Finding flow through art: a conversation about drag and life with Michał Sienkiewicz

Kamila Knap, Shroom:  How did Michał turn into Babsi Bonér?

Michał Sienkiewicz: Michał Sienkiewicz: It all started about fifteen years ago, when we were making videos just for fun. I had a flatmate at the time and used her makeup. Naturally, it looked pretty rough — like it does for anyone at the very beginning of their drag journey. I wrapped myself in a piece of curtain fabric and we recorded our own take on a shampoo commercial that was popular back then. That video is still up on YouTube.

Later, we made a series of cooking videos, clearly inspired by Magdalena Gessler. At that point, Babsi was called Babsi Eisenhower von Schlafmacht – an Austrian woman working in Germany, in a retirement home. That was the original backstory of the character.

Then, for a long time, nothing really happened. I moved to Gdynia to study acting, worked on various theatre projects, and Babsi sort of disappeared – until the pandemic. I think the pandemic shook all of us. Suddenly, everyone started asking themselves what they actually wanted to do, and whether what they were doing made any sense at all.

That’s when I called Papina McQueen, who is my unofficial drag mother — although she insists on being called my manager. We met up for a makeup session and started talking. I also sent an email to the Kultura dla Tolerancji Foundation, proposing a collaboration.

At first, nothing came of it. Then, in 2022, Papina called me and told me I had three weeks to prepare for a drag revue. The foundation runs a show called The Only Drag Queen Revue in Poland. That was Babsi’s first performance in this new form.

That’s also when Babsi got a new name. We brainstormed it together with my friends. Eventually, we landed on Bonér – a mix of something vaguely French, the Boner family and their historic townhouse in Kraków, and, well… an erection.

I think the pandemic shook all of us. Suddenly, everyone started asking themselves what they actually wanted to do, and whether what they were doing made any sense at all.

That’s exactly how I read it.

Of course – it’s meant to be a double entendre. Very deliberately. I also had a strong desire to break away from the machinery of institutional theatre. Especially in musical theatre, you’re part of a system. It’s a small world, everyone moves in the same circles, you audition, you either get cast or you don’t, and then you fit into an existing structure.
You’re still inside the machine, with limited control over many things. Drag is the opposite. In drag, you’re the captain, the sailor, and the ship all at once. You set the tone of the character yourself and build it from the ground up – obviously within your financial limits, but that’s a separate issue.

In drag, you’re the captain, the sailor, and the ship all at once. You set the tone of the character yourself and build it from the ground up.

You have strong artistic training, formal education, and solid stage skills. That must have helped when creating Babsi.

It definitely did – but drag is still a completely different territory. When it comes to technical things, like walking in heels, I had to learn everything from scratch. I know how to command a stage, but doing that in a costume, with a padded chest, a wig, and high heels is a whole new challenge.

Walking in high heels is a challenge for anyone.

Absolutely. And when you also have to dance or actually do something on stage, trust me – you start with very small “training heels,” five centimeters at most.

I believe you. I went through a heels phase once, but the last time I wore them for more than an hour was probably ten years ago. Now I just have one emergency pair – strictly for elegant sitting.

Every time I wear heels, my feet and legs start hurting. Heels are a patriarchal invention. I always feel sorry for women and say, honestly, this is terrible and it shouldn’t be this way. I completely understand the pain – and why people switch shoes at weddings.
At the same time, beyond the discomfort, heels are also a symbol of femininity. They’re meant to elongate the legs. They create the illusion of femininity that I’m aiming for. They change the way you walk, push the hips back – they add a lot, visually and physically.
For me, femininity has always been associated with freedom – above all, emotional freedom.

Femininity, for me, has always meant freedom – especially emotional freedom.

 

I have a very down-to-earth question. I know you went back to university and are starting a new professional chapter. What is it like to live off art?

It’s hard – I’ll be honest. I work one quarter-time at a café called Nowa Prowincja in Kraków. That quarter-time job is what keeps one toe on the ground. It gives me some stability – health insurance, a tiny contribution toward a pension, although I don’t really believe in pensions.

An artistic life is a life lived from project to project. Sometimes you work on things that don’t pay, but help you grow. And everything in between is just… everyday life. The grey zone.
I went back to university for two reasons: as a safety net, to gain new skills, and also simply because I wanted a master’s degree – just for myself.

How do you maintain balance in all of this? How do you not lose your mind in such a project-based, artistic lifestyle?

I won’t be original here. Sleeping eight hours, moving your body – yoga or workouts. And, very importantly, keeping distance from the hustle culture that’s extremely strong in Poland. There’s this constant pressure to be doing something.

Sometimes it feels like we’re being ruled by a group of ADHD-powered decision-makers (laughs). You just have to slow down sometimes. It’s important to make space for rest. When I finish a project, I reward myself by going away for a week somewhere, to process everything, calm down, and come back with fresh energy.
Sometimes I need to stop thinking altogether – stop analysing what I haven’t done yet or what still needs to be done. Just be here and now. I know it sounds cliché, but it’s genuinely very important to me.

In theory, everyone knows this. But the real question is how many people can actually ground themselves in the present moment and truly rest. That’s an art in itself.

Going on Erasmus gave me that experience. You’re suddenly in a foreign country, speaking a different language, relearning how to function from scratch. You focus on what’s here and now: where to buy bread – good bread – in Portugal, where to grab a coffee, where to eat a pastry. The simplest things.

There’s also communication. You have to speak English, and sometimes search for Portuguese words. That really changes the way you think. At first, I had this feeling that I was losing my identity. In Poland, I have my life – drag, acting, a café I can always come back to. And suddenly, none of that is there.

So the question becomes: do you try to rebuild everything, or do you let go? I’m very much in favour of letting go. At the beginning, I felt like I’d lost my tools – the things that give you confidence and energy. But then I thought: okay, this is different. Here, I’m a student. I need to focus on what’s happening right now.
It’s not that I’m losing my identity. I know I’ll regain it when I return – although, you never really know.

I even considered bringing Babsi with me, packing her into a suitcase. But drag comes with massive logistics: wigs, makeup, breasts, hip pads. It quickly turns into complete chaos.
This last return to Portugal was something I really looked forward to. My time in Poland had taken a real toll on me health-wise and because of the sheer intensity of everything. There was simply too much of it. I was genuinely relieved to come back and just breathe.

Apart from the pandemic, were there any turning points in your life that particularly shaped you?

I take what life brings me – and sometimes I don’t. That’s what life is for: trying things.

I’d say it was more of a fluid process. I try to go with the flow. I take what life brings me — and sometimes I don’t. That’s what life is for: trying things. Sometimes it works out, sometimes you say “okay, never mind” and try something else.
I think that approach is essential in my profession. Often, at first glance, something doesn’t feel right — a role, an event, a project. You’re not fully comfortable with it. But then I tell myself: jump in. See what happens. You can always turn it into something valuable.
That’s exactly what happened with Shroom. You called me, and on the one hand I thought, “okay,” and on the other — a million thoughts: what will this be, Babsi isn’t a model, I don’t even have a costume. And then that inner voice shows up saying, “this won’t work.” That’s exactly what they call the inner saboteur on RuPaul’s Drag Race.

You doubt yourself, you step into something, and suddenly it works. You prove to yourself that you can do it — and that pushes you forward.

Those negative voices usually speak louder than the positive ones.

They do — they’re much more categorical. But what’s beautiful about these processes is that you go in with doubts, and then suddenly there’s success. You feel relief and fulfilment because you see that things turned out well. You’ve proven to yourself that you’re capable — so you take the next step.
After a while, I realised there were turning points. Coming out was definitely one of them — exploring my sexuality and how I feel in the world.
I came out relatively late. I was 24, it was 2010. Even though there had been signs earlier, we were living in times when the word “faggot” functioned almost exclusively as an insult. No one explained that it was okay — that you could love someone of the same gender.
It was an internal struggle. And that’s when an early version of Babsi appeared — the feminine side could finally be released, it found fertile ground. And from there, things just kept unfolding.
Acting school was another battlefield. There was this idea that if you’re an actor and a man, you must perform masculinity in a specific way. I never fully agreed with that. I don’t believe imposing behaviour is healthy — it’s a projection of whoever is enforcing it.
Someone tells you: you have to be a man, don’t smile, be tough, sit there with a cigarette and look angry at the world because that’s what’s masculine. But I have a different definition of masculinity. So the key is finding a balance — performing something convincingly while still staying true to yourself.

Women have liberated themselves immensely, while some men seem to be stuck with this angry, macho model.

Yes — and often men do this to themselves. My instructor at school was a man, so he projected his own idea of masculinity onto us. But everyone is different. Everyone should be allowed to behave in a way that feels authentic.

Babsi helped me immensely on my path to liberation — and still does, including in my work as an actor. She unlocked resources I can draw from. She gives me distance, playfulness, and lightness.
Babsi is definitely not the end. I feel a sense of mission. I want to work toward normalising conversations about sex in Poland, because it’s still very much taboo. We’re raised through shame. Shame intertwined with religion is everywhere. You constantly hear: “it’s inappropriate,” “what will people say,” “you’re not allowed.”
Shame becomes a tool of upbringing. It follows us almost everywhere. That’s why I believe drag — especially when combined with themes of sex and the body — can truly demystify and disarm a lot of this.

For a long time in Poland, the only socially acceptable form of drag was a character like Genowefa Pigwa — a man in a headscarf, everything done with a wink. Now we have figures like Mateusz Glenn, “our auntie” from Instagram. That’s a kind of “half drag” — you can still clearly see the man, so it feels safe, because the illusion isn’t fully disrupted.
If the illusion of womanhood were complete, many people wouldn’t know how to react. Why? What for? It confronts them. And that says a lot about our society.

I often feel that Polish society is much more liberal than its politicians.

I see it at the shows. A lot of people over 50 come. I watch them having fun. Afterwards, a couple might approach me — a wife and her husband — and she’ll tell me he’s a local councillor somewhere near Białystok. That it was his first drag show, that he loved it, that his eyes were literally shining.
And suddenly you see a man who’s simply enjoying himself. That’s what it’s about. Drag is about joy. About letting go, relaxing, experiencing real entertainment.

Drag is an expensive sport

What challenges have you encountered along the way?

There’s one important thing I haven’t mentioned yet — drag is very expensive. Let’s be honest: you don’t really make money from drag in Poland. If a drag queen represents a high level, they usually have another well-paid job – in a corporation, or running their own business. Some form of independent capital.
It’s an expensive sport. Makeup, costumes, shoes, wigs, styling them – we’re talking thousands. Appearance costs money. For now, I manage thanks to friends and their support. It’s teamwork — a creative team — and I’m endlessly grateful for that.
Drag is also massive logistics. It’s not something you do alone. Sewing, costume construction — that requires time and skill. And drag adds another layer, because everything has to hold, shape the body, and look good on you.
Shoes are another issue. Size 44 in heels is not standard. Finding shoes in that size can be incredibly difficult. It takes a lot of flexibility – financially, logistically, organisationally — if you want to maintain quality and preserve the illusion of femininity.
But despite all of this, drag gives me immense joy. It gives me freedom, distance, and playfulness. And if I can use it to help someone unlearn something, offer a moment of ease, entertainment, or normality – then it’s absolutely worth it.
I don’t want this to sound like complaining. It’s more about showing both sides – the light and the heavy ones. That’s life, after all 🙂

Thank you for the conversation, Michał. One last question: what’s your favourite Shroom product?

Diva, obviously. The edible glitter completely won me over — and the deep flavour and colour. I’m obsessed. I drank litres of it during the shoot!

Michał Sienkiewicz

– “one of those Sienkiewiczes” – is a musical theatre actor. He graduated from the Polish State School of Musical Theatre (PPSWA) at the Musical Theatre in Gdynia and was closely affiliated with the theatre during his studies. He later collaborated with the Polish Theatre and Teatr Capitol in Wrocław. He currently performs at Teatr Groteska in Kraków and Teatr Nowy Proxima. Michał also holds a Master’s degree in Creative Writing & Media Content from the University of the National Education Commission (UKEN) in Kraków.

Babsi Bonér

– Michał’s drag queen stage persona. Babsi began her drag journey at The Only Drag Queen Revue in Poland and currently collaborates with venues such as Scena Berlin and Slay Space.
In 2025, Babsi became the face of the Shroom brand’s Diva product. She also took part in the 10th anniversary celebrations of The Only Drag Queen Revue in Poland at Tauron Arena Kraków and participated in two art exhibitions: Sleeping Beauty by Krzysztof Marchlak at MOCAK in Kraków, and PLAYGROUND, a video art project co-created with Agata Stępień, presented at Hinterconti Gallery in Hamburg.