The process is long and tedious. “Painting” my face takes a full two hours. Then come the layers of nylon stockings, the nails, the jewelry, the perfume, and the hair. Finally, Anita must decide what to wear for “tip around.” The full-length emerald velvet gown with the long slit up the right leg? The short black sequin cocktail dress that almost shows too much? The navy blue party dress with the feathers around the chest? The cocktail dress wins out. Anita slips on a pair of black satin pumps, gathers the rest of her feathers, hair, shoes, and assorted accoutrements, and she’s out the door to another performance.

I am never shy about answering a drag-related question. After six years of performing, I think I’ve answered them all, from “How do you dance in six-inch heels?” to “What do you do with it?” I am proud of how diligently I have worked at my craft, which has a history as old as humanity, and I am a very open person, so I never turn down a question. The one question that still stumps me, though, and the one question that only the most courageous of souls will ask, is “Why do you do it?”

In my mind, this is tantamount to asking Alice Walker why she writes, or Sir Laurence Olivier why he acts. A couple of years ago, I had a brief but revealing conversation with a veteran Delaware performer, Maxine Chambers. She commented that it was nice to see me performing again. From the summer of 1998 to the winter of 1999, Anita dropped off the drag scene. She was exhausted, burnt-out, and just needed a break. Maxine asked me why I had stopped for a while, and I explained. Then, she asked me why I started again. I was silent. I had to stop and think. When I replied, “I don’t know. It’s just inside me,” a knowing smile spread across Maxine’s face, and she nodded.

I have been performing in one medium or another since I was five years old. For several years, I sang in church, my pre-pubescent voice crooning solos and duets to a yawning congregation. Throughout my junior high and high school years, I played several different musical instruments, both in concert and marching band. In my sophomore year of high school, I was bitten by the acting bug. That bug held on throughout my college years, during which I acted and directed. An eager performer has always lived inside of me.

Upon graduating college and entering the “real world,” I discovered I simply didn’t have time for stage plays. The hours of rehearsal and learning lines just didn’t gel with working full-time. Besides, I didn’t feel drawn toward a formal stage anymore. Without a performance medium, I felt a little like the proverbial fish out of water. Then my friend David asked me to attend a “drag show.” I had dressed in drag a few times in college, for Halloween or parties, but the drag bug hadn’t bitten me yet. I made it clear to David that I really wasn’t interested in seeing “men in dresses.” But, with much reticence and nothing better to do on a Saturday night, I agreed to accompany David to the show at the now defunct Renaissance club in Wilmington.

Steadily, from the first number to the last, the embers of a theatrical fire began to burn inside me. I found myself intrigued by the costumes, the performance and, most of all, the transformation. These men have a great gift and a rare opportunity. For three-and-a-half minutes at a time, they get to be someone else-someone they can’t be at any other time, someone they’ve created. Then, my theatre snobbery kicked in. Most of the performers were rather amateur. They hadn’t memorized the words they were struggling to lip-sync, and they obviously had little knowledge of stage presence or blocking. But one performer captivated me. Gusta Wind! What a name and what a performer. She knew her words, she knew how to move, and she knew how to entertain. I felt angry that most of the performers were doing a disservice to the stage. I felt envious that Gusta was knocking the crowd dead and I wasn’t.

“I bet I could do this,” I mouthed to my friend over the pulsating beat.

“I bet you could,” David mouthed back.

As luck or the muses of drag would have it, there was a beginners’ talent competition in two weeks. I was very amateur but my passion and professionalism somehow shone through. My spirited performance of Ike and Tina Turner’s “Proud Mary” earned me a perfect score and my first of numerous titles-Miss Star Search, July 1996.

Anita Mann was born.

As with any misunderstood subculture, many myths abound regarding female impersonation. Just to set the record “straight”…I do not dress in drag because I feel inadequate as a man. During the day, I don a tie for the office. Most nights of the week, you’ll find me in khakis, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap, or in sweats at the gym. I simply enjoy expressing my feminine side on stage, especially since many men must be so “macho” the majority of the time. Also, female impersonation is in no way demeaning to women. Rather, it glorifies the female mystique and highlights the most sacred ingredients of the feminine-glamour, soul, and emotion. Finally, most female impersonators have no desire for a sex change operation. For me and nearly every female impersonator I know, the illusion is the sacred thing. When you change your body, it’s no longer an illusion-it’s a reality, and it kills the fun. I am a professional performer. I do this for a release, not a lifestyle.

I don’t know where Anita will take me in the future. For now, I am satisfied with Anita coming out a few times a month, providing me with an artistic outlet and some extra cash. I don’t have the desire to bump RuPaul off her plush pedestal and take over as the drag ambassador to the world. Not just yet, anyway….

There are many quality female impersonators in the state of Delaware. Of course, I would love for you to seek out a show featuring Anita. But then, I’m a little prejudiced. I would never tell you to come to a show simply because it includes Anita Mann in the cast.

That just wouldn’t be ladylike.