Give it to me baby, ah-ha, ah-ha!
In a whirlwind of stacked heels and self spin doctoring, Jay Clarke’s alter ego and drag queen du jour Jodie Harsh has taken the London club scene by storm, building a nocturnal empire with a legion of loyal BoomBox disciples, without a smudge of lip gloss or a strand out of place on her outrageously bewigged head. ?
With hair big enough to rival Wino’s colossal beehive, a distinct resemblance to a pubescent Pete Burns and a jovial, glitter loving, Harajuku-esque Marilyn Manson on acid, the tale of a kid from a 2.4 family in Canterbury might leave a few skeptics. An unhealthy teen obsession with walking boob Pamela Anderson and moonwalking, crotch thrusting, plastic fantastic Michael Jackson, however, may clear things up a little.
There’s nothing traditional or ultimately feminine about Miss Harsh, a lover of "Champagne, loud music, late nights, group sex...and lots of other naughty things," Harsh is somewhere between Collagen Barbie with a cock, and Coco the Clown, minus the honking nose and whirling dickie bow. Although rarely seen baring her fabulous pins she is never caught without a skimpy lame ensemble, tighter than tight leathers and an outfit made up of porno playing cards has been known.
There’s not a fag rag running through the printer mill without a pap snap of the DJ, club promoter, come model, fashion muse, recording artist and journalist emerging from a wild party in nothing but sequins and a smile or with a sparkling arm around one of many celebrity chums.
She’s taken self expression through false lashes and eye shadow to new heights, been shot by photography’s major players Rankin, Perou and Mert and Marcus, featured in every magazine from Pop to French Playboy and even appeared in a Peta campaign covered in red paint drenched fur.
Reaping cult status was no mean feat and has involved a lot more than heels and headphones: the drag queen extraordinaire is a slave to her art and apart from sacrificing her eyebrows and shaving her armpits more regularly than the average femme fatale, the epitome of visual extravagance and gender-bending has to see her physio twice a week to fix her stiletto screwed spine.
It’s time to step down Elizabeth; Jodie Harsh is the new Queen of England.
Words: Sarah Bonser
Illustration: Federica Ubaldo