America’s last mass-produced export: Paranoia.
With Debt and Greed now battling to the death like a mongoose and a cobra in a crumbling garden of fading delights, it’s only manic suspicion tinged with primitive superstition that the U.S. seems capable of galvanizing to any real effect. Sure, xenophobia still makes for a fine bordeaux of self-contaminating dread — Muslims in the White House! Communism shackling the Free Market! Mexicans besmirching the snowy white, God-given face of the nation! — but it’s ultimately disdain for our own home-grown lusus naturae that’s the meat and potatoes entree of a diet built upon meaningless plenty gone sour. The greatest of all threats walks among us, your own neighbors and co-workers the agents of subversion bent on eradicating all you hold dear.
The discourse making the rounds in the wake of the wildly hypocritical Prop 8 passage comes down to homosexuality not having the cred to be a civil rights issue because it doesn’t hinge on skin color or other such physiognomy. Second class status is apparently the price tag attached to being a self-willed ethnicity. Heterosexuals have lives; gays have “lifestyles,” which I infer means owning luxury cars, eating quiche, and using “summer” as a verb.
So that makes it okay then.
Any member of the club will tell you that the real measure of our social mobility is our adeptness at navigating hetero circles without self-emblazoning the Scarlet G. Closeting is all about putting maximum effort into the artifice. Passing is a phenomenon not widely discussed yet oft-inadvertently inexperienced, one of which has allowed many of us access into sectors we couldn’t (or wouldn’t) normally breach. Watch as the wily queer instinctively employs his biological adaptation of Homoflage to mimic the herd and avoid detection. In a climate where you can still get sacked for being too light or too heavy in the loafers, a little edge that can allow you the jump on a heterosexual supremacist isn’t a bad ace to have up your sleeve. Don’t lie about the Gay — defy it. Nothing commences a slow burn more than when people assume that I have some innate proficiency for cosmetology or color swatching.
Most of us would prefer to just broach the topic organically, rather than shout it from the rafters — let’s face it, we’re expected to for better or worse, and not for our own good — in the hopes of avoiding the eye-rolling “F” word ( as in “Flaaaaamboooyant!”). We all know flaming Hets who have the luxury of candidness via their PDAs that we really don’t, and in milieu where gaydar isn’t hair-triggered, many of us who don’t embody the anticipated swish caricature may find ourselves mistaken for one of the Normals without even realizing it.
Since my early teens I’ve experienced both ends of the spectrum, the nadir of having to put my paw to the ground when the pack turns and the bemusement of slipping under the radar and being seen as one of the guys, a brief glimmer I know will have to come to an inevitable end. I was actually a decent athlete in high school. Still, it ended up being a wash when my prowess wasn’t enough to keep the boys’ club mentality from making it impossible for me to stick with.
I spent my entire senior year with “Fag” scrawled into my locker, which the administration just could never seem to find time to paint over. I, in turn, came to regard it as a Welcome To The Dollhouse-style outsider brand that did represent me accurately, if unfairly so. During my first semester of college, I reflexively lost all restraint and promptly hurled a fat fuck onto the ground after he passed me on the street, leaned in close to my ear, put his hand on my shoulder and odiously whispered “Don’t get too gay” (you had to be there).
It was just very important to me in that moment that he learn never to do that again.
Later, the curious flip-side that undermined all the Is-he-or-isn’t-he? backbiting I’d grown up with made me question just how marked on sight I truly was. Telltale gay aesthetics are no longer as conspicuous with straight guys cribbing our look, and the “tall, dark, and handsome” cliche of male allure seems old hat now that the new roster of male Hollywood sex symbols are likely to be fairer and feyer than in previous eras. We now possess a certain chameleonic leeway based not on our own enterprise, but on our dilution into a hetero culture inclined to sampling our cachet.
My first college roommate did a rather sudden about-face when his knockout of girlfriend — unaware of my status — casually called me handsome. It was just an offhanded pleasantry for her and me, but I quickly became Persona non grata with him and had to hit the bricks within the month. The reality that I was no sexual threat was moot; a better-looking and fitter guy had caught her eye if only for moment, and that was enough to make him insecure. My fraternal relationship with another straight classmate — always a bit too taken with being crowned the belle of ball — would invariably turn to an unspoken conflict whenever the ladies’ attentions would turn to me when we went out. I found myself starting to bristle when he’d resort to some crack aimed to feminize me. Het men are so much more fragile than we are (really, macho ego-stroking isn’t a deal-breaker for us), so I guess being outdone by a gay guy has to smack. Any way, I quit that mouthy bitch.
Not all homoflaging is that contentious. A female co-worker of mine once spontaneously declared her love for me, and the fact that a woman could be clit-happy for me left me stunned. Ever since I’ve felt pangs of frustration at how much easier it seems to be to attract women and how maddeningly inscrutable it is to get a man to like me. The lady crushes I’ve encountered haven’t been haggy. There’s something almost pheremonal about them, and they speak to the huge disconnection many of us harbor when it comes to our conceptions of how we attract. I envy/lust after men who can grow beards and have stitch-ripping racks, and I’ve always assumed straight women did too. The reality is that they’ll often experience a biological imperative that draws them to men who have pretty, sensitive features because that connotes a gentle prospective father/mate.
Small children have a similar parental response. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been in public, and strange little kids wave at me, clamp on to my leg, or walk right up to me with arms outstretched wanting to be picked up. Perfectly-balanced androgyny is apparently everybody’s turn-on (notice how a touch of peach lip gloss can transform Rachel Maddow from the hottest of geek boy heartthrobs into Jamie Lee Curtis), and for all my Paul Barresi handlebar ’stache aspirations, it’s my doe eyes and full lips that ironically grant me the most anthrosexual versatility.
As a death-knelling economy is leaving me few career options outside of street whore and crack whore, I have to venture beyond my urban comfort zone and into the suburban hell of continuing adult education — a twilight world between Gimli Hospital and the convoluted futility of an MC Escher lithograph — and dominion of the middle class housewife and working gal. Herein I anticipated would be the last place that homoflage would take effect, but I’m astounded how I’ve been able to bluff without even trying.
Neither my John Phillip Law circa Barbarella haircut or my use of adverbs (always a tell) have tipped-off. You’d think that a building full of church-going, married, middle-of-the-road women (the niche demographic lizard queen La Palin was focus-grouped to incarnate) would be hyper-aware of the great gay menace — for decades linked to every anti-homespun bogeyman of wretched excess like black magic, insanity, vampirism, Nazism, and the European noblesse — and its conspiracy to infiltrate and topple all American walks of life.
Yeah…not so much.
Chalk it up to an opaque boyishness on my part or their lack of practical experience with gay culture outside of Bravo, but what should be the human embodiment of a wedge issue is instead just the token male asked to reach up on high shelves or lift anything heavy — all the hackneyed manly banalities I can’t ever take for granted. As anti-gay hysteria becomes more grotesque in its desperation to cling to an idealized past that never was, so has its conception of gays become so warped that it can no longer even necessarily perceive the enemy on sight. In the meantime, I’m accepting cookies baked especially for me and getting checked out by the younger instructors until the moment arrives when I have to state what’s obvious only to me.
My bemused reply is always the same: “Yeah. You didn’t know?”
God… SERIOUSLY! lol
Wow…just, wow.
Well, I have to go to work and I’d like to revisit this, but in the meantime this sentence struck me as a particularly unstated truth: “I envy/lust after men who can grow beards and have stitch-ripping racks, and I’ve always assumed straight women did too. The reality is that they’ll often experience a biological imperative that draws them to men who have pretty, sensitive features because that connotes a gentle prospective father/mate.” And so the explanation of the continuation of the gay gene is layed out before us. We have evolved as a species, advanced as a species, with the gay gene and who knows where we would be biologically without it. Perhaps we would have self destructed, I don’t know. That’s why I laugh at the assertion of some anti-gay straights (supposedly straight) who claim homosexality is an abberation, even a scourge, when it couldn’t be farther from the truth. By the way Shawn, what you’ve observed occurs with great frequency in the lives of both male and female homosexuals.
Is it any wonder that so many gay, “confused” and bi guys have gotten married, especially in the past? Gay guys appeal to lots of women; the guys pick up on that and–bowing to social norms–get married. The guys with a stitch-ripping chest (I love that line) are great for a fantasy or a fling, but women don’t want to settle down with a narcissist. It’s not surprising to me that guys donning homoflage would engender such reactions.
Thanks for another great essay Shawn. Interesting insight into this phenomenon of an identity crisis we have going on here in the US. I have always been that guy that straight women are attracted to and want to be coupled with and only rarely the guy that other gay guys want to be coupled with. It sucks and someday I may just get the word gay tattooed across my forehead and end the madness. What have I got to lose?
I do love that the lines between gay and straight are being blurred – I think for all of us guys, gay and straight, it means a greater amount of authenticity in our expressions of self. But on the downside it means greater confusion for women who aren’t really sure if they’re barking up the right tree or not.
Your article is complex and needs a couple of more readings – but I think you’re onto something interesting here. Thank you!
This piece is really brilliant and moving and it’s writing like this that keeps me coming back to this site. Yes, the sarcasm and humor abound, and I could appreciate the snarkiness — but the point being made here should be carefully considered: “Perfectly-balanced androgyny is apparently everybody’s turn-on” … think about it, embrace it. We’ve been given an opportunity and it’s time we explore it more, psycho-spiritually. There’s more to queer life than white parties and Kathy Griffin
Fascinating article mate. I have to agree with you 100% considering I’ve been the subject of it for most of my life, in one manner or another, even as I’ve confused people more than clarified their presumptions of me. What fun. By the by, aside from continued education think about revamping your resume in order to find more steadfast employ and perhaps use the homoflague to your best ability. Put your resume up on monster and be willing to move if need be…just sub-let your place first.
Cheers…
I personally think ” built ” or shapely men , or to the norm , as some may call it , are more attractive than today’s , less fit more skinny appeal.
It’s a bit disconcerting to find a kindred soul via internet, but strangely comforting.
The deliciously coined “homoflage” certainly allots me social mobility, but I’d always imagined how much easier it would’ve been if I’d been predisposed to lisp, swish, or flick.
Before I graduated college last June, my sexuality has been the casual topic of conversation among female acquaintances.
And this was after I’d come out.
“I think ____’s a closet bisexual.”
“He doesn’t act gay!”
“I’ve seen him get touchy feely when he’s smashed.”
Not anything particularly harmful, it was all actually pretty banal. But at certain moments then, and sometimes even now, I can’t help but feel that awful frustration of how much easier it would be if…
But screw the if’s.
At the end of the day, I love men.
The sex is too good.
Your writing is scintillating, and in particular this piece of prove and verse. I have always luxuriated in your use of adverbs and grammatical conjunctions.
Thought it might be nice and gaily groovy to use some faggy flowery talk to compliment your great essay. Toodles!
Shawn, kudos once again for an excellent article..to preface my contextual comments…your writing ,as well as Nightcharm’s other contributors, is a joy to read. I greatly appreciate not being “written down” to as other sites seem compelled to do.
I too have suffered the ‘don’t get too gay’ speech; however, mine came from a friend, which was hurtful. I’ve also found it necessary (all my life) to fend off hetero women whose feelings for me ran from base lust, a desire for trophy fucking or all the way to being in ‘love’ with me [morfe than one gazing longingly into my eyes while uttering the most offensive of lines, 'it's such a shame/it's such a waste, I.e. my sexual choice.]…when will we come together as one race/sexuality with the same tenets? Simply put, a human race that worries about anything but who is fucking whom..that’s the tribe I’ll join.
In closing, if you don’t mind, henceforth all hetero men will forever be “The Normals”; I can’t think of a better moniker.
Thank you Shawn, love your work!
ceg
“I have to venture beyond my urban comfort zone and into the suburban hell of continuing adult education….”
Um, yeah.
“Closeting is all about putting maximum effort into the artifice. Passing is a phenomenon not widely discussed yet oft-inadvertently inexperienced, one of which has allowed many of us access into sectors we couldn’t (or wouldn’t) normally breach. Watch as the wily queer instinctively employs his biological adaptation of Homoflage to mimic the herd and avoid detection.”
This article is interesting, but “homoflage” is definately not a “choice” made by gay males seeking to make concessions to fit back into the rest of the community! Some of us (myself included) will always be male stereotypes: unclean house, zero fashion sense, run away at the sound of Kylie or Cher…we dont have to don “homoflage”, and nor do we desire to, because being gay hasnt changed the way we act of the way we think. Suggesting that we are simply donning “homoflage” to fit into society is offensive to me, and im sure lots of others in the community!
We should also look at the flip side of the coin “queeroflage”, where men (especially young men) adopt gay stereotypes in order to integrate themselves successfully into the gay community. I know of many more cases of this happening than the converse.
NO ‘fense Will, but I think the point of the piece went over your head. Its central premise is how the eyes of the straight world are deceiving, not how we’re actively trying to deceive. Homoflage is in the eye of the beholder and that assertion is dead-on.
Why do women always fall for me, and males fall IN love…we come so close! to touching and taking it away… and I close down….??? thank you; i’ll leave this society now.
i like naked men.
Reading this article, it could have been written about me literally, except for the part in high school where he wad the “F” word scrawled on hi locker. The reason I say this is because I thought I was one of a few if not the only one. In high school I was on the swim and waterpolo teams which beleive it or not was composed mostly of straight macho guys, who enjoyed making sexist, racist, homophobic jokes. Few people suspected I liked guys (I was a goalie for the varsity team). In fact I had a crush on the same guy for four years but never ever told him ( I recently found out he became a cop after college) and he never suspected, but I did get a few female friends declare their “love” for me and wanting to be more than friends–they were great people I just couldn’t reciprocate the feeling unfortunately (one wrote a letter and left for me to read after class, another convinced other friends to talk to me about asking her out, yet another talked to friends about how “hot??” I was an expressed her interest to others) Once I headed off to college, I had been so frustrated at not having sex that I let loose and just found guys I could connect with right away. My college was a state college, huge, few people knew me, so being labeled gay in college wasn’t a problem, though if I was, the people there were pretty open, so it would not have been a major issue. During those first few years though I found it hard to identify guys that were gay and that liked me and I didn’t have the nerve to ask them, so I went online and well we all know the treasure trove that yields. The only problem that I have now is at work, I work part time at a warehouse to pay for school, etc. and they are worse than that high school team, more sexist and homophobic than ever, here is where “homoflage” comes into use often–I have to. Luckily I won’t be there much longer once I’m done with school in about a year I’m gone to a better paying job.