Becoming Brandi

The following was published in A Magazine Vol. 8

"And get my big blond afro!"

Jaye Jackson is sitting in a rented dance studio. He's wearing a wig cap and has a half-face of makeup on. His instruction was directed toward his assistant, sophomore fashion design major Hannah Buerkle, whom he met in jazz dance class during his sophomore year. This was her first of two errands. Other than that, her typical duties include wig brushing and switching to the next episode of RuPaul's Drag Race, which is streaming on the overhead projector.

The 20-year-old Columbus native is getting ready to perform as his drag persona, Brandi Michelle Diamond, and he’s running behind. Before starting his own transformation, he was helping his protégé, or as Jackson calls him, his “daughter,” Mat Blasio, into drag for the very first time. Mat tries out a few outfits and a few wigs before settling on one which fits his drag persona, Maeby Blast. The name comes from a botched effort by his Android to translate his name in voice-to-text.

When he's not Brandi, Jackson keeps busy as a junior musical theatre major and president of the Black Theatre Association on campus. He's currently preparing for his role as Hud in the musical "Hair." Though Hud is the "token black guy" of the musical, Jackson doesn't let that bother him.

"There's stories that need to be told, especially in that show, and I feel like I would definitely be the one to be able to do it," he says.

Things get serious when RuPaul is replaced by Beyoncé over the speakers. She's a huge source of inspiration to Jackson and a big reason he got into drag in the first place.

"I couldn't understand because I would sing like her, but it would never be all of her because I'm a man," he tells me.

Flash forward to today, Brandi performs exclusively to Beyoncé, and just last fall Jackson directed, choreographed and starred in "Lemonade," a two-night, Beyoncé tribute performance showcased in the E. Turner Stump Theatre.

Back in high school, he got involved with theatre and discovered that one of his leading troupe members performed in drag, though it was kept on the down low. "He started talking to me about it and was like, 'You should try it,' and I was like, 'No,'" Jackson says. "But I ended up letting him put me in full drag."

After some further convincing from his fellow troupe members, Jackson hosted a show in drag for the very first time. "I loved it," he says. "But I didn't think I could do it until my freshman year [of college] when I started playing with makeup and it just happened."

I ask him who his influences are, not just as a drag queen, but as a black male. "That's really hard," he says.

He opens up about the absence of his father growing up, and feeling forced to see him following his parents' divorce which, along with other traumatic events, eventually led to major falling out.

"My mother is the first person that I look up to as a black man, and I can strongly say that," he says. "Because I feel like all the stuff that you see, what people tell you makes you a man, is not what makes you a man."

It was his mom, Queena Jackson, though she prefers to go by Ms. Jackson, who first suggested Jackson try out for theatre. Though he was naturally shy, she saw his potential before anyone else.

"He was always a performer," she says. When he began to show interest in drag however, she was initially confused and apprehensive about the idea. Jackson says he didn't have a great relationship with her for some time.

"She didn't get the opportunity for me to come out to her, that was the first thing," he says. "It was more of getting into it with your family, and they expose you." It was his dad, Ty Spotts, who Jackson now calls his dad, who first encouraged him to do whatever he wanted to do.

"And now I'm thriving," he adds.

With time his mom has grown to be his biggest supporter. She reflects on the first time she saw him in drag, at the first show that he hosted, and she started to choke up slightly. "He was beautiful," she says. "He was just so beautiful."

The drag name came later, during a conversation with a friend. "First of all, I wanted a B, because Beyoncé of course," he says. As a music lover, B major is one of his favorite key signatures, so Brandi Major was briefly considered.

"Then I started thinking about Raven Symone and how she has two names and I was like, 'I have to have two names.'" After some brainstorming, Brandi Michelle was the name that just clicked.

"A trick," Jackson turns away from makeshift vanity, complete with a ring light and enough makeup to make any beauty guru envious, to look at me.

"You want your makeup to last? Hairspray." He proceeds to spritz a generous amount of hairspray all over his exquisitely painted face.

It's at this point that I'm internally debating when I should begin referring to him as Brandi instead of Jaye.

"A lot of times when it comes to drag, and I don't want to speak for all boys because it's not all, but I went through a phase where I was struggling with my gender," he says. "I was like do I really feel like I'm a woman for do I feel like I'm a man or do I feel like somewhere in-between, and Brandi was that extension of the woman that I wanted to be...but I like this too," he gestures to himself.

"I'm catering to both of [Brandi and Jaye} as individuals. I'm technically non-binary, but I also know that I'm a man. I can feel that."

Things start moving fast. As I'm taking it all in, our photographer is helping put on fake lashes and running out to her car to get extra mascara. I step in a few times to help with various zipper troubles. Brandi is performing at The Dome in Kent tonight and call time is 7:30 p.m. Jackson tells me he's nervous. It's nearing 7 p.m. and he's standing behind the piano, putting on Brandi's hip pads and rhinestone tights. It's a tiring process that has me exhausted just from watching. I understand why it was put off until the last minute.

He stops for a quick moment to critique Maeby Blast, who's practicing her walk in the mirror. It should be noted that she's in at least 6-inch-high, black leather heeled boots. I watch, impressed and slightly jealous by how easy she's making it look. Jackson's one critique? Too manly. He gives an example, and I'm quickly starting to see more of Brandi come through.

"I feel like [Brandi] is the inner me," he says. "It's really hard to explain because I've been through a lot in my life and often times I find myself being super negative and depressed because of all the things that I've been through. But once the wig comes on and the makeup is on and I have on the clothes, it's like a completely different person."

After taking what was initially thought be a wrong turn down dark side street, we arrive at The Dome, a literal dome-shaped dive bar that shouldn't be as charming as it is. We immediately spot Brandi and her entourage. She's hard to miss in a jet-black, vinyl bodysuit, blue suede, knee-high boots and a shoulder length, cotton candy pink wig.

We share a moment, as Brandi whisks by us, where she grabs my hand. I give it a "good luck" squeeze before she disappears backstage.

"When you're looking at yourself you're like, 'That can't be me,'" he says. "When you do it, it's like a completely different person doing everything you want to do, but are too scared to do."

I ask if he feels more comfortable as Brandi. His answer comes without hesitation, "Absolutely."

After the first two performances, Brandi's name is called. The music starts and she descends down the staircase. Beyoncé's "Homecoming" mix is blaring over the speakers. The dizzying combination of spotlights and camera flashes almost makes me believe I'm really watching Beyoncé perform in front of my very eyes. It's clear that Brandi has done this before. She knows how to engage the crowd. And in return the crowd screams back in support and pure entertainment.

Just when I start to think her routine can't get any more high-energy, she jumps into a full floor split and I start to wonder if that actually just happened or if the vodka cranberry is starting to give me hallucinations.

Even in areas separate from drag, Jackson's ambitiousness doesn't cease. "I want to focus on creating a mentoring program for black men." The program, he explains, will place emphasis on the individual and how they navigate what it means to be a man. "If they're gay, if they're super straight, if they're super conservative, or whatever it is that they are they can come and feel safe and we can help guide them into their future."

Our conversation turns to Jackson's values as a performer. For him, being a black drag queen is more than being able to dance in heels, than being able to do makeup, than being able to vogue. "The black struggle, both being a black woman and a black man and a black drag queen, is something that's very important to me," he says. "Expressing yourself as an art form is important to me, LGBTQ stuff is very important to me." On top of giving his all while performing, he tries to include his values. "I incorporate all the stuff that I've learned and all the stuff that I want people to take away from it," he says.

Jackson plans on sticking with Brandi for the long run while chasing his dream of music at the same time. "I want to cultivate my drag career as well as cultivate my singing career, because music is the first thing on my list that I really want to do," he says. He had plans to record over the summer but too many obstacles ultimately got in the way. Nonetheless, it's still in his plans for the future.

Brandi's routine ends and The Dome erupts in applause. She is glowing. It's clear to everyone that Brandi loves performing just as much as the audience loves watching her perform. She flashes a smile out over the crowd and collects her tips before whisking away once and for all. Even after the music ended and the lights came up, a certain buzz lingered in the air. A static excitement that remained long after Brandi stepped out of the spotlight. The audience was left to revel in the lasting effect of Brandi Michelle Diamond.

Photography: Rachel Feinstien

Model: Jaye Jackson / Brandi Michelle Diamond