Talk of the Town - Clothes make the man gay May 29 2002

Occasionally, I read something by another columnist so breathtakingly innovative I have to repeat it.

Mona Charen — she of the arched, painted eyebrows and arch-conservative viewpoint — inspired me in such a way with her May 21 column in the AJC. In it, Charen was critical of what she calls "the latest kowtow to homosexual wishes on campuses." Whatever you feel about universities' efforts to create hospitable environments for gay people, you have to agree that the following statement is remarkable: "In fact," Mona writes, despite not actually providing any facts, "a large number of students are pulled toward homosexuality by politics (particularly at the more militantly feminist colleges) and fashion. Yes, fashion."

I nearly fell out of my chair at Starbucks. I laughed so hard, as did other people to whom I insisted on reading the statement, like a Shriner repeating the same bad joke to everyone who passes his way. But then, exhausted by my temporary job as coffeehouse comedian, I fell into a self-satisfied reverie, nodding, nearly napping, with Mona's column in my lap. Suddenly, I was startled by a young man with sad eyes and a perfect haircut.

"I heard you laughing about Mona Charen's column," he said. "I want to tell you my story."

I looked at his earnest face and swallowed my skepticism. I switched on my tape recorder and was stunned by his words, which I excerpt here.

"I was raised on a farm outside Macon — a very idyllic childhood. Thanks to the natural musculature and speed I developed pitching hay, lifting pigs and chasing decapitated chickens, I became quarterback of my high school's football team. My girlfriend was the head cheerleader. My senior year, I was voted 'Most Likely to Get Laid.'

"We used to drive to Atlanta on weekends to catch a concert or hang out at the mall. My girlfriend was really into clothes. I didn't think much about them myself, but I guess she kind of educated my eye. Anyway, it was the end of our senior year in high school, and we were both planning to go to college and needed to get some clothes. My uncle, who owned the most profitable Stuckey's in South Georgia, had given me his credit card for this trip as my graduation gift.

"I guess it started with the Calvin Klein boxer briefs. I'd never thought about underwear before, but as soon as I tried on a pair of those, I don't know, I just felt like I'd come home. Then I bought some pants at Prada, and the next thing I knew I had this insatiable craving for a shirt from Versace. By the end of the day, I was in head-to-toe Dolce & Gabbana.

"Things changed. I reversed roles with my girlfriend and began insisting she dress better. Somehow, my grip changed and I couldn't throw a football anymore, but I couldn't keep my hands off a hairbrush. One day, I was helping my dad milk the cows while wearing my see-through D&G black lace shirt and listening to Madonna. Suddenly, I got all grossed out by the nipples. After that, I couldn't comfortably touch my girlfriend's breasts.

"Actually, my girlfriend was relieved at first that I didn't bug her for sex anymore. In the fall, we went to college. My freshman poli-sci class was taught by a lesbian animal rights activist. I guess I was feeling homesick and needed new friends, but I ended up going to a meeting my teacher invited me to. It turned out to be an organization called Gays and Lesbians for the Ethical Treatment of Animals Suffering Internalized Self-Hatred.

"Of course, I was in shock. I asked my teacher why she invited me to a gay meeting, and she said, 'Well, I just assumed you were gay on the basis of your clothes.' I was depressed for weeks. I even considered making a shift to becoming a Wigga, but I knew I wasn't any blacker than I was ... what? Gay? Straight? I was so confused.

"Finally, one day, my girlfriend announced we were breaking up. She said she couldn't bear a boyfriend who had become prettier than her. I was sad, and every night I dreamed of a happy world of well-dressed men, each with a self-positive pet with the guaranteed right not to be eaten.

"I'm sure you can guess where I'm heading — to the summer fashions, of course. I went shopping for a bathing suit. No, I didn't get a thong, but a Speedo felt just right for me. Two days later, while I was sunbathing, a guy walked up to me, cradling a very obviously self-positive Pomeranian in his muscular arms, and said, 'Nice bathing suit.' Boom. In that moment, I was overwhelmed by the lust for sodomy ... at any cost, including social approval.

"Now I know, if I began dressing badly again, I'd probably return to exclusive heterosexuality. But once you get a taste of fashion and begin imagining a utopic world of happy pets, it's very hard to go back."

Chastened, I switched off my tape recorder and shuffled out the door in my ruby slippers.??