Chez Michou

This week I saw the last gasps of a well known drag show cabaret, Michou. Why do I say we saw its "last gasps"?  Because most of the drag queens and clientele are over fifty, at the very very least.  One gentleman in the front has his picture in the dictionary under "grandfather."  It's funny that I can't imagine my grandparent's generation setting foot in a drag show in the United States, but here in France they're the target audience!

Michou himself.  He kissed my hand when we arrived at the club.

Chez Michou was next door to the hotel where a couple of friends of mine were staying in Montmartre, and too intrigued to not do it, we rang the bell outside and were let into a bygone world of dim, red lighting, mirror covered walls and glitter lipstick.  It was campy, ridiculous and fun.  Oh to have seen it in its heyday!

Trying to figure out glitter lipstick,
Maria