salem scott | capitol

The Salem Show came at precisely the right time, according to Victor's View magazine and the Best Podcast Olly sitting on the mantle in her den. The truth was she wasn't the most famous drag queen- not by a long shot. Zenia, for instance, had been a household name for decades. But it wasn't about that. It was all about marketing. It was all about knowing the product. And bitch, if anyone knew who they were and what they wanted, it was Salem Scott.

She'd been deemed a socialite within the very month of her debut, four years in the business and on a slow rise ever since. A feature in a music video turned into a fashion spread, and then that turned in to a celebrity guest appearance with none other than Sardonyx Crowe herself. Rumors of a scandalous relationship with a high ranking politician turned her into a tabloid mainstay, and that gave her stardom. True stardom. Was she the most famous drag queen? No. But had she made her mark?

Damn straight.

Which was how she got the pilot. Which had gotten her the Olly. Which was how she'd gotten the gig as the host of a competition series they're calling Salem's Lot- Iconic, no? It's an easy enough concept: young drag queens competing to be the best, traditional competition layout with a challenge winner, a bottom two, and an elimination taking place in each episode. The winner wins a cash prize and becomes the new face of the competition until next season. She treats this like its life or death because, to her, it is. She needs this to work. She's a Capitol-high mainstay. She needs to be- It's all she wants. She wants to reinvent drag. She wants to be the mother of it all. And it takes a fucking backbone. It takes someone saying, "Bitch, fix this lighting." or "Let's get Risky a touchup!" It takes someone saying, "This isn't the promo I asked for. This isn't the promo I paid for. This isn't the promo you're giving me."

Rumors of her, erm, specific wants have already been circling like vultures, waiting to pick her clean of her bones at the first smell of weakness, so she stands tall, tucked, and fucking fierce when those cameras are rolling. She does second, third, fourth takes to make sure they get what they need. She paints for the gods and smiles for the back row. She's the moment, she's the minute, she's the fucking Style Street Clock.

To say she overcame a lot to get to this point wasn't a lie, but it wasn't exactly the truth either. Everyone got shit, yeah? Everyone has that time their Dad pissed them off, or that time in high school they thought bangs were cute, or that time they got fired, or that time they got dumped. Salem got kicked out of her apartment by her own god damn roommates, petty bitches. But she wasn't really ever one to dwell on the bad, because full tea, the good outweighed it. She was happy growing up. She was adopted, which meant she was chosen, which meant she was wanted. And no crazy shit happened- her parents didn't split, her big brother didn't lose an arm in a war, her friends didn't pour pigs blood down her back on prom night. She was fine. She was happy. She hates that people act like something's gotta be wrong for you to end up as a drag queen. Bitch, the most talented makeup artists in this country learn the tips and the tricks from the girlies, and that's facts.

Sorry, she's got claws tonight apparently. Been reviewing audition tapes for a week straight- if she sees one more girl in a ball gown pointing in the direction she is going to be walking, she's gonna lose her god damn mind. But, she submitted the final choice twenty minutes ago and had already drank three glasses of wine since then. They'll be making the calls the next day, and in two months, they were set to start filming. The beginning and, as the haters love to think, the end. But she's determined to start a dynasty that'll last just as long as she wants it to.