I’d had a big, sparkly pop career in my 20s but by 2024 I was beyond my twink era, and getting by hopping from one weird gig to the next. Covid had really done a number on the music industry and, while my friend Paul Mac had kept me making music, I found myself drifting through a strange, boozy few years in Sydney. I’d been single since 2020 and my best friend was my cat.
Throughout that hazy time, I was as terminally online as ever. At 38 I was posting like a 20-year-old. One day, for no particular reason, I posted a track from the Dissociatives’ self-titled album from the mid-noughties. Paul, who I call my gay uncle, and Daniel Johns of Silverchair fame, had made just one LP together, and the obscure track, Thinking in Reverse, was one of my favourites.
To my surprise it earned me a little fire emoji reaction from the drag queen Karen from Finance, who I was vaguely aware of from their time on Drag Race. I didn’t think queens listened to indie music, so I was snobbily impressed and clicked “follow”.
As I looked over their Instagram posts I was intrigued by this self-made character and realised we had crossed paths over the years. It turned out in 2022 at the Gaytimes festival, as I scrambled to deal with a keyboard malfunction, Karen had performed a 15-minute-long Tina Turner medley to tide the crowd over!
Still, we had never spoken and I had never laid eyes on Richard Chadwick, the man behind the makeup. An online connection bubbled between us and occasionally, if I noticed we were in the same city (he lived in Melbourne), I’d suggest we meet up. But the stars never aligned.
As the 2025 Melbourne fringe festival approached, I was staying with a friend in the city. I popped on to Grindr only to be greeted with this familiar, very handsome face at zero metres away.
Richard, it turned out, was my friend’s flatmate. Not wanting to sully our finally meeting face to face by involving the app, I casually kicked open the door of the spare room I was in, hoping to catch him wandering by. When that didn’t work I started marching loudly around the house trying to get his attention. Little did I know Richard was suffering through a severe hangover.
Eventually my antics lured him out of his room and I got my first look at him, all sparkling blue eyes in a black band tee and a pair of basketball shorts. It was the first time I’d seen him out of costume. He had this beautiful warm smile and I threw my arms open at the sight of him. I knew as we were locked in that first firm embrace I was going to fall for him.
He must have felt something too because his hangover magically disappeared and he joined me at my gig. I spent the entire performance catching his eye in the crowd and singing my little heart out as if he was the only one there.
On the drive home we gushed about Silverchair’s highly underrated Diorama album. And put it this way: I didn’t need to make use of the spare room.
I flew home to Sydney the next day feeling elated but not expecting anything more. I was bowled over a few days later when he proposed taking a detour, after a show in Adelaide, through Sydney to visit me.
I hadn’t had a house guest in years and my apartment was a bachelor pad in all the worst ways. I was so embarrassed about it I booked us a hotel, but the room was so bad he insisted we go back to mine. There he got his first glimpse of who I was behind my performer’s facade – dirty dishes, hideous bed linen and all. He was so fine with the state of my house I could hardly believe it. This is a person who will not drink champagne unless everyone’s glasses match, yet my unkempt hovel didn’t receive so much as a side eye.
That is something I adore about Richard. Despite his own exacting standards, he is so nonjudgmental. I am a famously cynical guy. I see the worst in everything, especially myself. But Richard doesn’t; he challenges my negativity without ever making me feel bad about it.
When I get salty about some perceived slight, he asks me gently if it’s really something worth spending my energy on.
I didn’t even have a full-length mirror in my home when Richard started to stay, so he bought me one. Now when I send him my daily fit checks, I make my bed and tidy up before I take the shot. Not because I fear he will judge my slovenly ways but because his love makes me feel like the kind of person who deserves to have six decorative bed pillows and not sleep with their shoes on.
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Brendan Maclean performs in the cabaret production Velvet Inferno at the Sydney Opera House, 24 July to 12 September