To me, the appeal of drag is not political, or revolutionary, or subversive, but something much more sweet and innocent. It represents the cathartic, liberating powers of dress-up. I’m lazy about fashion, and can barely be bothered to put pants on, let alone a full-on womanly outfit, but the allure of drag is clear to me. Even for those men who won’t touch the hem of their girlfriend’s dress, let alone wear one themselves, drag is a reminder that thinking about what you’re wearing, about fashion, is a joyous and liberating experience. If you haven’t before, guys (and, to a lesser extent, girls), try wearing a tie to a casual social function some time, or a nice hat. Or even just a nice pair of shoes. You will find that the mere act of thinking about your wardrobe for longer than it takes to look in the mirror and make sure you don’t have any boogers hanging out your nose changes the way you walk and talk. It puts a little snap in your step. And if one small gesture changes your stride that much, think what a slinky dress and heels might do…

This is what Taylor Mac made me think about at his one-man show last night. I didn’t care about his soap-boxing and his manic, screamy songs addressing politics and his own love life (sometimes in the span of one ditty.) In one, he sings about Lynn Cheney’s attendance at Saddam Hussein’s execution, imagining she looked into the dictator’s eyes as the poisonous gas streamed in to kill him. In another, an ex-lover accuses Mac of having “AfrAIDS” because he won’t have unprotected sex with him. The songs weren’t entirely un-listenable, but they were lyrically heavy-handed, and generally devoid of melody or tonal nuance. I may be digitally reamed for this comment, but I don’t think people would give them a second thought if Mac wasn’t outfitted as a cracked-out mermaid, replete with dazzling blue face-paint and nipple glitter.

It’s a testament to Mac’s abilities as a performer that all that stuff I didn’t care about made up at least half his show, and yet I still found it immensely enjoyable. He has a warm, vital presence that somehow feels both loud and intimate. He’s witty and charming and involves the audience without alienating people. In the evening’s most successful bit, he ran back and forth in giant leopard-print heels, strewing the stage with skirts, boas, and other drag paraphernalia. Then he called up several, extremely un-draggy Portland dudes, and made them sift through the rubble. “Find the Mylar, find the find the Mylar, find the Mylar…” he sang over and over again.

In another bit, he told the annoying camera crew in the house to stop snapping pictures (at this I wanted to shout “thank you, Taylor Mac!” (Question for PICA: why the hell do you have cameramen shooting 700 pictures at every performance? Has it occurred to you that a loud, constantly clicking camera might be annoying to both spectators and performers? Have you heard of “tech rehearsals,” which feature lights and costumes and the whole works, including ample photo opportunities that DON’T burden everyone involved, as they do in the thick of the actual performance?) Mac then hurled himself into a series of poses, encouraging the photographers to get it while they could.

His off-the-cuff verbal acuity (“I’ve never seen so many different white people,” he said to the crowd at one point, causing a wave of nervous laughter) and genuine, unadulterated love of drag was contagious, the physical manifestation of an overarching message that is, simply but refreshingly: Break out of your shell once in a while. Even a little bit. It’s good. Or, as Mac himself uttered near the end of his performance: “It’s not worth doing if it doesn’t make you nervous.”

Taylor Mac performs at the Northwest Neighborhood Cultural Center, 1819 NW Everett, tonight and tomorrow, September 10, at 6:30 pm. Buy tickets.