Shamy Lee: A Hairy Choice

I remember that day like it was yesterday, the day I realized that the hair on my head just wasn’t growing in as fast as it was falling out. I worried that something was wrong. I worried that I was sick and dying. I quietly stayed in my room, watching the documentary Bridegroom, hoping for the day that I would be able to come out and hopefully not suffer the same fate as the subjects of the film: separated from the love of their life by a family that they’d wished would support and treat them like family in the time where it mattered the most. 

It took me weeks before the actual reality began to set in. My father was bald. My grandfather was bald. My uncles were balding. I was beginning the same fate: male pattern baldness. 

As far back as I can remember, I have always been obsessed with hair and the things that people could make it do. A mohawk? How cool! Locs that hung low and swayed in the wind? Fan-freaking-tastic. So, imagine my disappointment when I realized I no longer had the option of having these styles due to the curse in my genes. 

I made the decision to just shave it all off. I did it. I went bald. And I hated it. Sure, I looked fine, but I didn’t feel fine. This wasn’t how I wanted to look. As if it was kismet, though, the “lumbersexual” movement had just begun, and a plethora of information on beard care and looks flooded the internet. Naturally, this made its way to me, and I said… “Well, If I can’t have the hair on my head, I’m going to enjoy the hair on my face,” and thus, my attachment to my facial hair began. I started to shave it in different ways; I tried out the ‘stache, the goatee, chinstraps, and even tried (and failed) to make the soul patch work. (I know, big mistake.)

This is how I spent the next two years of my life, oscillating between going clean shaven and donning some new facial hair style. One day, I decided that I wasn’t going to shave anymore. I loved my facial hair. I loved the process of tending to it. I loved how involved I needed to be in taking care of it, especially since these kinds of instructions aren’t just taught by family like shaving is; it was something I had to seek out, and at that point, I felt like I just couldn’t let that knowledge go to waste. 

Fast forward a few years. I’ve come out, and I wear my beard like a badge of honor. I moisturize daily; I wash and condition at least once a week; I brush and comb daily to keep the tangles out and my beard. My beard is THRIVING. 

Then, fast forward a few more years. At that point, I never had any interest in watching or following Drag Race. Then I met my now husband. He. Was. Obsessed with it. He’d been watching since its inception and wanted to share a piece of him with me. I watched, and, being ever the competitor, I said to him that I’d love to learn how to do it. 

So, I shaved my beard, my two-and-a-half-year-old beard! Then, I performed in my first-ever show. I had fun performing, but I hated the day after. I hated feeling naked on my face. I hated not having something that had been a part of me for so long. I whined; I complained. I stressed. Then, my good friend Jesica said something to me that’s stuck with me to this day. 

“You know, drag is about you, about who you are. You don’t have to fit into whatever the majority of people do; you know there’s bearded queens out there.” 

That got me searching. Up until that day, I had never thought to even look for bearded queens. Then my horizons broadened. I went down a YouTube wormhole; I followed bearded queens online and learned so much from them. My beard was now an asset and not a liability. 

This moment eventually led up to me fully embracing who I am. I am a drag performer. I am a rocker queen. I am a drag queen not afraid to embrace gender fluidity. I am Shamy Lee.

Photo by Julius Garrido