Shopping with Donnarama - Coat hangers in poodle purses. Mom sold her Barbie on eBay. Don’t expect anything from Pottery Barn.

“This is bullshit,” says drag sensation Donnarama, harking back to her time as a tiny tot before the altar of the Christmas tree. “Since I was three I just didn’t believe in Santa Claus. He’s coming into the house. Really? Where? Think about it.”

That was back when her grandma would freak out over her drag routines, and give her boys’ underwear and socks for Christmas. These days, her blend of drag and theatricality has snagged her the titles of Miss 501, the Queen of Grapefruit, Queen of the Tubs, Queen of Halloween and Smirnoff Twisted Superstar. “Now I can buy the underwear I like,” says Donnarama.

She’s also buying presents for others. “I’m shopping for whatever friends I can make by Christmas, and for the family I never had,” she says.

Just don’t expect anything from the Gap or Pottery Barn.

She’s forgone her trademark looks on this day – Courtney Love, Sandra Bernhard and Barbra Streisand give way to a bright green wig, plaid Catholic schoolgirl skirt and a pair of shit-kicker boots. With a purse in the shape of a poodle tossed over one shoulder, white spikes bursting from her chest and a one-two-three snap of her fingers, she’s ready to do her holiday shopping.

This working girl makes a living off drag (“I refuse to wait tables. I am not doing that”), and since forcing her underage way onto an open stage at Buddies in Bad Times Theatre at 17, she’s learned to stretch her pennies (among other things.) Her philosophy: quick and cheap. Presumably, she’s referring to Christmas shopping.

The first stop for this self-described “Linda Blair” of the city’s drag scene: the Silver Snail (367 Queen St. W.), Toronto’s premier comic book emporium. “This place is perfect for the mad collector, from kids to your grandmother.”

Or in this case, her friend Stephan. “He looks like Velma from Scooby Doo,” she confides, a moment later wailing, “I am so not going to have any friends after this! Oh look, Texas Chainsaw Massacre! I loved that movie!”

She picks up an action figure of the villain from the flick, encased in a fancy box with a fold-out front, about a foot in height (just the size she likes). Her eyes widen with excitement – until she spots the price, $52.99. The box goes back on the shelf. A naked doll named “Adam” ($27.99), covered only by a strategically placed fig leaf, fares little better. “At least it’s not a blow-up doll,” she says.

There are replicas of swords and battle axes from the Lord of the Rings movies, but they’re tied down, so she settles for posing with a couple of life-sized busts of orc heads ($279.99).

In the end, she breezes past the cashier, scooping up a free poster left over from the Fantasy World Wide International Film Festival, without buying a thing. “It’s the thought that counts,” she insists. Pulling out her shopping list – a veritable who’s who of naughty and nice, including Miss Conception, Sofonda and, of course, Donnarama herself – she checks off Stephan. As for her blood family, her sister and mother, they live in London, England and Vancouver, respectively. “We’ll talk on the phone, that’s good enough,” she says. Snap, snap, dismissed, no phone card in sight. And then, like a crow catching the sparkle of some tin foil, she points into the back of a black Jeep.

“Madonna’s new CD!” Faster than you can say “on Donder, on Blitzen,” a coat hanger appears from within her poodle purse, and she’s shoving it down the Jeep’s window well. Within minutes, the advance release copy of the CD is in hand, and Miss Conception is checked off the list. “She needs new music,” Donnarama says of the DQ whom she calls “my Rhoda.” Donnarama hails a cab, safely nestling into the back seat. Through the cab’s rear window, cop cars can be seen converging on the aforementioned Jeep, sirens wailing. Donnarama flicks her tongue like Santa’s whip.

“To Dollarama!” she commands.

She pulls out her list, checks it twice, then circles her own name with a glitter pencil.

“Well I really am a gift to Church Street,” she insists defensively, explaining how buying things for herself is really a way of giving back to the community. “And without Dollarama there would be no Donnarama.” Among other things, she’s found a resin cross that “miraculously” survived hundreds of her shows without breaking. “God was saying go ahead, wear this.”

So from the Silver Snail’s geek chic, she turns to Dollarama’s (730 Yonge St.) trailer trash, where, she says, “the comparative pricing can’t be beat.” Her fake eyelashes flutter at the long hypnotic rows of everything a shopper could desire, from red Christmas bows to cans of garbanzo beans. With everything costing a loonie apiece, and with all purchases destined for her own closet, Donnarama stocks up: glue gun, glue gun refills, duct tape, hair scrunchies and, of course, a dog bone and dog bowl for her poodle purse.

And just when things seemingly couldn’t get any more tragic, she announces her final destination: Goodwill (345 Bloor St. E.). Located inside the Greenwin Square mall, it’s Dollarama with higher ceilings, higher prices, more clothes, less bric-a-brac, wider aisles and the reek of dust. But Donnarama touts its virtues: “If you don’t want new, trendy shit, if you want stuff that you can’t get in regular stores, this is the place to come.”

“Maybe I can find some pantyhose ($1) still in the packaging,” she says.

But her best find ever at a used stuff store was an old-school Barbie doll in a striped bathing suit, from when Barbie was “wicked and her eyes were turned to the side.” She gave it to her mom as a present, and then, curious to see how much it was worth, she went on eBay, where Mom had already posted it. “It sold for a lot. Let’s just leave it at that.”

With no Barbies in sight, she dives into a bin of wigs, $2.99 each. She holds one up. It would look perfect on drag king Man Murray. Unfortunately, Donnarama’s shopping for Sofonda Cox. “She can make anything out of anything,” Donnarama insists, though, holding an auburn wig in hand, even she looks doubtful. But she dismisses any naysaying with a Cher-like flick of her neon green hair. “She’ll have to work with what she gets.” That said, there are limits, which Donnarama seems loath to admit while browsing through potential footwear for Sofonda. No matter how talented Miss Cox might be at forcing big things into small spaces, it’ll take more than a shoehorn for her to squeeze into a pair of faux-snakeskin boots ($9.99), and it will take a team of spin doctors to save her credibility if she manages to zip them up.

“What credibility?” Donnarama asks as she tosses the boots into a shopping cart. With a sigh, she cashes out, glad to have made it through another year as one of Santa’s little elves, and not a moment too soon. “I’ve got to get out of here. My Botox is wearing off as we speak!”

Disclaimer: No crimes were actually committed on this shopping excursion. fab in no way condones breaking and entering. Certain details have been exaggerated and fictionalized for narrative purposes. Obviously, Donnarama would never bother to give Miss Conception a CD, let alone an advance copy of Madonna’s latest (available at HMV, 50 Bloor St. W, for $25.99 as of press time).

Steven Bereznai is a Toronto writer. He is currently completing a book about being gay and single, which is due in spring 2006.