Goddammit, I’m Not Gay

Goddammit, I’m not gay. I am just a heterosexual man who happens to look gay, and am setting the record straight, pun intended.

This begs the question, what does it mean to “look gay” in today’s culture? After all, a gay man in an uncivilized jungle tribe looks a lot different than one from New York.

So what does a straight man living in New York’s West Village look like? The standard model is tall, slim and extremely well dressed. Proudly, this is how I appear on a day-to-day basis. I wear fitted pants that hug my ass just so, and hats that cock just left (that was an unintended pun, btw, but my habit of using words with the word “cock” in it – cocksure, cockeyed, etc – further lends to my perceived gayness.) Also, I walk with a curious gait, taking long, broad strides; my mouth has that uptight pune common with “diva” or queenie gay men. I even speak with a lisp and have a personality some might called effected. And yet I’m as straight as a vector, not a homosexual thought in my head, ever.

The uneasy conflict between my outward appearance and inward reality is the cause of much objectification from other gay men, and I’ve gained a deep empathy for women who experience the same type of unwanted attention. If more men knew how it felt to be objectified, they wouldn’t do it. For example, I know quite well the sensation of being gawked on the subway by a man. It happens at least once a week, and the icky sensation is palpable to say the least.

‘Tis a horrible feeling, being a slave to another’s dark imaginings. Am I being balled and gagged? Is my salad being tossed? Am I in a dungeon, in a gimp suit or something of a perverse nature? Never again will I do this to a woman, for I refuse to subject them to this sort of psychic torture.

So there is my rant. It’s the classic scenario: if you were in my shoes, you wouldn’t act this way. Well I am in those shoes, and they happen to be $2,000 wing tips that only a gay man would wear – a gay man and, apparently, me.