‘Baby Drags’ is a beautiful photo essay by Parisienne Lorna May.

In a ‘borrowed Paris flat’ Lorna takes a fly on a wall approach witnessing a ‘transformational ritual’.

I braced for the hum of razors, the sculpting of fake breasts, and the neat tuck of penises.

In a borrowed Paris flat, a mess of junk litters the floor, thick with the stale stench of bodily vapours. This is where two young men, in their early 20’s, invite me to witness their so-called “transformation ritual” – from men to drag queens.

I braced for the hum of razors, the sculpting of fake breasts, and the neat tuck of penises. What I found instead were two drifters, squatters haunting deserted apartments. Their dreams of drag glory floated on the edges of their reality – too lazy, too indifferent to fully commit to the personas they dreamed up. Their costumes, incomplete and frayed, were half-hearted attempts at a fantasy they played with but never lived.

Survival came in fleeting arrangements, always just enough to scrape by, avoiding the discipline true drag demands. Their “transformation” was less a ritual and more playing dress-up into a world of unrealized ambition, where fantasy flickers but never catches fire. 

Their “transformation” was less a ritual and more playing dress-up into a world of unrealized ambition, where fantasy flickers but never catches fire.

Applying makeup while sitting on the floor, surrounded by scattered cosmetics. 

Amidst the bickering, the occasional fart, as club beats blare from the cacophony of an iPhone.

Do they think all women are trollops? Or just these two? We laugh about that very idea, while the baby drags flirt with their reflections.

While they adopt more feminine mannerisms, I wonder: do men secretly want to be sluts?

As their makeup and outfits come together, their attitudes sharpen, embodying the dramatic persona they’re aiming for. While they adopt more feminine mannerisms, I wonder: do men secretly want to be sluts? Do they think all women are trollops? Or just these two? We laugh about that very idea, while the baby drags flirt with their reflections. 

Despite their earlier promises of unwavering support among drag queens, their apparent encouragement is overshadowed by envious glances and wardrobe mini-dramas – subtle cues of rivalry only women can truly read. 

They begin filming TikToks – their go-to form of expression – congratulating themselves while planning posts for the week. Content like this is rare for them – transformations, even the amateur ones, take hours, and they’re usually too idle to commit to anything serious.

In the world of drag, where self-expression meets artistry, there’s often a fine line between aspiration and commitment.

Dolled up with nowhere to go, they admit they’re too broke to hit the town. So, they stay in, toasting their glamorous success. Soon enough, the costumes feel suffocating, and as the drinks flow, the layers slowly come off.

In the world of drag, where self-expression meets artistry, there’s often a fine line between aspiration and commitment. These “unfinished queens”, too lazy to invest in their craft, blur that line. When I first met them, they introduced themselves with bold personas – a panther and a mermaid – but couldn’t explain why. They promised elaborate outfits, custom-made by a tailor, but never delivered. 

Being a wannabe isn’t inherently bad – “fake it till you make it” – is, after all, a mantra for growth. But where does that path lead when laziness and indifference take over? They openly admit they hate work, relying on underground dealings to make ends meet. Without dedication, discipline, and a true passion for the art, the transformation remains skin-deep, a costume without a character.

If drag is about more than just dressing up, at what point does one stop being a performer and start being merely a man in a dress?

LORNA MAY