Hairless Bitches

Johnathon emailed a link yesterday to a page in the London Paper called the Columnist. It is a guest article with writers who change from week to week, and it just so happens that this week it was written by a gay “39-year old banker”. Hmmm. You can almost see where this is heading.

The gist of his argument, inelegantly presented in a rant, is that he hates it when people live up to stereotypes, in particular the prancing, shaven, luvvy image conveyed by certain sections of the gay community. It is interesting how he prefaces his verbal stream of consciousness with a statement that he is all for diversity, before single-handedly dismantling any claim to reasonable thought.

Yet, stripping off the offensive words, is there a kernel of truth? I worry that some of what he is trying to say resonates somewhat even with liberal ol' me. What I have often discovered, however, is that in the wise old words of Yoda "fear leads to hate". That is, if I dislike something it is because, for some reason, I fear it.

So let's break it down. I remember feeling uncomfortable around a similarly outrageous friend of mine. We were at university and he invited me down to his flat in London for a night out to celebrate his birthday. He was always a live wire, but the time away from home meant that he could really experiment. That night all sorts of chemicals were inhaled, before my friend changed into his sequinned g-string worn under a tartan miniskirt, before heading out to the clubs. I have always been more of a Gap dresser, so in my button-down Oxford and chinos we certainly made an odd couple on the tube. He of course had no problems with the way he looked, but I felt more than a little self-conscious sitting by him. I really didn't understand why he needed to buy into that whole "camp gay" persona.

The reality is that I was not comfortable enough in my own sexuality to cope with being in close proximity to him; that (oh noes!) other people might think that all gay men behave like that, or worse that other people might think that I behave like that!

So the problem was not with my friend, but with me.

London has one of the most diverse gay scenes in the universe. On a night out in Soho it is easy to be misled that the gay community only consists of twinks, bears, muscle marys and whatever group current terminology has a description for. But there are many, and arguably larger, groups for which no label exists and that includes those gay men who are not image-driven and therefore meld seamlessly into the background of humanity which is this great city. I'm thinking of the majority of the members of the Front Runners for example.

The really good news is that whether you subscribe to a label or not, none of these groups is exclusive. Even better, when you are in a social group like the Pink Singers, you'll find that everyone mingles with everyone else without any preconceptions. My experience of gay men in London does not jibe at all with the columnist's.

If, in the end if this 39-year old banker hates "faggy duchesses" then he really needs to ask himself why he feels insecure about them, and then he really needs to get out more!

P.S. The picture of the hairless bitch accompanying this post is in fact a Chinese crested dog, the most famous of which is Halston, Amanda's dog in Ugly Betty. Hey, I too can be a faggy duchess!