Trying to stump Sheldon McIntosh is hard.
Point to any wig, any pair of glittering heels or any custom-made outfit in the room of his Toronto apartment devoted to his drag persona, and he’ll answer without hesitation: Where he bought it, when he bought it and, most importantly, how much it cost.
And that’s no small feat. There are more than 30 wigs lining the perimeter of the room, dozens of heels lined up beneath them and drawers packed to the brim with makeup. Every available corner is squished with outfits covered in feathers and sparkles.
Sheldon McIntosh estimates he spends between $20,000 and $25,000 a year maintaining his drag persona.Laura Proctor/The Globe and Mail
The room itself is fairly small, roughly 10 feet wide and twice as long, but it holds almost two decades of investment in the drag identity he created: Tynomi Banks.
“Everything holds memories,” he said, who works full-time as a professional drag queen. For the 45-year-old, those memories also double as a ledger.
“I love being my own boss,” McIntosh said. “I want to be my own boss.” But looking fabulous on your own dime is an expensive business.
Drag has never been cheap, but some performers say the financial equation is getting harder to pull off. While audiences see elaborate costumes, flawless makeup and larger-than-life performances, the costs behind those looks continue to climb. Tariffs and the rising cost of cross-border shopping have made drag more expensive, while social media and shows such as RuPaul’s Drag Race have raised the bar for what audiences expect, forcing many queens to spend even more to keep up.
McIntosh puts on fake eyelashes to get ready for a show. His drag persona, Tynomi Banks, gained popularity after appearing on Season 1 of Canada’s Drag Race in 2020.Laura Proctor/The Globe and Mail
At the same time, income remains unpredictable. Many performers rely on a mix of booking fees and audience tips, both of which can swing from night to night depending on attendance and whether audiences have enough disposable income to tip generously.
Since creating Tynomi Banks nearly two decades ago, McIntosh has become one of Toronto’s best-known drag performers. The name itself is a nod to two supermodels, Naomi Campbell and Tyra Banks. Keeping “Banks” in the name was never up for debate.
“I love money,” he said. Duh.
Tynomi Banks dances on an attendee of a private drag brunch in Toronto. Being a drag performer has become more expensive, and lofty audience expectations raise the bar, forcing many queens to spend more to keep up.Laura Proctor/The Globe and Mail
Tynomi Banks’s profile rose after appearing on Season 1 of reality TV show Canada’s Drag Race in 2020, the Canadian spin-off of RuPaul’s Drag Race.
Although McIntosh finished ninth in the competition, the platform opened doors. Not long after, he appeared as Tynomi in a 2021 commercial, which premiered during Super Bowl LV, for online financial management platform Wealthsimple.
But McIntosh wants to be clear: TV fame didn’t erase the financial realities of the profession. Today, he estimates he spends between $20,000 and $25,000 a year maintaining Tynomi’s drag persona, “and that’s on the lower end.”
“Just because I was on Drag Race doesn’t mean I’m rich,” he said. Still, he manages to make about six figures a year, according to his manager Michael Gorman, but that can fluctuate from year to year.
Each look starts with an outfit. Then come the shoes, wigs, jewellery, corsets and accessories. “These are all custom-made,” he said. “I do look petite on film, but I’m not. I’m built like a linebacker.”
McIntosh estimates it costs roughly $60 to apply Tynomi’s makeup for each performance, accounting for the wear and tear on products that are reused but expensive to replace. Individual items can carry high price tags: Fake eyelashes cost around $20 a pair, while some makeup kits can run $60 or more. It’s not out of the ordinary for one day to cost $1,000.
The rising cost of materials has only made things harder. “The tariffs have really, really affected our drag,” McIntosh said.
He previously sourced many costumes and supplies from the United States, which was cheaper than shopping locally. Now, higher costs have forced him to look for local alternatives, often competing with other performers for the same designers and creators.
Many outfit items can be reused for long periods, though. A $500 corset, for example, or a high-quality wig can become a staple of a queen’s wardrobe. But performers say there is constant pressure to debut new looks, making drag a business of continual reinvestment.
Jake Rudin, 24, constantly feels as though he needs to elevate his looks for his drag persona, Sucka Queen, and spends hundreds of dollars doing so. Those costs have also climbed as the price of fabrics and custom-made outfits have increased, he said.
“You can’t be an outfit repeater,” said Rudin, who works a day job at a non-profit in Toronto. The pressure, he said, often comes from fellow drag performers, who are quick to notice when a look has already been worn.
Plus, as a queen who has not competed on Canada’s Drag Race, and therefore isn’t as widely known, Rudin said he struggles to secure bookings alongside performers with television exposure.
The lack of opportunities eventually pushed him to produce his own shows.
“If I didn’t produce my own gigs, I wouldn’t be booked anywhere,” he said.
A newer queen might earn around $150 for a local show, while an established performer with television exposure can get closer to $3,000 a gig, McIntosh said.
“The more you put in, the more you get out,” Mr. Rudin said. “But at the end of the day, if you’re what you call a local queen, it’s really hard to compare yourself to somebody who’s been on TV, and it’s almost like there’s this pressure to do that as the next step.”
Being a contestant on Drag Race is expensive. When he competed on Canada’s Drag Race, McIntosh said he spent roughly $25,000 preparing for the show and had to borrow money to do it. Contestants are expected to arrive with a wardrobe for the entire season, even though they have no idea how long they will remain in the competition.
The investment eventually paid off through new opportunities, allowing him to pay off the debt within a year. But not every queen sees that kind of return, and the upfront investment can be difficult to recover.
And even though TV exposure comes with higher booking rates, a booking fee doesn’t just pay for the performance. It helps cover costumes, wigs, makeup, dancers, transportation, management fees and countless unpaid hours spent rehearsing, preparing and getting into drag.
For decades, tips helped fill the gap. Audience members routinely slipped performers cash during shows, and on a strong night 10 years ago, McIntosh said, he could earn as much as $1,000 in tips.
“We used to be tip galore,” he said. Today, a good night might bring in $200 or $300 in tips, he said. As a result, guaranteed booking fees have become increasingly important.
Rudin sees the same decline in tips. “The pandemic impacted tipping culture,” he said, with more people staying home. “I also think a lot of times now, people are working multiple jobs, and so they’re a little bit more conservative or reserved with their money.”
Like many freelancers, drag performers can also wait weeks to be paid after completing a job. Some companies also attempt to compensate performers with products, exposure or promises of future opportunities instead of cash.
“They say, ‘We’re a not-for-profit,’” McIntosh said. “I’m like, me too.”
To get as many opportunities as possible, McIntosh and his manager, Gorman, have adopted a simple strategy: Consider almost everything, because even if it’s a lower-paying job, they would rather take it than lose the opportunity to another queen.
Many drag performers rely on a mix of booking fees and audience tips, both of which can swing from night to night depending on attendance and whether audiences have enough disposable income to tip generously.Laura Proctor/The Globe and Mail
“If I say no, someone’s still gonna get it,” McIntosh said. Gorman is the owner of Straight Up Management Inc., and the company takes a commission fee on every booking. Gorman declined to say what the percentage is, but the industry standard is around 10 to 20 per cent of a client’s earnings, according to education platform Kaplan.
It’s a reality that performers know too well, that success often depends not only on talent but on the ability to hustle for the next booking.
At this point in his career, McIntosh is thinking about what comes next. He still performs regularly but is also considering how to build income streams that are less physically demanding than dancing in heels several nights a week. He points to stars such as American drag queen Trixie Mattel, who has a popular podcast and large online following.
Despite the rising costs, shrinking tips and uncertainty that come with self-employment, he has no plans to walk away from drag. He is trying to increase his social media presence, in hopes that a larger online audience will create opportunities beyond live bookings.
On a recent afternoon during Pride Month, Tynomi worked a drag brunch, weaving between tables, collecting tips from audience members and drawing laughter from onlookers.
“I make people happy,” he said. “I love making people happy.” In an uncertain world, he said, people are looking for joy.
Laura Proctor/The Globe and Mail