‘Tarkan: Becoming a King’

"I feel like drag for me is just an extended way of me exploring my own ideas of gender and my personal gender identity. Obviously being a gender and performing a gender are two very different things - but in performing manhood and masculinity it's allowed me to be more open and accepting of my femininity too - something that I used to shy away from in a quest to be "butch". I feel like that experimentation has been really freeing for me, and contributed to me recognising that I'm non-binary - that I've never really sat at one end of the spectrum or the other. My drag king act is Tarkan, who is a Turkish popstar, most famously the singer of "kiss kiss". Being a Turkish person born in the UK, it's nice for me to explore Turkish culture through queerness and gender. My act is a melting pot of so many different parts of my identity and I feel lucky to be able to get on stage and perform it''

Kaan K (Previously Yas Necati)

 
 
‘A love letter to Tarkan’ by Kaan K (Previously Yas Necati)
I never felt so feminine as when I played a man for the first time.
Blowing kisses at Marilyn Monroe and shaking my hips to Turkish pop music that says, “böyle çok daha güzelsin” -
like this, you are so much more beautiful.
Me - I hate being called beautiful
But you can call Tarkan beautiful, call Tarkan pretty, call Tarkan a queen as he dances on stage - heartthrob, icon, Turkish George Michael.
Loved by queer youth, loved by my conservative grandparents, 
loved despite the leaked picture of him and another man kissing in speedos,
Loved despite the way he’s denied ever since it was him.
When he is masculine, he is closeted.
When I am feminine, I am closeted.
This is what it takes to wear another body on top of my own: 
face paint, a brush, finger tips willing to become messy
with smudging. A flag
that I will pull out of my pants and wrap around my shoulders
like a cape, with pride. Breasts bound
with duct tape, opening ribs.
There I was, a water gun, two castanets and a pride flag shoved down the front of my boxers, eyeliner applied with all the shakiness of someone who’s never done it before,
And I never felt so feminine
And I never felt so confident
And I never felt so ready to fight
Hiding behind his cocky popstar vibe, his chest hairs painted on,
his skin stretched over the top of mine, making it easier, not more constricting,
to dance.
Drag has made me naked in new ways. 
Stripped down to nothing but jeans and two bits of tape on stage.
I never show my hips like this day to day, let alone let them sway.
This is my love letter to a man who is ashamed of being queer.
This is my love letter to a man who is ashamed of being femme.
Boy, your lips are as red as a white person’s blush, your strut is worthy 
of a catwalk, your eyeliner is more on point than my femininity will ever be.
And I don’t want you to hide a thing about how gorgeously non-conforming you are,
Your nail polish or the thrust of your body.
You can make a transmasc dyke feel girly and happy about it -
and that is powerful shit.
And you are valid. And you are perfect. And you are enough.