When I first moved to London a couple of months ago, I was pretty friendless. The majority of my human interactions involved speaking to colleagues at work about work-related things.
All of this was topped off by a 60-minute commute to and from the office, during which I was sandwiched between sweaty people who seemed to have somehow reached a wondrous Zen state of being completely oblivious to everything around them. (I think I’ve mastered it myself now, to be honest. It’s fantastic.)
I would end most of these days by coming home and watching RuPaul’s Drag Race. I devoured seasons three to seven in mere weeks, cheering on my favourite queens, laughing at their wit and charm as they cleverly tore apart the competition, wiping away the stray tear when they opened up to Ru and the other contestants about their personal struggles with identity and acceptance. This show is important to me, and others feel the same.