Showmax’s latest local reality show, Beaulah: Queens van die Kaap follows the captivating lives of seven local drag queens and flaunts Cape Town’s rich queer history.
This past July, Showmax launched an all-new, highly anticipated reality series called Beaulah: Queens van die Kaap (Beaulah: Queens of the Cape). Commonly just shortened to Beaulah, the show documents the lives of seven Cape Town-based drag queens and queer performers. Beaulah features established, veteran drag queens – such as Kat Gilardi and Manila von Teez – while also showcasing budding queens new to the drag scene – such as Madison Scarr and BB Vahlour. In the run-up to the release of Beaulah, Showmax had described the show as “an eye-opening and jaw-dropping introduction to a world of extreme transformations, unforgettable fashion, warring houses, opposing queen mothers, wig-gates, and sisterhood.” With such an eclectic cast, enthralling drama, skilful makeup design and harrowing accounts of the intimate lives of some of Cape Town’s most iconic drag superstars, Beaulah promises to indulge viewers and leave them eager for more.
It did not take long for me to fall completely in love with this dynamic show. It is not hard to imagine why. Beaulah is camp and over the top, experimental and avant-garde, without feeling tawdry and cheapened out. It is unlike formulaic reality TV and centres queer people — the first of its kind for South African television. From start to finish, the series delivers hours of compelling TV. The drag performances – which are self-financed by the queens – and the dialect, called ‘Gayle’, make Beaulah bewitching!
Yet, even while watching, I am reminded that this is more than entertainment. With Beaulah, we have a front seat to queer history, watching as it unfolds right in front of us and witnessing the rebirth of a Capetonian celebration of queer identities. Beneath the layers of gag-worthy shade and mystifying smoky eyes lies the dormant and overlooked yet significant history of queer life in Cape Town. Without this history, a show like Beaulah would not be greenlit.
Drag in Cape Town was pioneered by Coloured queer activists and figures – such as Kewpie and Piper Laurie – and is rooted in Coloured cultural practices – such as Tweede Nuwe Jaar. This always conveniently goes unmentioned in the telling and retelling of the story of South Africa – that the ruins of a vibrant queer history lie beneath the surface of who we are. In many ways, the story of drag in Cape Town cannot be told without talking about race. We are confronted with this as we watch. It is not overt, and there is hardly any mention of race on the show, but it feels impossible to ignore. All seven of Beaulah’s queens are Coloured, a racial classification in South Africa which has garnered controversy in the last year.
Additionally, all cast members of Beaulah are from poor or working-class communities in and around the Cape Flats – such as Kraaifontein, Mitchell’s Plain and Lavender Hill in Cape Town. However, this adds to the magic of Beaulah and serves as a manifestation of the dynamic, often untold, queer history of the Coloured community. It tells a story of unbridled resilience, triumph, resolve and creativity. The queens are resourceful – crafting their own costumes, investing pageant winnings into fabric and wigs for the next competition — and most maintain day jobs. When I chatted with the breakout star of Beaulah, Ina Propriette, it was her one day off that week.
Ina Propriette (Wade Khoosal):
When Ina Propriette appeared on screens for the first time in her shimmering black outfit and red boots à la Kinky Boots, it felt like there was a tangible difference to her. Something electric, it felt like Ina was made for television, to be awed and applauded. “Kuns met boude” (art on legs) is how Ina described herself in her introductory montage and it is easy to see why – her drag defies convention. For Ina, there is no reason that it should be conventional. Her drag is not about passing, impersonating or replicating the drag of queens before her. Her drag is a multidisciplinary art form; it’s a creative outlet that sees Ina process her life through her drag artistry. “It’s therapy,” she tells me.
When I meet Ina Propriette, she’s stripped down, hair held back by a visor cap and sipping on a Red Bull. “It’s been a long week,” she admits. I am nervous – giggling to mask this – stumbling over my words. I apologise for my appearance, to which Ina, in a successful attempt to put me at ease, replies, “At least you look cute.” Speaking candidly – dressed down in casual outfits – it’s clear that I’m talking to Wade Khoosal, the man behind the creative force that is Ina Propriette. Not that there is any real degree of separation between the two, anyway. For Wade, Ina is the culmination of his creative talents.
“Wade constructed Ina,” he says to me. Which, by the way, “how did you come up with that name?” I ask. Wade laughs, “a dancer!” The dancer is Latin Dance champion Ina Jeliazkova. “I entered a Latin dance competition which was for males only, and I took the female counterpart. I wanted to perform under my own name – as Wade – but the director said no and forced me to come up with another name. At the time, Ina Jeliazkova was my favourite dancer, so I took Ina from her,” and Propriette – the latter part of Wade’s drag name – came later, Wade’s own creation and a symbol of the versatile & risqué drag Ina embraces.
Ina’s drag is unlike anything Cape Town has seen before. Known for titillating performances in which Ina leaves nothing off the table or out of the question, her drag belongs in its own category. Experimental and unbound by respectability politics, Ina has forged her own path of what it means to be a drag performer. Although she’s been doing this for nearly a decade – having discovered drag on BBM as a teenager and bearing witness to drag during the Miss Gay Western Cape pageant in 2012 – Ina does not allow herself to get stuck in one unvarying groove. Even if this would be easier, Ina wants to keep challenging herself. So, she’s done everything – burlesque, cabaret, high-energy club performances – and she has no intention of making any of it a staple of her art.
“I like to dabble in everything. I don’t want to box myself in; there’s too much that I could do,” Ina says. Drag holds up a mirror, giving Ina the clearest reflection of herself – there is no one she is doing this for or trying to emulate except herself. “I am my own muse!” For Ina – a former fashion student – drag has become a way to channel her creativity. It has also allowed Ina to express the fluidity of gender, and even while Ina sees herself as fluid, she challenges the stereotype that drag is about female impersonation because “I’m just a gay man! And I love drag! My own drag is a fluid performance of gender.”
When we get to the topic of race in drag, Ina admits that it’s not something she thinks of often, but there is a clear divide. I ask her if she thinks it’s a legacy of our segregated past in South Africa, and she replies, “I think you’re right.” Processing what I asked, she says that sometimes, while performing for white audiences, she’s aware that she is a Coloured drag queen and that performing here in Cape Town is unlike anywhere else.
“The Coloured community, for as long as I have known, has always been at the forefront of drag in Cape Town.” While here, most drag queens are Coloured – it’s different in other cities where Ina has performed. Cape Town – maintaining its reputation as the “Gay Capital of Africa” – is relatively safe for queer performers, Ina says, but “there’s a divide between where white queers go, where Black queers go and where Coloured queers go. We experience our queerness differently and sometimes it’s a point of contention.” This ever-present invisible partition between queer people in Cape Town filters through to the show, where there were no Black drag queens cast. Ina says, “Even with the cast announcement of Beaulah, there were issues around race. People asked, ‘Why is there no Black drag queen?’ on the show. So, I’m aware that there are factors I need to consider now.”
Even with this separation, being on Beaulah was too important for Ina to pass up. She immediately recognised what it would mean for queer history, for Coloured history. A central theme of the show is Coloured queer history, all queens – having an instinctive and profound understanding that their work in drag is incomplete without the queens of the past – find ways to pay homage to those who came before them.
“I’m still learning,” Ina confesses, and there’s a beat of silence before she says, “how to navigate that I represent my community in ways that I didn’t think of before.” Ina is also a self-confessed nerd; she loves history and, now she’s part of it. Ina is also learning about herself through the show. Many times, while watching, she’s shocked by what she says or what she does and asks her friends if she really is that way in person. “Girl, you’ve always been this mal (mad)!” her friends tell her.
A queer renaissance is not on its way; it’s here already. That’s what Ina feels. Throughout the run of the series, she’s been getting DMs from strangers who tell her they love the show and they love her. They walk up to her in public and ask for photos. People tell her that they watch with their whole family and when I told her that I watch with my family, she cooed in delight. Attitudes toward drag have changed significantly in South Africa, and people gravitate towards it now. It’s healing, and it’s unifying. “Drag has the power of bringing people and families together; it’s like glue,” Ina says. “And Beaulah isn’t about me, it doesn’t just belong to me … it’s for all of us.”
Madison Scarr:
For Madison, drag is intimate and sacred even though she’s only been doing it for two years.
Of course it would be, drag helped Madison realise she was transgender. Madison has always been a performer. Whether she was showcasing her talent as a dancer in Hong Kong or as a singer in her high school’s glee club, Madison’s true love is performance. “My drag is a love letter to performance.” Creativity was a lifeline and a livelihood for Madison, who, up until the COVID-19 pandemic, was a dancer for a living. The pandemic meant that she had effectively lost her job, and with little else to do, she binge-watched RuPaul’s Drag Race. She credits the variety show for making her realise that she could still perform – even as a solo artist – and make money as a drag queen.
Dressed in drag night after night – performing for a sea of fans – Madison wanted to cling to that feeling of femininity and celebrity forever. “I always wanna be feminine,” is what she thought as she moved through life without drag, she tells me. Madison Scarr was not a performance; it’s who she was: a trans woman. She transitioned a year after becoming a drag queen. Her name has sentimental value to her; it’s once what her father wanted to name his daughter. “He always wanted a daughter named Madison, and look how the Lord has blessed him,” she jokes.
Watching Madison – with her piercing eyes and wide smile – is fascinating, she is captivating. Being in her presence alone is intimidating. She commands attention in a way that the next person wishes they could do. When we talk, I feel like we’re already friends. She is quick-witted and shrewd, sending a genuine and full laugh straight from my belly, echoing across the room. I should not have expected anything different. On the show, she’s known for her fierce personality. Holding nothing back, feet firmly placed on the ground, her personal motto is, “I live in a land of logic.” Madison is the silver-screen starlet of our dreams.
In talking to Madison, I learnt that cast agents were immediately drawn to her. Beaulah, originally created for Kyknet, wanted to document queer artistry in Cape Town. When the suits behind the show met her, Madison held nothing back. “In my interview, I was upfront. I said, ‘This is a big opportunity; I’d love to be a part of this. I don’t wanna start any drama, but I do have issues with a cast member.’” It was music to the production’s ears. They wanted to know more, and they wanted to see it play out on camera. Intrigued by her, the suits even overlooked that Madison was not fluent in Afrikaans, which was a necessary requirement to join the show. She was in Thailand when she heard that she had been cast.
When I pitch the idea of a queer renaissance to Madison, she is immediately impressed and not just because Renaissance is her favourite Beyonce album. Rather, because she feels that way too. “This is a moment; it’s a big thing for us!” She says people approach her in public and want to take her picture, but sometimes, she still has to pinch herself to remember that it’s real. It’s special to Madison because the show should not have actually been made, not by the standards of TV anyway. “This show was not made for TV; Coloured people and our stories were not made for TV.” Madison is referring to the harsh realities of Coloured life in South Africa, the undocumented joy that is overshadowed by hurtful caricatures of Coloured people that taint us as thieves, gangsters, uneducated and uninspired. The queens are challenging this misconception.
More personally, though, Madison is having a queer renaissance of her own. Not even five years ago, the idea of drag was daunting to her. It was unchartered territory for Madison, who had always been effeminate but never had any experience with drag. “I didn’t see myself as a drag queen then, I didn’t even feel like a drag queen,” she admits. An artist at heart, she was still excited to have found a new way to express herself. “I feel like a drag queen now. Now that I’ve learnt some things, but I still have more to learn so I’m still a baby drag queen.” Plus, the show is allowing Madison to live out her fantasies of being a star on Real Housewives – “I feel like I’m a Real Housewives of Drag Queen Cape Town. I’m Kenya Moore!”
Social media fosters this queer renaissance, Madison believes. As one of the youngest members of the show, the internet has helped shape Madison’s drag and femininity. Madison recalls how she made lifelong queer friends on Facebook, how she learnt how to do makeup, and built a community all on her phone. “It only takes a DM,” Madison says. In fact, this is what helped her in those very early days of her drag. She reached out to an established drag queen via DM and asked her to help. She did and eventually became Madison’s drag mother.
I asked both Madison and Ina what they enjoy doing after a show, and they both have the same answer – ordering takeout and relaxing in bed, watching TV. “She stole that from me!” Madison jokes when I tell her that Ina said the exact same thing. “We like to get a steak sandwich from Karbros or butter chicken from Food Inn.” And, of course, Madison chuckles and says, “Scandy!”
Support Madison Scarr (@madison.scarr) and Ina Propriette (@ina_propriette) by following them on Instagram; they use the platform to promote their upcoming gigs! All episodes of Beaulah: Queens van die Kaap are available now on Showmax.