From a country mouse to a sensational drag-star. GayIceland’s Magdalena Lukasiak sits down with Gógó Starr to talk about chosen family, identity, ambition, and the community work that happens before the spotlight hits.
For several years I had the privilege of accompanying Gógó Starr – on stage, backstage, in glitter, sweat, triumph and the moments full of adrenaline between shows. We shared unforgettable shows, conversations with queer artists from all over the world, and memories that grew into a portrait of an artist who is not only one of the most important figures in Iceland’s drag world, but also a fiercely passionate creator spreading their wings far beyond Iceland’s borders. Gógó is a person shaped by love for art and community, someone who found their chosen family within the queer scene and, in turn, helped that scene become what it is today: bold, tender, fearless, and transformative.
This conversation was carried out as part of my long-term project Family Portrait, a documentary exploration of queer communities, their stories and the beauty of chosen family. What follows is a conversation with an artist whose impact reaches far beyond performance, into the very heart of queer culture in Iceland.
Magdalena Lukasiak: “How did the drag and queer scene in Iceland begin for you? When did you start performing, and why?”
Gógó Starr (Sigurður Heimir Starr Guðjónsson): “I started around 2010 in Akureyri (a town in northern Iceland). That was when I first took my steps in drag, and also when I was coming out of the closet. I was very much a country mouse, before moving to Reykjavík, I’d been here maybe ten times in my life, because most of my family is outside the city.
When I finally moved in 2014, I had this grand idea about Reykjavík nightlife. I imagined it being vibrant, creative and queer… and instead, it was crickets. Nothing was happening.
In 2015 I decided to take part in the Icelandic National Drag Pageant, at that time the only official drag event of the year, and it had been like that since the early 2000s.
There was a strong drag scene in the 90s, driven by Páll Óskar and others, but after he became a big pop star, the drag scene slowly faded. It became rare and mostly private gigs rather than public shows. The annual competition felt like the last heartbeat keeping drag alive in Iceland.
I won that year, and I wanted to use the title and momentum to build something.
A group of us, contestants from that year, former participants, and performers from the 90s, started making shows. We had no idea what we were doing. Tickets were 1,000 krónur, no one was getting paid, and we were just doing it for the love of drag and for a stage to perform on.
At first our audience was mainly straight girls obsessed with Drag Race and tourists. We barely had to advertise, the shows just filled up, because we were the only drag shows in town. It became obvious there was a market. Before we knew it, we had monthly shows, then shows every other week, themed shows, and Drag Lab, an open-mic style event where anyone could sign up.
Drag allowed me to explore femininity for the first time in a way that was celebrated instead of punished. In drag, suddenly I was the queen, I was powerful, respected. It was empowering, and I want other people to feel that too.
Eventually we could actually pay performers, hire photographers and videographers, because documentation is so important. We create magic in a moment – fireworks, memories – but without documentation, it disappears. And artists deserve credit for their work.”
Magdalena: “How many drag children do you have?”
Gógó: “I have six right now. Not all of them are active, and some are even older than me, which is funny. I definitely became a mother too early in my career, while still figuring out my own voice and style. So at first it felt more like being partners in crime. Now I feel more like a mother or grandmother to the scene. So many people in Icelandic drag today are building on what we started back then.”
There was always a feeling of danger, bullying or violence if I was too visible. So I stayed quiet for a long time.
Magdalena: “And you encouraged so many people to do drag. It’s visible. Can you tell me more about Tiny Gógó, born in Akureyri?”
Gógó: “Drag helped me realize who I am. It’s such a transformative art form, especially for queer people who struggle with gender. Drag allowed me to explore femininity for the first time in a way that was celebrated instead of punished. Growing up, being feminine was always seen as something negative. In drag, suddenly I was the queen, I was powerful, respected. It was empowering, and I want other people to feel that too.
I could probably have become more successful if I had focused only on myself, but community building has always been more important to me than becoming “the famous one.” I never wanted it to be The Gógó Show. I wanted a scene, a family, a community. And now it really is my chosen family.
The audience is also part of that, people seeing drag for the first time and being completely transformed. That connection is everything.”
Magdalena: “The level of drag and queer performance in Iceland is incredible, considering how small this country is.”
Gógó: “Absolutely. Icelandic performers are world-class. The scene is small, but that means we collaborate, drag, burlesque, circus, pole dancers, sex workers, comedians. We all work together because we have to. That creates stronger multidisciplinary performers. We should be proud of that.”
Even in the last two years, I’ve learned more about my non-binary identity and connected the dots. It’s ongoing evolution.
Magdalena: “You grew up in Akureyri, what was it like to discover your queerness there?”
Gógó: “Akureyri always felt too small for me. Not in a painful way, but I never really fit. My childhood and family life were loving and supportive, but only two people in my family are openly queer, so it was hard for my closest family to understand.
Everyone kind of knew I was queer. Coming out wasn’t dramatic, more like: if anyone was surprised, where have you been? But there was always a feeling of danger, bullying or violence if I was too visible. So I stayed quiet for a long time.
When I went to upper secondary school, I saw it as a chance to bloom. Around the same time I started drag, I created space for myself. It’s been a constant process of discovery. Even in the last two years, I’ve learned more about my non-binary identity and connected the dots. It’s ongoing evolution.”
Magdalena: “What does drag mean to you?
Gógó: “Drag has become the basis of who I am. It combines everything I loved as a kid, acting, design, makeup, costume, lighting, directing, editing. There are no limits, gender boundaries disappear, and you can build every fantasy you imagine.
Find your community and safe space. It can be very hard in small towns, but if you can’t find it, you can build it.
Drag gives a limitless confidence. Gógó is basically me turned up to 270 percent. Drag taught me how to stand in myself and be confident. Now that confidence lives in my daily life too.
Recently I’m moving away from traditional drag illusion. I perform more non-binary, androgynous, sometimes masculine. Sometimes I don’t tuck, I don’t pad, I wear short wigs. And it’s still Gógó. It still resonates. Also, drag is uncomfortable, if I’m doing it several times a week,
I want to be comfortable! Unless you pay me very well, then maybe I’ll suffer a little.”
Magdalena: “What advice would you give young Siggi, or someone growing up queer in a difficult environment?”
Gógó: “As cheesy as it sounds: there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. There is something wrong with the world. Find your community and safe space. It can be very hard in small towns, but if you can’t find it, you can build it. You deserve to exist freely.”
If you wanna see Gógó Starr here you can find information about upcoming shows, great time guaranteed!
