As much as I would love for my sexuality to not be made apparent to me by someone else in the following ways, numerous times daily:
- “I love your bag!”
- “Hey, girl!”
- “Come shopping with me.”
- “Would you ever have a sex change?”
- “Girl.” ,
there’s something empowering about my advice, humor, and clearly my fashion sense carrying a greater weight simply because I am homosexual. This experience, by which I mean the perception society views me and my kind, isn’t always just poppers and glitter. As society attempts to stitch the additional sphincter they have ripped into us through years of hatred, bigotry, and the ever so common “FAGGOT!” screamed by a group of meatheads in a BMW, we remain bitter…cold. The most intelligent, well-spoken man (who just so happens to be sexually attracted to the same sex) and all of his accomplishments are relegated by years of, “You’re a sinner. Your lifestyle is wrong. You are wrong. And you will pay.” While we cannot control our urges, we can control something else; something that, despite being associated with the “sin” itself, is a way in which we can be accepted, even praised: image.
…now, I am 6’1″ and I weigh 130 pounds. Thankfully, my metabolism is faster than a Mexican running across the US border (I am totes okay with that, by the way). For those people who love love love love LOVE to eat, and therefore are larger than the average beluga, the pressure is on to either a., lose weight, or b., remain heavy, but look outstanding. In a city like Chicago, where massive eighty-story stone cocks loom over head, masculinity…or, the male form, rather, dominates the fashion scene in a way that makes women look lazy, or like they left the yoga studio and never changed out of their spanks. As I am sitting here on the second story balcony of the Gold Coast Starbucks, a man and his female parter are strutting by, hand-in-hand. Cute, right? WRONG. The man, wearing a v-neck and fitted jeans, walks with poise and elegance. While his ‘seen-it-a-hundred-times’ look isn’t exactly innovate, he clearly takes pride in his image. His partner, however, is a story that should have been burned in Fahrenheit 451. Leggings, a tight as FUCK spandex tank top, neon sneakers, and a small, brown clutch. I see this sight all too often. Men are tailoring, pampering, strutting, and handbagging more than ever before. The pressure for all men to look fantastic is more of a reality than you may realize.
We are no longer a part of an era wherein overweight people are perceived to have wealth and abundance. Now, they are perceived as sloppy and lazy. If a bitch acts like a bitch, he or she is a “bitch”. If an overweight person acts like a bitch, he or she is a “fat motha fuckin’ lard ass stank nasty ass bitch.” Gay men, who might as well be shot dead if their fashion game is off-point, have more work to do if they are heavier than us skinny minnies. The rate at which your body converts food into energy/feces shouldn’t sollicit judgement. Deciding to indulge an entire bag of Dove chocolates, despite possible future health defects, should not be something you are embarrassed about. In my perfect world, people would not judge a person’s physical appearance; their natural body, nor the way they carry themselves. However, if you fuck multiple people in a week, you are a hoe. If you keep yourself in a relationship wherein you are being emotionally or physically abused, you are a masochist and a fucking idiot. If you are a dickhead to everyone for no apparent reason, you are insecure. If you are overweight, you are __________….
As a young boy, I had the fattest mother. Literally. She was heavier than all of my friends’ mothers. I remember performing as the silver crayon in the school play, dancing to the “Men In Black” theme song in the talent show…and she always came to support me. Unfortunately, due to my youth and innocence, gratefulness and appreciation were feelings that were squished by embarrassment. I don’t feel that way now, of course. Despite my mother’s current vastness, she exercises every day, burning out the negative energy of the nearly 70-pound benign tumor that plagued her belly for who knows how long. I’m thankful for growing up with a fat mother, because it taught me to never judge a trait that cannot be controlled. Your character, however, is a target. As is your choice in attire.
(Now, fatty gays, let’s get back to those clothes…)
Dress your body type. You are NOT confined to hoodies, sweatpants and leggings. The word “stretch” should not be the first thing on your mind when you purchase clothes. Carry yourself with poise, confidence, and glamour. My mother, who used to wear the same black baggy sweats every day, would get upset when people made fun of her (yes, even a 50 year old woman still gets picked on in public). Now, because of her new outlook on life, as well as a fabulous gay son who taught her that wearing purple Crocs in public to match the purple cell phone case he bought her is NOT okay, her insecurities are quickly diminishing because she looks good. Hell, for the first time in 23 years, she recently said, “I look damn good. And if people don’t like it, they can eff off.” We are all insecure about something, and for those of you reading this thinking, “Insecurities? What are those? IYAMPURFECT”, you need to have a seat because I will not hesitate to point out your flaws. As someone who is overweight, you do not have to wear tents to hide yourself. Nor do you have to wear something so tight the seams are bursting open. The anorexic skeletons that your human peers thinks is beautiful IS beautiful, but that is not the only form of beauty. I am tempted to post some pictures of those ratchet people in Wal-Mart as a “how not to dress” guide, but I am hoping you are familiar with that reference and will plan accordingly.
Judgement is a bad thing, but insecurity is worse. If someone is going to talk shit about my big Jew nose or oily skin, so be it. Hell, my tiny frame, which is so seemingly sought after, is criticized on a daily basis. But, I’m a great listener, I’m caring, my booty is getting bigger, and I dress fabulously. For every single negative thing someone can say about something you cannot control, give them TWO admirable and sought-after pieces of gossip about yourself that you CAN control. Embrace the skin your in. And meticulously drape it with the finest quality materials.
One thought on “Dress It, Impress It”
Spot on with your comments about the male/female styles in Chicago. While it’s nostalgic, cute, and my be suitable for the weekends, the Rosie the Riveter look is not keeping up with the stylish men of Chicago.
Ladies, this IS the Paris of the Mid-west.