Cunning Stunt Is Putting NYC Drag Kings Center Stage
As a host, producer, and performer, Cunning Stunt is bringing drag king culture to the front of the room with grit, humor, and unapologetic bravado.
By: Alexander Kacala
There’s just something cunning about Mr. Stunt.
Drag kings have never gotten the same love as their queen counterparts. Too often relegated to the margins of drag history, one performer is on a mission to change that — drastically. Enter Cunning Stunt.
The host and emcee commands any room he enters, armed with huge cojones and even bigger bravado. As the producer behind Manhattan’s only drag king bingo, drag king revue, and drag king competition — say that three times fast — Cunning Stunt is centering his art form with the grit, humor, and showmanship it deserves. His work doesn’t just demand attention; it makes the case for kings as an essential part of NYC queer culture.
From his home base at Club Cumming, he continues to defy expectations of what is possible for a drag king performer. And now, as a new docuseries profiles his work, his story is not only taking over New York City — it’s reaching the world.
How would you describe Cunning Stunt to someone who has never seen you perform?
Stunt is a rock star, a heartthrob, a lothario, and somehow also has the energy of a ’70s game show host. My shows are high-energy, funny — I hope — a little raunchy, but ultimately built to be fun for both the people who come every week and the people seeing their first drag show ever. I want them to feel like you’re spending the night in the living room of your most eccentric friend: someone who somehow has connections to every traveling circus that passes through town, and, lucky for you, they all happen to be in town when you’re visiting.
Your work feels rooted in humor, spectacle, and a certain kind of downtown mischief. What are queer audiences craving right now?
Audiences are craving the experience of live performance where you are taken out of the hum-drum of day to day life and taken to a place of magic where anything can happen. Life is hard right now, people are scared of the future and the present, and living in un-certainty in so many ways. Audiences are coming to drag shows to be close to the magic, drag artists will come right up to you the way a performer in traditional theater won’t. We break the fourth wall, we want you there in the fantasy with us.
New York nightlife has always rewarded reinvention. How has Cunning Stunt evolved since you first started performing?
Stunt has had many iterations over the years. When I first started out, I had this Village People thing going on where each show I was a different kind of traditionally masculine laborer: a trucker, a boxer, a sailor, a tiger wrangler.
Then in 2023, another performer told me I needed to start adding more rhinestones to every single thing I owned if I wanted to take the next step in my career. From there, this suave rock star came to life, and he has been taking up my closet and most of my money ever since. My sincerest apologies to the environment for the amount of rhinestones I’ve used in the last three years.
What is something people misunderstand about nightlife performers or drag artists?
The idea that our art is inherently sexual. I’ve seen people perform as caterpillars, aliens, deli workers making full sandwiches on stage, and Grimace from McDonald’s. Drag can be sexy, of course, but it can also be absurd, political, theatrical, stupid, brilliant, and completely unexpected.
There’s also a very tired line of thinking that drag kings are less marketable, less creative, or less hard-working than our drag queen counterparts, and that could not be further from the truth. Start casting drag kings. You will love what you see on stage — and so will your audiences
Tell me more about your home of Club Cumming.
Club Cumming truly feels like my home away from home. When I walk into that dressing room in the base-ment, it is absolutely the most comfortable place in New York City for me outside of my apartment.
There are people who come week after week to see me at bingo, or once a month for our drag king and thing revue, Throne. I get to check in on the parts of their personal lives they’ve shared with me, and over time those relationships become real friendships. They extend beyond the club — the kind of friendships where you know you can call each other for a chat, a favor, or just to share what’s actually going on in your life.
The bartenders have become truly close friends, too. People at Club Cumming share this indomitable desire to live life to the fullest: take risks, take their moment in the spotlight, try something new, and generally have good old-fashioned, real-life fun.
A new docuseries recently followed you and some of your fellow performers from the club. What was it like to have your story shared with a wider, global audience?
The response to the show has been so wonderful. I had someone come to one of my bingos who is a gender and sexuality studies major from Amsterdam, getting a graduate degree focused on drag artists who were assigned female at birth. She told me she had been watching every episode and wanted to come meet me. Then, just this week, a group of four people from Kansas came in and said they had watched the show, fallen in love with me, and made it a point to come see me at bingo during their vacation. It’s been a trip. I’ve been so touched to meet people who saw the show and then wanted to come have their own experience at the club.
And of course, Pride can be celebration, protest, marketing, memory, and survival all at once. In 2026, what does “Pride” mean to you at this point in your life?
This year, I want Pride to be a celebration as a form of resistance. I want queer people to have spaces and events where they can find their joy, find each other, feel less alone, and discover some sense of safety in an uncertain world by building community. For young queer people to use this time not only to party, but to learn more about queer history and think about who they want to surround themselves with for the rest of the year.
I want Pride to be a moment for us to ask how we can better support our friends and loved ones, both in moments of joy and in moments of emergency. I want us to think about what the future can look like when we have the strength and bravery to stand firm in who we are, who we love, how we take up space, and how we move through the world as queer people.
For me, Pride 2026 should be a warm, sunny, bright reminder that no one is an island. There is always someone you can reach out to for help, even when it feels uncomfortable.
Have a dance, have a drink, and remember that the future is brighter when we stick together.
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