- Mirror Images: The Search for Identity Beneath the Makeup
- What 80s Rock Bands Have in Common with Drag Queens
- Fictional Selves and Fallen Stories: From Eden to the Stage
- Clothed in Christ, Called by Name: The Hope for the Disguised and Disoriented
- Conclusion: Reality, Redemption, and the Return of the True Self
Mirror Images: The Search for Identity Beneath the Makeup #
The mirror is lit, rimmed with warm bulbs casting theatrical light on a face already half-covered in paint. One hand adjusts a towering wig—purple, maybe red—while the other contours cheekbones into sharp, unnatural shadows. Whether backstage at a rock concert in 1987 or behind the curtain of a drag show in 2025, the ritual is remarkably similar. Music blares, costumes sparkle, but something deeper is taking place. Beneath the makeup, behind the exaggerated lashes and the glitter, a soul is preparing for battle—not with an audience, but with its own sense of self. It is a moment saturated with meaning and loss. The person in the mirror is not simply getting dressed. They are becoming someone else. The real tragedy is that they believe this persona might finally be enough.
The human heart has always hungered to be seen, known, and understood. In Eden, Adam and Eve stood before God and each other “naked and unashamed” (Genesis 2:25). There was no disguise, no distortion, no curated identity—only authenticity in perfect communion with their Creator. But the Fall shattered that transparency, and with it, humanity’s sense of identity. Now, we cover ourselves—not just with fig leaves and garments, but with personas, performances, and fantasies. We dress up, dress down, rebrand, retitle, and reinvent. Yet the core need remains: to know who we are, and to be secure in that truth. The enemy of our souls has always sought to twist what God has made, offering hollow versions of identity—versions that are self-constructed, disconnected from divine design, and increasingly untethered from reality.
Before we move forward, it should be clear to the reader that this is not another message about how “bad” Big Hair, Makeup Wearing Rock of the 80s was. If you bog down there, you will miss the whole point. Rather, it is a deeper dive into what drives similar behaviours.
What 80s Rock Bands Have in Common with Drag Queens #
Two cultural phenomena—glam rock and drag performance—illustrate this spiritual crisis in sharp relief. At first glance, they may seem unrelated. One is remembered for electric guitars and leather; the other, for lip-syncs and lace. But look closer, and you will find an unexpected mirror: both glam rockers and drag queens paint their faces, don costumes, assume stage names, and perform exaggerated versions of masculinity or femininity. They both express a need to be seen, to stand out, to transform into something larger than life. But neither is content with what was given. Instead, both embrace a fantasy—an identity created through spectacle, not substance. In doing so, they reveal a common ache: the desperate desire to feel real by becoming unreal.
Glam rock, particularly in its 1980s incarnation, was a masterclass in visual distortion. Bands like KISS, Twisted Sister, Poison, and Mötley Crüe weren’t just musical acts—they were characters. Faces painted like demons or skeletons, eyes rimmed in jet-black liner, bodies wrapped in leather and studs, they stood as exaggerated masculine figures while often wearing elements traditionally associated with femininity. The result was androgynous, theatrical, and wild. But the real performance was not just musical—it was spiritual. These were men rejecting the ordinary. Rejecting the traditional. Their look said, “I am not like you. I am more. I am myth. I am monster. I am fantasy.” Whether dressing as beasts, aliens, warriors, or comic-book villains, the glam rock aesthetic was one long scream against conformity and mortality. In trying to be more than men, they became less than human.
And yet, the drag queen does something eerily similar. Modern drag culture has risen beyond the underground and become a mainstream spectacle—marketed, celebrated, and defended as high art and personal freedom. But like glam rock, drag is not merely about clothing. It is a constructed identity—a costume meant not only to entertain but to replace reality with fantasy. The drag queen paints a new face, creates a new name, and steps into a gender-bending world that declares, “I will be who I want to be, regardless of what God made me to be.” The clothing, makeup, and exaggerated gestures are not just accessories—they are tools of transformation. And yet, what seems like freedom is in fact a prison. When a man seeks to become a woman through fantasy, he is not finding himself—he is losing himself. Like the glam rocker, the drag performer hopes that by disguising his true identity, he might finally find an identity that works.
Fictional Selves and Fallen Stories: From Eden to the Stage #
The costumes worn by glam rockers and drag performers are not neutral. These aren’t simply fabric choices or expressions of artistic flair—they are spiritual statements. Visual theology is everywhere in our world; what people wear, embody, and project reveals their internal convictions. The performer dressed as a devil, an animal, or an exaggerated parody of the opposite sex is not merely playing pretend. They are declaring a philosophy—a worldview—that rejects the givenness of creation and replaces it with constructed fantasy. The glam rocker who steps on stage with a demonic face painted on his own is engaging in more than theatrical flair; he is making an agreement with darkness, often unknowingly, by glorifying what Scripture calls evil. Similarly, the drag performer who mocks womanhood with exaggerated features, inflated mannerisms, and seductive mimicry is not celebrating femininity—he is distorting it.
Consider the recurring visual motifs: skulls, snakes, horns, fangs, claws, alien creatures, dark angels, queens, witches, and beasts. These are not incidental. These are archetypes drawn directly from myth, folklore, and even biblical imagery. The “beast” motif alone is significant—Revelation describes a beast empowered by the dragon to deceive the nations (Revelation 13). The performer who dons animalistic garb, spikes, and clawed gloves is echoing this image, whether knowingly or not. The spiritual implication is profound: humanity, created to bear God’s image, is choosing instead to bear the image of rebellion, decay, and delusion. When the human face is replaced with masks—literal or cosmetic—it often signifies a desire to hide from accountability, to escape from truth, or to recreate the self in one’s own image. The tragedy is not the costume—it is what the costume covers: a heart that no longer wants to reflect the glory of God, but seeks to exalt itself in rebellion, self-expression, and indulgence.
This obsession with visual transformation is not a new sin—it is an ancient one. In Eden, Satan’s lie to Eve was not merely about fruit. It was about identity. “You shall be like God,” he whispered (Genesis 3:5). In that moment, Eve stopped trusting her Creator’s design and began to seek a new identity through self-assertion. The fall was not just a moral collapse; it was the beginning of the human identity crisis. Ever since, mankind has been trying to clothe itself with something other than God’s righteousness. The fig leaves of Genesis 3 were only the beginning. Today, they come in the form of latex bodysuits, glitter beards, painted faces, and curated digital personas.
But the deeper crisis is not physical—it is metaphysical. In glam rock and drag performance alike, we see the triumph of fantasy over reality. And fantasy, when it is used to reject what is real, becomes a form of rebellion. There is a difference between childlike imagination and adult delusion. The latter attempts to replace what God has declared true with what the self desires to be true. Fantasy becomes a tool of the flesh, a mask for the old man, a camouflage for sin. When a man pretends to be a woman—especially with grotesque exaggeration—he is not liberating himself; he is enslaving himself to a lie. When a musician dresses as a devil or beast to entertain, he is not being “edgy”; he is participating in the aesthetic of hell.
Romans 1 paints the portrait clearly: humanity, having rejected the knowledge of God, is given over to a debased mind. They exchange the truth of God for a lie and worship created things rather than the Creator (Romans 1:25). That exchange happens not only in temples, but on stages, in clubs, on runways, and behind social media filters. Our generation is not the first to play dress-up in the ruins of paradise. But it may be the first to do so with high-definition lighting and commercial sponsorships. The image of God is being exchanged for images of fantasy. Truth is being replaced with feeling. Male and female are not seen as fixed gifts of divine design, but as costumes to be worn or discarded based on preference.
This is why, as ministers of the Gospel, we must speak with both compassion and conviction. We are not appalled because someone wears eyeliner or flamboyant clothes; we are concerned because we see an image-bearer trying to erase the very image they were made to reflect. When a person chooses a stage persona over their soul, they are crying out—not for condemnation, but for truth. And that truth cannot be found in the mirror after three hours of makeup. It cannot be discovered in the cheers of an approving crowd. It can only be revealed through the person of Jesus Christ, who alone can clothe the naked soul with righteousness and restore what has been deformed by sin.
Fantasy is not freedom. Denial of reality is not liberation. The more a person clings to an identity that rejects God’s design, the more they become enslaved to unreality. Whether in the form of animalistic performers in glam metal or hyper-sexualized drag personas, what we see is not authenticity—it is avoidance. It is the fig leaf repackaged in glitter and neon, but still insufficient to cover the shame and confusion that lies underneath.
Clothed in Christ, Called by Name: The Hope for the Disguised and Disoriented #
In contrast to the confusion, disguise, and disordered identity performances of our age, Scripture offers something breathtakingly real: the promise that we can be known, loved, and made new—not by becoming something we are not, but by being restored to what we were created to be. The Gospel does not invite us into a costume party. It calls us into the light. It strips away false selves and fantasy identities, and it clothes us in something far more permanent than sequins or eyeliner. It clothes us in Christ.
The Apostle Paul writes in Galatians 3:27, “For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ.” The Greek word used here—enduo—means to sink into a garment, to be enveloped, as with a robe or a new skin. This is not performance. It is transformation. It is not makeup hiding what’s underneath, but regeneration that remakes what’s within. The clothing of Christ is not merely moral; it is ontological. It reshapes identity itself. No longer defined by rebellion, trauma, confusion, or fantasy, the believer becomes a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17). The Gospel does not put us in drag; it dresses us in dignity.
In Christ, we are not merely reassigned or rebranded. We are reborn.
This is the offer we extend—not just to those in the pew, but to those backstage, those in costume, those performing their identities under lights and illusions. The drag queen is not too far gone. The glam rocker is not beyond grace. The human soul, no matter how heavily painted or masked, is still within reach of the One who sees beneath the disguise and calls the real person by name.
This truth is essential for those of us who minister in this generation. We are not called to sneer at those in fantasy—we are called to engage them with truth. But our engagement must be rooted in the kind of love that does not flatter lies. Sentimentality masquerading as compassion does not rescue souls; it damns them with a smile. We must be a people who can weep for the confused without affirming the confusion, who can speak tenderly without wavering from the Word. Jesus did not affirm the woman at the well’s lifestyle, but He did offer her living water. He did not mock the demoniac, but He did call the legion out. He did not walk past the tax collector’s booth, but He did say, “Follow Me.”
To be clear: this means we must reject the modern impulse to reduce ministry to affirmation. People do not need affirmation of their self-constructed identities. They need a Savior who knows them better than they know themselves. As Paul reminds the Colossians, our “life is hidden with Christ in God” (Colossians 3:3). That is the greatest contradiction to modern identity performance. The world says, “Express yourself.” Christ says, “Die to yourself, and find your real self in Me.”
Our message to the man in drag or the rocker in spikes must be the same: “You were made for more. Not for costumes, not for confusion, not for crowds—but for Christ.” We say it with tears, not with mockery. With firm conviction, not with fear. With biblical truth, not cultural compromise.
So how do we minister in this moment?
First, we must learn to look past appearance and speak to the soul. Yes, the glitter may be loud. The persona may be bold. But beneath it is often a very quiet cry: “Who am I, really?” Let us never be so distracted by the costume that we forget to preach the Gospel to the person inside it.
Second, we must root our congregations in the doctrine of creation. Male and female, made in the image of God, is not an optional starting point—it is the very foundation of personhood. If our people are not taught the beauty of biblical manhood and womanhood, they will be swept up in the distortions of a culture that treats gender like theater props and reality as optional.
Third, we must recover a theology of the body. God gave us bodies as good gifts—not raw material for reconstruction, but temples for redemption. We cannot preach the Gospel of the cross while accommodating ideologies that mutilate, deny, or mock the body that God created and declared “very good.”
Finally, we must be patient, persistent, and prayerful. The strongholds of identity confusion are not broken by social media debates or pulpit jabs. They are broken by the Spirit of God working through the faithful proclamation of the Word and the love of the Church. The most powerful thing you can do for someone in costume is to love them enough to tell the truth—and to stay long enough to walk with them through the messy journey to freedom.
Conclusion: Reality, Redemption, and the Return of the True Self #
When Christ returns, there will be no makeup mirrors. No glittering stages. No false selves. The masquerade of this age will be over. But for those who are in Him, there will be no shame either. Only light. Only truth. Only freedom.
“He who overcomes shall be clothed in white garments,” the Lord says in Revelation 3:5, “and I will not blot out his name from the Book of Life; but I will confess his name before My Father and before His angels.”
There is your true identity. Not in leather or lace. Not in applause or affirmation. Not in gender expression or stage performance. But in the Lamb’s Book of Life.
This is the Gospel we preach. This is the hope we offer. Let us be ministers who weep for the masked, preach to the lost, and wait with joy for the day when all false selves fall away, and only the image of Christ remains.
