I mean, I guess. It's so sanitized and corporate, but what more can I expect from RuPaul?

This is supposed to be a memoir, but the interiority is so shallow that there's nothing to analyze. This is RuPaul's rags-to-riches story, wrapped in a liberal American dream messaging. There's nothing really here about RuPaul's complexity, or a sense that there is any reflection upon his life.

The most interesting potential of this book lies in its exploration of early drag culture, the nitty-gritty of the scene in the heart of New York City, the trauma of the AIDS crisis, the realization of his identity. There are only small glimpses; blink-and-you-might-miss-them moments that are soon interrupted by RuPaul distancing himself and holding the reader at arms-length in favor of flowery quotes that mean nothing.

The writing is so focused on trying to sound deeper than it really is, and it ends up becoming repetitive in a way that feels sloppy rather than intentional. The titular house of hidden meanings is meant to represent the ways that healing and connection sneak up on us, the way we find ourselves reflected in the spaces and people that we least expect. Because of its shallow interiority, the hidden meaning is... nothing. The most bare-bones reflections upon life that feel like sanitized quotes for RuPaul's Instagram rather than anything substantial.

RuPaul distances himself from everything that makes his story unique. The drag scene wasn't "his tribe", and it often felt like his only identity was wanting to be famous. His supermodel persona was simply a brand created to achieve his "destiny" of being a superstar, not something that meant anything to him. Because of this, everything he says must match that persona. Clean, programmed, with struggles that wrap up easily, no loose ends left untied.

His language constantly downplays the moments of his life that should be hard-hitting. His years-long addiction to cocaine, weed, and alcohol is minimized as "partying too hard". When his father confronts him about "hanging out with gay boys", he simply puffs out his chest and tells him off. There is no feeling behind anything he does, no meaning beyond painting himself the way he wants to be seen. Even his years of experience with homelessness breeze by in a blur as opportunities and remedies seemingly fall into his lap.

His entire legacy is summed up as another cookie-cutter American dream fantasy. Work hard, and you will be rewarded. If you try hard enough, and want something bad enough, you too can make it. Of course, this is his entire brand, his entire philosophy. Forward-moving, positivity, persona-as-armor. Unfortunately the RuPaul project is not something I am interested in buying into.

Personally, I expect something meaningful to come from memoirs, some type of reflection and reckoning with one's own life in its full complexity; the good, bad, and the ugly. I certainly think RuPaul has lived a life worth retelling, but this book might as well have been a fluff article for a tabloid magazine.