On a train platform beneath a hulking grey slag heap, purple glitter coating Shelita Buffet's beard sends specks of light dancing onto the station's walls.
Passengers pulling in on the Indian Pacific ogle through their carriage windows - a six-foot-two vision in a rainbow wig, chest hair bunching out the top of a cartoonish dress.
For some, the drag queen is their introduction to the outback city of Broken Hill, the "spiritual home" of The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.
The Oscar-winning film is a tale of three drag queens, one of whom is transgender, travelling across the outback.
Its legacy endures in the remote NSW mining town three decades since its release in 1994.
But year-round tourism is stunted in the city because of a disconnect between the perceptions of some and the reality for LGBTQI people who live there, Shelita says.
To her mind, it's a missed opportunity.
"I've been really lucky to have these experiences and opportunities to have an environment to keep me here, whereas for other queer people living in Broken Hill, it can be really isolating," Shelita told AAP.
"There is this expectation of people travelling out here for queer spaces, performance art and stuff like that - but what are they actually doing when they get here?"
Some locals say that for Broken Hill, hosting an annual celebration of one of the queerest films of all time does not equate to celebrating LGBTQI people all year round.
Much like the characters in Priscilla, people in the LGBTQI community there have experienced horrific and sustained homophobic abuse, threats and assault, even in spaces where they are meant to feel safe.
The five-day Broken Heel Festival at the Palace Hotel, a location featured in Priscilla, attracts thousands of attendees and performers from across the country every September.
But it markets drag as something for everyone rather than something for the queer community.
Palace Hotel managing director and Broken Heel's creator Esther La Rovere is earnest about that pitch, saying the festival to her is a celebration of the film that gives people the perfect opportunity to tick the outback city off their bucket list.
The gift shop at the Palace, which is already preparing to celebrate Priscilla's "dirty 30th", sells cushions adorned with Priscilla character Bernadette's face and high-heel key chains.
Adjacent shopfronts are decked out with sequinned stilettos and mannequins dressed in feather boas, while the hotel's two Priscilla-themed hotel rooms are its most popular.
"My idea was, let's just have a party (as) if you were on your own Priscilla-inspired adventure and you rocked up at the Palace Hotel," Ms La Rovere told AAP.
"It has reinvigorated drag careers out here and we've certainly had new people from the community starting."
The festival has made queer people feel more part of their community and introduced audiences to drag performance art, Ms La Rovere says.
Shelita - also known as Brendan Barlow, owner of the Old Brewery at Broken Hill - says more dedicated safe spaces and social events could go a long way to encouraging LGBTQI people to stick around and contribute to the the outback city's local economy.
Resident drag queens continue to leave Broken Hill, making her one of the few remaining in the region.
"(Broken Hill) is not a place where you can just celebrate being yourself all the time," Shelita said.
"As a result, those performers that were here have left because they can live in an environment where they can feel like their lives are happier somewhere else."
Some in Broken Hill, such as mayor Tom Kennedy, don't see the need for dedicated safe spaces for the LGBTQI community.
"We're proud of being a tough mining town - proud of it," he told AAP.
"But we're also a very accepting, friendly town, so people don't really criticise other people, except for maybe football teams, that's about it.
"That's the only time you'll get that thing, so you don't actually need safe spaces."
Others in Broken Hill do not believe that people who associate the city with Priscilla also link it with the LGBTQI community.
Locals agree the film's allure is a hot commodity for Broken Hill, bringing in money every year and showing tourists what the outback has to offer.
But when the Broken Heel Festival finishes up, the frocks are packed away and the caravan moves on.
What's left is a few drag queens holding the torch, visitors whose expectations of the city's queer community don't match the reality, and the question of how much longer Priscilla's legacy will survive if nothing changes.
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This AAP article was made possible with the support of the Meta Australian News Fund and The Walkley Foundation.
