Lady Gaga's Meat Dress South African Style

Need I say more?

Lady Gaga the Steak Tartar Goddess

Lady Gaga sure knows how to make a statement.  Her meat outfit turned a few heads at Sundays VMA’s and had others gagging.  Looking at the images of the walking tartar goddess I couldn’t help but wonder whether the ensemble was indeed real meat or not.  One thing is for certain, Gaga’s outfit designed by Franc Fernandez will be talked about for months to come.  Forget about Cher here comes Gaga!

Renovation Monsters

What a relief to finally have found and bought the perfect home. After a protracted search, many nightmarish experiences and one broken heart we finally found that elusive perfect property. Our new home was nestled away in a treed and hidden neighbourhood that we have driven passed unknowingly so many times before. However, I could not bask in a sense of relief and satisfaction for long. You see no home is perfect until you have put your personalized stamp on it. Having secured the property we now will have to renovate. I don’t know what is more stressful looking for a property or renovating it, but I am soon to find out.

After just over two months of intensive searching and viewing properties that could only be improved with a demolition ball finding “The One” seemed almost implausible. On Friday viewing the last property of the week we arrived unenthusiastic, tired and expecting to again be underwhelmed. The owner of the property was an elderly lady whose husband recently passed away. The house was a montage of a lifetime’s worth of memories as only an old lady can accumulate. On every wall there were pictures and mementos of past happy times, lost loved ones and historic moments in their lives. To us most of the nick-knacks seemed quite disposable but to her every item was priceless. Walking through her house felt like walking through her life history and it almost felt wrong and voyeuristic. Her two dogs, three birds and one cat was also quite engrossed with us and we were engulfed by an orchestra of excited animal noises.

Looking past the 1935 décor, hubby and I soon discovered that this home was a place we could and want to live. It had all the elements we were seeking and could not find before. The love the woman and her husband put into their home was evident in every room; everything was impeccable but clearly not our taste. Much like the old lady, the house was due for a face lift and some minor cosmetic changes. The 1970’s porno cabin style ceiling panels did not turn me on. Even worse was the fact that everything was pink, from the tiles to the walls. She and her husband spend the last 35 years building and finishing their dream home and here comes two gay guys who will practically tear it all down. For a brief moment this thought saddened me as she will have to say good bye to her home and entrust it to us hoping we will put the same kind of love into it as she and her late husband did.

Over the weekend we visited a few stores getting ideas and of course prices of everything we would want to change in the house. We visited several building and construction shops. In one such shop the ugly renovation monster reared its head. Husband and I had our first renovation argument over tiles. Being the drama queen I am I was absolutely livid for having one of my tile choices insensitively dismissed. At this point we have not even bought the property and neither has the actual work started and here we were already fighting. Both of us are quite stubborn people and with my French heritage and husband’s Italian bloodline our disagreements can be quite hilarious to witness. Nobody can throw a temper tantrum quite like a gay couple who can’t agree over what colour tile or what design of bathroom taps they are prepared to life with.

On Sunday, after having an engineer friend of ours inspect the property and advised us of what could and could not be done, we signed the contract and the purchase was set in motion. Monday morning as I awoke from a tranquil nights sleep the realization sunk in - we just bought a house and we are going to have to renovate! I took a deep breath and on exhaling I completely freaked out! Pale as a ghost a sea of concerns washed over me: What have we gotten ourselves into? Will we have enough money? Who is going to do all the work? We haven’t even sold our property yet! We will only have four weeks to have the renovations completed before the contractors’ annual leave in December! My brain felt like it was short circuiting as I had my little panic attack and hyperventilated.

Now in full panic mode I Googled every possible contracting company in and around our town and started making frantic phone calls. Before end of business I secured four companies to do site inspections and to provide us with quotes. I dread to think what to total will amount to and strongly suspect suffering another hyperventilation attack upon receiving the first few quotations. We probably will not be able to afford to do everything that is on our wish list but we sure will try to come close.

The first site inspection is scheduled for tomorrow and what seems to be a mammoth task officially will start with the screening of this first contractor. I truly feel sorry for who ever we award the contract to as they will be in for a though time. No one can nit-pick, complain and bitch about final finishes as we can. The words “I am paying for this and I want it perfect!” are words they will soon grow sick off. "What don't you understand about a BUDGET?!" most probably will be the next phrase they will come to hate. They better be miracle workers with great patience and exceptional workmanship or else all of us will have grey hair by the end. Worst case scenario - someone will disappear into a cement grave and become a permanent hidden fixture of the house!

Having survived house hunting hell and finally having found the proverbial needle in the gaystack, part of our relocation battle has been won. Now the war with the renovations and contractors starts. At the end of the day I am sure it will all be worth it if we survive it!

Till next time!

Two Gay Construction Guys

3 Tons of Fun and the Coke Head!

Hairstylist much like fashion designers can be quite bitchy and fiercely competitive creatures. This past Sunday hubby and I were invited to attend the Trend Vision South African Finals of which our hairstylist was a finalist. If you put a bunch of hairstylist together in one room under stressful conditions and throw alcohol into the mix it can only lead to one thing – a party and tons of fun!!!

Our stylist have been preparing for this competition for the last nine months, working tirelessly to perfect his colour and cut and hubby was commissioned to design the outfit that would complete the final look. Months of planning, stress and hard work would culminate into this one day of judging and a final runway show that would determine who would win and have the honor to compete at the International finals in Berlin Germany later this year.
On arrival at the hotel the staff immediately knew that we were part of the Wella Group Booking, I think the blond and the black Mohawks pretty much gave us away. We settled into our quirky room waiting to hook up with our stylist, his wife and their model. Upon their arrival our stylist was slightly boozed up already, and as his wife pointed out that you could tell he was tipsy by his wondering left eye. We had a few glasses as champagne before they disappeared for the final rehearsal. The model was instructed to intimidate all the other models as only she can. Earlier that day two woman were talking about her in hearing distance and said she was beautiful, tactful as she is she turned to them with a polite smile saying “yes, I am” – you cannot buy self-confidence like that!
An hour before the show was scheduled to start hubby and I and the rest of the “poofter possy” decided to queue in front of the door, as there were no reserved seats. The moment that door opened a mini stamped ensued as we were all elbowing people out of the way and recklessly throwing our tickets at the staff as we rushed to claim the best seats in the house. Settling into our front row seats the show started. We were entertained with a trapeze act and a cabaret show by three obese ladies appropriately named “3 Tons of Fun”. When our stylist model emerged from a cloud of smoke my jaw dropped with amazement. They truly saved the best for last. Our stylist nailed it, and the model burned up that runway with oozing self-confidence and dramatic flare.

After being wowed, the talented 3 tons of lard entertained with a few more melodies. After what felt like an eternity the 3 whales left the stage just before it could buckle and the results was announced. When it came to our stylist’s category my hands were sweating and I could hear my heart beat in chest. Our stylist was sitting in a strained attention with his wife tucked into his arm. When the words “and the winner is” was uttered a dramatic paused followed with the whole of the poofter possy softly vocalizing our stylist’s name. Then our stylist’s name graced the announcer’s lips and nine months of hard work finally paid off – triumph!!!
Then the party started and alcohol flowed. Many congratulations and drinks came my stylist way and the odd bitchy remarks by sore losers could not be avoided. As we all got juiced up some other people got high. Two ladies in particular seemed to have enjoyed their little white powders too much and they were obviously in an altered state of reality. One coke head introduced herself to me as the “fairy princess” and the other one had an inappropriate relationship with a white feather. The most amusing part was one of the salon staff members who loves her tequila (as do I) who didn’t want to go home and kept on hiding behind hubby and I and at one stage leopard crawling to the bar thinking her boyfriend (who was responsible and did not drink) would not see her. Well he did, allowed her one more tequila and then very diplomatically took her drunken ass home. Naturally, after they kicked us out of the venue at midnight we took the party to the hotel. Hubby missed a few steps on our way there to the great amusement of the group. The model said that if they won she would streak through the hotel and the stylist would join her wearing her bra. So guess what, she did! I accompanied the two crazy semi-naked people through 3 floors of the hotel. Strangely enough even in his drunken state my stylist noticed the CCTV cameras and was worried security would kick us out. Personally, I think the people in the security control room had loads of fun watching our antics and that the security video should be on YouTube soon. At least I had all my clothes on and nobody was “technically” naked, but indecent we were indeed.

After a couple of hours sleep it was time to check out. Tequila and their friends left quite a mess in my head after their party and I felt like death warmed up. Protected by my sunglasses I proceeded to settle our account. The hotel seemed brighter than usual and the staff and their little gadgets excessively loud and abrasive. After forcing some food into my body and a strong cup of coffee, we were on our way home where I spent the better part of the day nursing my hang-over.

Looking back on the competition and the party we had, I am tremendously proud of our stylist for winning and being a representative of South Africa’s best talent abroad in Berlin. I am sure he and his team will do us proud. The only draw back is that we aren’t going with and hubby’s fashion creations seems to travel more than he does; having been to London, Milan, Paris and now Berlin. Concerning the party, it was great fun but once a year is quite enough as anymore would definitely lead to my liver asking for a bail out.

Till next time.


BLACK BRIDE SEBASTIAN NORWAY

Change!

They say change is just as good as a holiday. Seeing as my tranquil island holiday is still four months away I decided to settle for change in the interim. What did I get up to this time, you may ask. The answer is simple I bleached my hair. I went from being a normal blond to platinum blond. Having altered the way I look I was now left to wait and see if change indeed would break the monotony of my daily toils and indeed inject some new energy into my life as one would expect.

A simple haircut or colour can make a world of difference when one is in desperate need of a kick-in-the-ass when you are feeling stuck in a rut or have just been through an ordeal such as a breakup. Many of my female and male friends have under gone drastic transformation after their breakups and shedding their locks and/or changing their hair colour has been like leaving the pain and memories behind and turning over a new leaf. So after a couple of stressful months at work, just loosing a property that we desperately wanted to purchase (which did feel very similar to a breakup) I was due for a little fashion renovation. It didn’t take much convincing from my crazily artistic stylist to convince me to once again push the boundaries. After more than five hours in the salon having all the colour fried out of my hair follicles I emerged as a white as snow platinum gay god! Or at least that how I felt!

Upon my arrival home, hubby was visibly taken aback with my new look but seemed to like it. His first words were of concern asking me what the people at my work are going to say. Working with a group of people in a fairly conservative milieu and not taking well to change or drastic fashion statements, hubby’s concern was well justified. My colleagues reaction to change could be similar to that of nuns should they learn pink is the new black of their habits. On Monday morning I was admittedly nervous arriving at the office. I snuck past some of my colleagues offices and avoided my boss. Unfortunately avoiding him was not an option!

News of my “drastic” change spread through the building faster than the average bad office gossip. Soon my phone rang and an ominous sounding voice summoned me to the boardroom where my whole department already congregated. Stepping into the room my heart skipped a few beats and I was sure I was going to be reprimanded for transgressing some clause of our overly stringent dress code. I sat down looking nervously across the table at my boss trying to ascertain his mood and trying to interpret the looks I was getting. Was it shock, anger or disbelieve? The meeting progressed and ended without any reference being made about my hair – it truly was the white elephant in the room. Having shocked these people so many times in the past they must have become immune to my weird hairstyles, unique sense of fashion and flaming fagotary; all they are left to do is ask – what next?

The reaction to my new look has been met with varied responses from my friends and family as well. Showing up for Sunday lunch at the in-laws the only thing they did was role their eyes, sighed and then we went about our family visit as usual. One of my least tactful friends asked me whether I was preparing to have a nervous breakdown as my hair would now perfectly match the outfit I would wear in the padded room at the mental hospital – he obviously didn’t care for the new look. However, the majority of the responses were favourable most wanting to know whether this was a one time thing or whether the look will stay around for a while. I am yet to decide that for myself.

People’s reactions to me in public hasn’t really changed that much. I have noticed the odd stare here and there, but I guess it’s only because it’s “different” and “not natural”; two terms I have become accustomed being gay. Who wants to be just like everybody else and have natural coloured hair anyway? I can’t even remember what my natural hair colour is, yes it has been that long! Having made such a drastic change forces one to carry the new look with confidence and pride because whether you like it or not, deal well with the reactions of others or not, you will be stuck with your platinum locks for a good few weeks if not months to come.

They say blonds have more fun, the truth of this I am still waiting to discover. Amongst the sea of blond jokes that are raining down on me via e-mail and looking in the mirror and sometimes having to take a second glance to make sure it is indeed me I must say the change has done me a world of good thus far. I have noticed a slight increase in “blond moments” to the great amusement of others and am having fun with it. All things considered I think I have achieved my goal: I have injected a new energy into my life; the monotony at work has been broken as others have something new to gossip about and the status quo have been challenged yet again. However, change is not just as good as a holiday as I am still tired but at least now I know I’ll make it to my actual holiday.

Till next time.

Raw Comedy Stand up.

Strike a Pose!

With the much anticipated unveiling of what could be the next biggest trend in men’s hair fashion (the “V” cut) I participated in my 2nd only photo shoot in my 32 years on this planet. Not being an oil painting nor being very photogenic the prelude to this big day, I was frantically trying to shed a extra few pounds as they say the camera adds 10 pounds and I was consumed with nervous tension (after all this face wasn't made for television and is more suited for radio or the print media). So I was left with the gnawing question– will I be able to play model for a day or will I crack under the pressure inflicting the same destructive force on the camera lens and photographer?

My 1st photo shoot was for my attempted television debut on the 1st ever Big Brother South Africa. This was many years ago but the memory of that Sunday afternoon is still vivid. The photo shoot was done on a couple of locations and I distinctly remember feeling increasingly foolish striking poses while the unsuspecting public were staring at this hive of activity, probably wondering who the hell I was not knowing that they may soon see me on television 24 hours a day for 3 months. I remember that the camera scared me and made me feel self-conscious about all parts of my body I perceived as being imperfect. I always hated my noose and therefore I found seeing profile pictures of me more frightening than watching the Exorcist on the big screen. The photo shoot went well and I was pleasantly surprised with the end result, but unfortunately the final decision by the producers of Big Brother excluded me from potential fame and knowing me also probable embarrassment. Like my husband says, sometimes you just can take me anywhere with my chronic “foot-mouth-disease”.

With the final countdown to the latest photo shoot I was making my way through peak hour traffic I came to the realization that what ever happens I must at all cost just relax and try having fun. Arriving at the shoot the atmosphere was relaxed. The skilled make up artist managed to artistically cover up my stress pimple that like Mt St Helens’ Volcano was threatening to erupt over night. She also managed to conceal all the nicks I had inflicted on myself with the previous morning’s shaving or rather carving disaster. My stylist who also happened to be the photographer did his magic with my hair and the signature “V” cut was perfected. I was ready for my close up! This would be my 1st shoot in a studio and it’s quite different from a location shoot. Everything appeared more confined and controlled. Unlike Naomi Campbell I was no diva and no personal assistants or housekeepers were harmed as there were none, besides I can’t afford throwing my phone at anyone or finance defending an assault law suit.

As the shoot started I was admittedly nervous in front of the camera. Having grown more mature since my last photo shoot, I have come to accept certain parts of my body that has become a good part frumpier than my Big Brother stint. A few well needed shots of social lubricant (aka strong liquor) relaxed me and the shoot progressed nicely. I am no natural therefore certain instructions on poses I found peculiar. Being said to manipulate your body into a position that feels totally unnatural, tilt your head in ways you have never done before and relax your lips was not something I was used to do. At one point having to keep a certain pose for up to a minute I could feel my leg muscles starting to shake, and I gained a lot more respect for professional models. Even though it felt queer posing in such precarious positions on camera it looked completely natural and hid all the little physical flaws and most importantly the much hated double chin. What more can a gay guy ask for!

Several wardrobe changes, themes and what felt like hundreds of photos later I actually started enjoying myself and my intense fear of the camera seemed like a distant memory. The other consolation was that if something didn’t look right at least there was the ultimate savior in the form of PHOTOSHOP! As my confidence grew adventurousness set in and the boundaries and inhibitions I had of what I was willing to do in front of the camera abated – I was now less concerned of showing a double chin and more focused on having fun even at the expense of looking like an absolute idiot. My husband was there for moral support and in certain photo’s a hand, an arm and a partial shot of his face can be seen. At the end of the day the creativity, confidence and freedom the photographer showed was contagious and it ended up being a very enjoyable experience.

Having survived my 2nd photo shoot I must admit that the experience was an eye opener. From being nervous of embarrassing myself I managed to cross a psychological barrier that prevented me from venturing beyond certain boundaries of being in total control of my outward appearance and entrusting my body to another person’s creative vision. The experience was scary, fun and at the end of the day very liberating. One thing is certain I am no professional model and the run ways of Paris and Milan will not grace my feet any time soon but having spend 4 hours in front of the camera I gained a new found confidence and my phobia of being photographed and having a Naomi Campbell epic breakdown was completely unfounded. This Diva is still utterly tame and harmless and the general public is safe for now.

Till next time.

HEDDA LETTUCE COVERS LADY GAGA'S POKER FACE

Death of the Metro-Sexual Man

Well, it is official South Africa is now also experiencing an economic recession but I don’t believe it will be as bad as the great depression of 1929 – I Googled it! Many of us will experience the economic recession in different ways and feel the pinch of it. As a gay man the recession has already impacted on my life. As most of you know the grooming rituals of the homosexual male is quite intriguing and complex. With our particular style of grooming I’d like to believe that we were responsible for the emergence of the Metro-sexual Male (heterosexual men with a strong concern for their appearance, and/or a lifestyle that displays attributes stereotypically related to gay men). This being said, I believe the recession is posing a tremendous threat not only to homosexual men but the recession is also killing the metro-sexual male!
As we tighten our belts and wallets and cut on seemingly unnecessary expenses I have noticed a decline in people spending money on personal grooming. There are fewer metro-sexual males on the street and most are reverting back to the Hugh Jackman look – sexy but unfortunate. People just aren't spending money on waxing, facials, manicures etc. The metro-sexual male has stopped visiting the Spa! It has gotten so bad that the Spa I use to go to closed down. My cosmetologist disappeared without leaving a forwarding number! Not everyone would see this as a crisis, but to me it is! That woman who have been waxing me for the last 2 years, seen me naked and ripped hair from parts of my body very few people get to see is gone. Finding someone else with whom I’d be comfortable being 95% naked with male/or female and someone that can do a full body wax in less than 1 hour will be a mission. In the mean time, I have grown hairy! I have gone from being smooth to what my husband now refers to as monkey boy - I am no Hugh Jackman! The economy is in a recession so I have rationalized the growing back of my “man hair” as my “winter fur” as we are in late autumn and I hope by spring the economy will have stabilized and I would have found someone to transform me back from primate to homo-sapien.
Not only are people replacing wax with razors they are also now compromising on their hair, opting for do-it-yourself hair coloring instead of having a professional do it - some even attempting to cut their own hair. I can hear the entire hairstylist community cringe in horror!!! Walking through the shopping malls I have seen the yellow hair that was supposed to be blond, the bad dye jobs and botched highlights. The once metro-sexual male with a tell tail barber shop hair cut; the men and women who on account of saving a penny here-and-there allowing those grey hairs to protrude through their once stunning colored hair. Experiencing a recession I understand that people have to cut expenses but at what cost? Personally, I’d rather go without that stunning pair of shoes or exquisite jacket than compromise on my hair.
The metro-sexual males also seem to fading into oblivion when it comes to fashion. The once growing section of enlightened heterosexual men are becoming more difficult to spot, as facial and body hair now disguise them and the only way of recognizing these diminishing few are with wardrobe. As I refuse to compromise with my hair by letting a fashion item elude me, the metro-sexual male seem to compromise not only on grooming but on fashion too. They no longer appear to pay attention current fashion and last years trends are recycled. Some metro-sexual men also seem not to be able to remember how to put an outfit together, as last years magazines have been thrown away. They walk around bearded and in mismatching attire - they are almost unrecognizable. At least gay men are finding ways to cope with the recession and are better at prioritizing our spending when it comes to grooming and fashion. We understand that you don’t have to down scale and deprive yourself of all things, a few compromises is enough to ride out this difficult economic time. It’s truly unfortunate that the world economy is experiencing a recession and that it’s finding its way into most countries. Having to adjust your spending patterns in order to be able to pay your bills, keep your head above water and hoping not to be retrenched as companies down scale is unpleasant. It truly is serious and for some a dire experience. As a gay male, seeing the effects of the recession around me makes me grateful for everything I have. It has caused me to also down scale, adjust my spending habits and compromise. But at least I can still keep some of my grooming rituals and maintain my gay attributes. The true tragedy is in gradual demise of metro-sexual male, whether they will survive the world wide economic crisis nobody knows. I hope they will not go extinct like the dodo, and once this is all said and done they’ll return. I truly hope the recession will not kill off our beloved metro-sexual males!

Till next time.

Wanda Sykes - Wanda & Bobby On a Plane

Perfect Creatures

Sporting a new funky hair cut, the male version of the hot little black number, I had my first glimpse of the world of celebrity and fame. Rubbing shoulders with the fashion elite, the fiercest of magazine editors and the odd celebrity is not to be snuffed at. Being amongst all these beautiful and power people who influence the way we dress and the way we are made to believe we must look and feel, had me asking myself a few questions about ourselves. Have we as a society lost our sense of individuality, have we become so superficial that we believe we must emulate what we see in fashion magazines? Have we become voyeurs that ravage tabloids because the blunder of celebrities makes us feel better about ourselves?

Last night my husband and I were VIP guests of Sanlam at SA Fashion week. We were treated like royalty, fed delicious snacks and treated to expensive free champagne. We attended 4 fashion shows in 2 hours. With the first hour we had the coveted front row seats, the ones people would kill their mother’s for, as where you are seated at a fashion show reflects your status and importance in the industry. So for the first hour we were considered elite purely due to our seating assignments, and I could sense the envy of all the little people behind us. With the second hour we were down grated to the second row and the envy shifted.

What we saw ranged from absolute brilliance to the bizarre and dreadful. What was interesting is the fact that haute coutier which will never be seen worn in public reflects the state of a society and what that society deem important at that specific time. The piece de resistance was the last show of the evening which metaphorically commented on the evolution of man, being environmentally aware and emphasized greener living. It’s a pity that these messages translate excessively to the pages of magazines as editors realized that the new trend is going green. Going green is the new in thing, and I wonder whether people actually do take this to heart. The preference that is given to what advertisers want and the size 0 emaciated modals and un-environmentally friendly products is also in stark contrast to the green trend.

Watching some of the male models strutting down the runway I also unconsciously aspire to look like some of them with their chiseled chins, ripped abs and perfect hair. Reality however soon sets in every time I pass a mirror and realize that my genetic make up will never allow me to look like that without the assistance of a skilled plastic surgeon and a substantial cosmetic budget. Yet I buy the clothes, the shoes, the accessories all that is current and in fashion. To a degree I do emulate the images I see in magazines, and they do make me feel good about myself. To be honest, looking good in what I wear does boost my self-confidence. If you look good you feel good. So is trying to emulate what we see in fashion magazines and on the runway so wrong?

Also at the fashion show was one of the most infamous tabloid magazine editors. At first glance she looks quite harmless but on closer inspection one soon discovers that she is quite the bitch. In her profession I guess it comes with the territory as she is probably the most hated person by celebrities in our country. With a few strokes on a key board she can ruin marriages, careers and make thousands of revenue for her magazine. Some people read these type of magazines more religiously than they do their scriptures. I don’t think there is anyone of us who haven’t paged through a tabloid, and got some sense of satisfaction when a famous person gained weight or we see them without make up and realize they aren’t all as beautiful as they appear in movies, TV or in the magazines. It’s moments like those that one comes to really grasp their normality.

Sometimes I feel tabloids over step the boundaries, when they publish personal indiscretions of famous people that ends up hurting their children. The failure of their parents to exert proper moral judgment should not harm them. But then again celebrities should know better. Reading about their sex escapades, drug binges, rehab and bar brawls, makes our problems sometime seem insignificant. We read about their woes and look at our lives with a little more appreciation. I, for one, am very grateful that I am not famous, because if I had to live under a magnifying glass, and with all the little mistakes I have made in my life, I could have earned tabloids millions.

One evening of celebrity and being a Very Important Person (VIP) opened up my eyes to the plethora of self importance and superficiality that one so easily can get addicted to. Yet, I do not think that lifestyle would suit me very well and that I would enjoy sustaining it for any extended period of time. Once or twice a year is more than enough for me. Reflecting back on last night I have came to the conclusion that there is room for fashion in our society and their superficial images as we need that because adorning ourselves with what we are told is beautiful makes us feel good about ourselves, and can even boost our confidence. You don’t need to sacrifice your individuality as you can express your personality by the way you choose to purchase your fashion. We are also voyeurs, as human nature makes us curious creatures. We sometimes revel in the misfortunes of others especially that of famous people as that makes them seem more human. So we are not perfect creatures, but our imperfection is what makes life fabulous!

Till next time.

JUNGLE-GYM Men's Fashion Show ★ produced by SIX INCH inc.

Are Gay Men from Venus and Lesbians from Mars?

One of my lesbian friends recently had some domestic drama. It included a love triangle, domestic violence, psychosis and lots of broken furniture. This is not uncommon as, in my experience, lesbians equals drama! Not being a lesbian myself off course, I sometimes struggle to understand them. Apart from the obvious anatomical difference between gay men and women, we also have some other fundamental difference when it comes to relationships, our behaviour and reactions which leave me with the question: Are Gay Men from Venus and Lesbians from Mars?

The first fundamental difference, I have noticed, is our approach to relationships. Gay men are primarily driven by sex. We are motivated by sex (whether we want to admit it or not) and a relationship sometimes develop as a byproduct. Physical needs and attraction most times supersedes the emotional components required for a relationship during the initial stages of the gay male cortship ritual. Lesbians, on the other hand, seek an emotional bond first then companionship and then sex. I have also realized that most lesbians find emotional baggage sexy and emotional drama is their pornography of choice.

A lesbian couple can complete a full relationship cycle in a very short time span and their relationships can be categorized into 2 phases. Lesbians can fall in love, have a deep emotional bond, drift apart and then break up all in less than a month. This qualifies as phase 1 of a lesbian relationship. After a lesbian couple breaks up that is never the end of the story but always the beginning of the theatrics which constitutes phase 2. I have found that lesbian have a problem with letting go. It could be due to sentimentality or pure obsession. After a break up they always appear to have the queer response of wanting the other person back. They react like predators in the wild focused on achieving their goal and always seem to loose sight of the reasons the relationship ended in the first place. Many times they end up back in the toxic waste land they previously found themselves and get stuck in a meaningless orbit until the next emotional magnet with bagage pulls them into a new one.
The second fundamental difference is our approaches to the roles we are assigned in our relationships. Gay men can be divided into butch or femme and a bottom or a top. Being butch or femme does not necessarily predetermine your sexual role when it comes to gay men. Gay men are also less strict on adhering to these roles in our relationships, as for the most part gay relationships are viewed as equal partnerships with the traditional gender assigned functions divided between the two men. In lesbian relationships the butch-femme roles however is strictly divined and adhered too. Not being familiar with lesbian sex, I am not sure whether they have a “top” or a “bottom”. Finding two butch lesbians in a relationship is as scarce as the dodo. However, I have seen two femme lesbians together, but that is rare too. Furthermore the unwritten rules and intricacies in the lesbian community and their relationships are worse than that enforced at formal diplomatic functions. One lapse of protocol or ungracious transgression of etiquette could culminate with you waking up on the floor surrounded by pieces of broken bear bottles, which leads me to my next fundamental difference - violence!

Some lesbians can be violent and volatile. In all the gay bars and clubs I have ever been, you can always tell which toilets are frequented by our butch sisters - it’s the ones with the broken mirrors. I don’t know why lesbians don’t like mirrors but when ever they get angry it’s always the mirrors or the doors that suffers their rage. Gay men rarely resort to physical violence to vent our anger or to resolve problems, we prefer using words - we’d rather be bitchy than brutal. When a lesbian gets angry and she is at your house be sure that grandma’s porcelain and china is well hidden. The fundamental difference here is that lesbian’s gets destructive when their tempers flare up. I’ve seen them break things, scratch things, beat things and each other and even the odd spot of arson. Maybe it’s because gay men are more rational when it comes to dealing with our anger and lesbians tends to be more impulsive, but never the less when an angry lesbian storms my way I tend to get out of her way. It really is true that hell has no fury like a woman scorned, but who ever said that clearly never had any dealings with a lesbian with a broken heart and a vindictive mind. The last fundamental difference, I would like to highlight, is the total lack and disregard for fashion of lesbians. Why do most lesbians insist on looking like lumberjacks? Lesbians outfit of choice appears to be a pair of pants (usually jeans), a T-shirt or flannel shirt and shoes or boots with platforms that could make any engineer stare with envy. God forbid you’ll ever find one in a dress wearing a proper bra! That being said I have seen many lesbians in very fashionable pant suits but they are in the minority. I am not sure whether lesbians do not care how they present themselves or rather just opt for comfort over fashion, but they have a distinct lack of fashion that appears to have become a long lived tradition. Whether it is short hair for the more butch lesbians and long hair for the more femme, please take a tip from your gay brothers and embrace current fashion trends.

It has been hypothesised that gay men have more inherited feminine qualities (Venus) and lesbians more of the masculine (Mars), hence the differences in our approache in dealing with a variety of issues. At times it can appear as if we hail from different planets and that our orbits intercept intermediately. No matter our differences, we are still part of the same diverse community and family under the same fabulous rainbow. Even though I do not always understand my lesbian sisters it sure is fun to have them around, even though some of them scare the hell out of me!

Till next time.

Elvira Kurt - Just For Laughs - 2002