, but my job meant going to work and then stripping off before I came into the house and cleaning all my clothes every day because I didn't know what was happening and thinking... When am I gonna catch it? When am I gonna die from it? Thinking that kind of stuff and not really engaging in the community was hard on my mental health.
Once we came out of isolation, I just wanted to expand drag to be that escapism again – to give people something to go to and enjoy. Yes, life’s shit, but let's at least laugh about it and have a good time and not have so many hang-ups. The opportunity came up to work with one of my colleagues, Diana (DJ Mama De Leche) – we developed Judy’s and Alter [the venue] were fantastic to give us a space. I took over the business by myself after six months – to give a consistent space for queer people in Tasmania, to know the last Saturday of every month you could come and have a good time and see a drag show and make connections and bring people together – and that's Judy's, getting bigger and better every year.
On the Evolution of Junior Judy’s
The first time was a queer youth event called the Rainbow Prom. It was very early post-pandemic, and they asked me, ‘Hey, could you volunteer your time?’ I'm like, ‘Absolutely, of course I will’. I was expecting a small group of people but there were 300 13-18 year-old cherubs and their chaperones taking over Youth ARC [Hobart's Youth Arts and Recreation Centre]. I was just so emotional – I did ‘Rain on Me’ and other pride numbers – crying because I was seeing so many young queer kids who were just so confident in themselves. I'm like, it took me 36 years to get to this point, and you're 12 being, ‘I know who I am’.
I had so much wasted time being so ashamed of myself, so fearful of what my family would think, so fearful of what my friends would think and so fearful of what society would think. And because of all that fear, I also put myself into some very unsafe situations. It gave me so much hope for the future, having queer and gender diverse-youth there. So, when they stopped running those events, I was like, I would like to pick up some slack and make a space where I can show queer visibility. It's such a powerful tool to be openly queer – it shows people in the community that you can be proud of who you are. It's like, ‘If they can do it, I can do it’.
I mourn the fact that I had 20 years of being in the closet, not being able to have a proper first date at school or have talked to a crush. When I was young, the only queer people I saw on TV were Dame Edna, Carson Cressley and Bob Down and I didn't see myself in any of those characters – ironically, now I can see myself in all those characters – and that made it really challenging. I’d be secretly watching Queer as Folk and seeing people die from AIDS-related illnesses and it's like, okay, I'm going to get murdered and I'm going to get gay bashed – maybe this isn't for me. Now we have shows like Heartstopper, this huge thing that makes me cry 'cause I'm watching the whole time being like, why didn't I have this when I was a child? But it is what it is, and it makes me the person I am today. It makes me fight harder for my community because I'm like, well, let’s be more unashamedly queer because it's basically a ‘fuck you’ to society to be okay, if you don't accept us, we're just going to be louder and prouder...
On Feeling the Pressure to ‘Bring the Joy’
Even if I'm having a casual conversation with someone, I feel the need to perform in every situation and I think that's a trauma response that comes through – the fact that I feel like people are only interested in engaging with me because of Pussay. I have two friends I would feel comfortable having this conversation with and the rest are all friends I made through drag or through friends or colleagues. When I do catch up with those people, I feel like I have to be ‘that’ person. I've never liked being vulnerable. That's something I've always found quite challenging and working through therapy, it's been a hard slog, because I don't like sitting there being, ‘Okay, this is the time I felt like my mental health has been so bad that I've been in a very dark place’. It's very hard for me to express that, especially in a public setting...
Originally drag was my joy because I was using it as escapism – now it's work and that's the hard part about turning drag into a business. You lose a lot of that joy and that's what a lot of younger performers really don't see. You have to just be pushing yourself and it ends up being not as glamorous as people think. Drag can be quite damaging to yourself because, like any form of creative outlet, you put your whole body up there on stage. You put your heart out there and if it's not received well then it's like, why am I not good enough?
I put a lot of pressure on myself with all my jobs. My life is my work and it's always been like that because I've had a lot of heartbreak and a lot of disappointment from family and friends and partners. Work’s the only thing that will never wake up in the morning and tell me it doesn't love me anymore. And so, I put 18 hours a day into work because it's something that I can build. I'm in complete control of all my businesses. The problem is, when something goes poorly, my life tends to fall apart at the same time.
I have a toxic relationship with work, because I put all my hopes and dreams and confidence into it. Like the [Judy's Tasmania] Drag Ball last year. It was a great time, we had Isis Avis Loren and Gabriella Labucci, it was a lot of fun and a good way for the community to engage with people... But we didn't break even financially. If anything, we ran at a big loss that came out of my personal savings. It didn't go as well as I wanted it to and I was really depressed for quite a long time afterwards. For the last three months I've been sitting at home, not eating well, not exercising, and having that failure sit with me. Well, perceived failure. A lot of people had a really good time. But in my head, I was like... over $4K in loss and no sponsorship and no support from the media. I did massive days to my body’s detriment. I couldn't pay people as much as I would’ve liked. I didn't pay myself or my partner for all the months of work we did.
And then I didn't care for my mental health afterwards or do the self-care stuff and it took me being in hospital for the last couple of weeks, in and out of doctor's offices, to be like, hey, I need to start eating right. I need to get my body and my health back on track and get back into therapy more than every three months, because you're not as centred and stable as you think you are.
On Finding the Motivation to Keep Going
It’s fear of failure. It sounds horrible, but fear of failure. I don't like disappointing people – I don't like disappointing myself and I don't like disappointing my community. I put a lot of pressure on myself to perform and be there for people. In all of my jobs – as a physiotherapist, as a drag performer, as an event producer and promoter – I give myself and my time and a lot of my resources to people to improve their physical, mental, social and performative health. And there are days where I'm just like, okay, let's quit stuff. I'm in burnout. I've been a six-year chronic burnout period and it's like, well, what do I cut? I can't just cut the club because then where are people going to perform? I can't just cut drag because I've got to a point where I feel so proud of how far I've come in the last 12 years, to develop a business statewide and travel all over the state and interstate to perform and connect with people. That's a place I never thought I could get to as a young drag performer – I can actually represent my state and be like, hey, this is a great place, there's so many talented performers, don't discount Tasmania. It does give me a lot of pride in my work, and pride in what I do is why I keep pushing. I probably need to have better self-care strategies in place, and that's something I need to work on. You know, typical Taurus – I'm stoicism personified. I like making people happy. I’m a people pleaser.
On the Interrelationship of Pussay and Andrew
It's tricky because I can't separate them. I'm professional as Andrew but every now and then, Pussay comes out. When I’m Pussay, Andrew comes out every now and then to be like, I need to have a really intellectual conversation with this person about mental health, physical health or social components. Or talking to politicians like, ‘Hi, these are really important issues, I'm going to use my serious brain.’ I don't know why I think Andrew's serious, maybe because Pussay is so unserious. Maybe it's just a dichotomy – I'm going to deep throat a dildo with drills on one side and the other side I'm going to develop healthcare policy for the state – almost like using the power of Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde... It also helps with my identity of being gender fluid where I'm not just one or the other, I can kind of jump between them. Some days I want to wear highlighter and makeup to work and other times I want to be a bit more masculine. That's where Pussay and Andrew interact, in that kind of fluid space – Pussay and Andrew work together to get the job done.
On Being Vulnerable on Stage
I generally use humour as a way to push away vulnerability, push away that kind of rawness. The performances that a lot of people actually gravitate towards are the ones where I don't use comedy – but the hard part is when I don't get a laugh, then it makes me feel like shit. It's quite a vulnerable component but it's those times where I need to tell a story on the stage, I need to get it out. I think the powerful one most recently was a Halloween number, where I had a skin suit and peeled it off... it's my coming out story of being genderqueer, pulling the skin off and rebirthing into this new glamorous creature who is not gender conforming, and proud of themselves. That was quite hard on stage because there wasn't a joke. It was just me dancing and revealing myself physically, it was quite challenging. The thing that made me quite angry at the end of it was the fact that I was doing a big talk about making sure we're all supporting each other – because trans and gender diverse people are under attack – and there was someone in the back that was like, ‘Oh, Pussay’s on a soapbox again, pushing her agenda on everyone’. And I was just so angry – if you know anything about me, you know exactly what my stance is – why would you expect anything less from me? Of all places, in my club, which is my space that I've created for people... you're going to act like this? But if you're going to make an omelette, you have to break a few eggs and you’re going to piss people off, unfortunately, just being your true authentic self. It is what it is...
On World Pride Library Storytime in Launceston, 2023
We’d been planning this for three years with the library director, Gary, who's a queer person themselves – a person who's lived through the AIDS pandemic, just openly proud and unashamedly queer. He was like, let’s do it. It’s going to be a drag storytime. It’s going to be with ‘Miss Poppins’. It’s going to be great. And then everything fell to shit. I think it was one of the first storytimes that came under a lot of fire.
It went viral. All the politicians were slurring me off – locally, interstate, internationally. The Deputy Premier was going off. The Health Minister was going off. Even my parents found out before I could tell them because a basketball player was calling me a paedophile. It was a lot of slander and a lot of defamation. It was just instant abuse, every hour receiving active death threats saying, ‘Hey, we're going to come to your house and attack you and your kids and your husband’. Hitting my website and my email and my Facebook and my Twitter and my Instagram – it was a constant barrage.
I had two options – let the domestic terrorism win or keep going. I kept going.
The police were fantastic, as much as they couldn't do much – I had the Commissioner's personal phone number and he was like, if anything happens we'll have someone there within a minute. They knew all the high-risk moments we were going to have because I had to do the Tas Pride marshalling and I had the Pride Ball and I was in the most public vulnerable position. So they were fantastic to be like, ‘We'll look after you. Don't worry.’ The only problem was in Launceston. They weren’t there at the end. We read two books and made tiaras and I went to thank the people downstairs – 40 or 50 supporters from Working It Out and North West Pride. Then the protestors rushed me, calling out, ‘We know where you live!’ and calling me by my government name. The police had already left, so I had to be ushered out the back and I was really in a horrible place as my partner was driving me away...
I had a lot of therapy afterwards to process. I'm like, I'm not going to let domestic terrorism win just because someone doesn't like something. I'm going to be more unashamedly queer and loud. And that's what I say in my shows – if they want to keep knocking us down, we're going to keep coming back up and we'll start knocking back.
The thing that sticks with me the most is things like Junior Judy’s, or any event I start promoting to a wider audience. That's where it just re-engages that response. Am I going to get death threats again? Is it going to kick off? It's shit that I have to hold back on spreading the word about something so powerful and great for young queer kids, because they're at risk of the political nonsense and people being so misinformed, like my parents. When I told them about everything they were like, well, it's your own fault for doing something inappropriate. And I was like, what did you think I was doing? I just read storybooks, fully clothed, to the kids. I had a ball gown on. I looked like a princess. What's wrong with you? I just read a book about a crocodile who likes wearing dresses. And one about two chickens who were drag queens at night –it's probably one of my favourite books – they sleep during the day and then find out there’s two chickens that put on these amazing outfits and sing at a cabaret club and their landlord is a fox who comes and finds them. The kids don't care about what's between my legs, they care about the glitz and the glamour and feeling like they can just be themselves.
It’s wild, truly wild, people pushing political agendas on everyone and trying to alienate the trans community and the queer community from mainstream society. Because if they can villainise us, they can put policies and procedures into place to demonise us and affect us financially, mentally and physically.
On Inspiring Queens
I’ve known Lazy Susan for years, her brain and mine work very similarly, where everything is a concept, everything is going to have a twist to it. And Gabriella Labucci, she's just so good at community outreach. I have a lot of respect for performers who do rural outreach because there are queer people everywhere. That's why I do shows in Burnie and Ulverstone, Launceston and Georgetown and St Helens, just travelling around to spread the queerness.
Other drag performers I take inspiration from... Trixie’s business savviness, Bob's comedy and being so proud of their blackness, using comedy as a way to break down those race barriers. And how could I forget Kween Kong? I'm so lucky to have Kween as a colleague and a friend, she’s such a great representation of Australian drag and representation of her heritage. And Hannah Conda... a lot of the people I’ve worked with are just so down-to-earth and so genuine.
And Sandie la Gore – oh my god – I have so much respect for Sandie and look up to her as someone who was like, ‘I'm going to do this. I'm going to break these barriers down in Tasmania and start this up.’ It's always the people who start something first that get that hate, get the abuse, get the attacks. It's those pioneers, they're the people that dealt with the brunt of it. Like with me, as much as I don't see myself as a ‘pioneer’, I feel like Sandie walked so I could run so the younger performers can sprint. I've copped a lot of stuff, but I've made drag more commercial in this state, which helps other performers get gigs and opportunities to spread the love and spread the joy that drag can be for so many people.
Interview by JJ Loveday – All photographs by the exceptional Millie Crouch @millie.crouch
*This interview has been edited for length and clarity