As a gay man, I was never a huge fan of drag, but my late husband was. Lenny was a big bruiser of a man with balls of brass. Meaning that even though he was physically imposing (read: scary in a dark ally) and could easily pass for for uber-macho-straight, he defied expectations every day by opening his mouth and letting fly with gay jargon and feminized speech that outed him without question.

Drag shows mostly bored me when I first met Lenny, but through him I met plenty of drag queens, and THEY didn't bore me in the least. I found myself rather in awe of their brass balls.

Because while successful drag queens need style and flair for performing, those are secondary as requirements to nerves of ice – to quiet, unshakable dignity and courage.

Drag queens spend their lives putting themselves in real physical danger for daring to transgress gender norms. I'd venture to say that the least well known drag queen at the cheapest gay gin joint in Hoboken possesses more courage and dignity in one fingernail than Tucker Carlson will experience during his entire lifetime.

Fragile masculinity, indeed. The drag queens I've known could teach Tucker and the Proud Boys plenty of lessons in masculinity.