I can camp it up with the very best of them and have always counted swish nellies as the closest of friends. They have the most cutting (and truthful) senses of irony and the absurd. They make me laugh. My best friend in high school was a kind of 70s teenage version of Oscar Wilde, with all the intelligence and wit but in disco dollie clothing :wink:
In certain specific social situations I can wave the rainbow flag just as hard as anybody else. In some situations I am reasonably quiet, soft-spoken and polite. Other times I can be as gruff, aggressive and authoritarian as any father of four unruly teenagers. I chose my comportment based on my surroundings, usually very appropriate, occasionally provocatively inappropriate, at my whim.
During my adolescence in one of the inner suburbs of Boston in the 70s, there were three labels which stuck early and were nearly impossible to alter: Jocks, Fags and Freaks.
Being a Jock was nothing I found possible to emulate. I have never been interested in team sports (I preferred biking, swimming, snow- and waterskiing). Being a Jock also precluded any intellectualism or interest in academics and any sensitivity was considered anathema.
Fags weren't necessarily homosexuals (as most of my peers had only a dim knowledge of gayness), but certainly any sign of traditionally-feminine virtues were enough to be labeled one. They were the geeks, nerds and straight-arrow types: any academic achievement was considered entirely feminine. They were the majority of kids involved with extra-curricular activities (excluding sports, except maybe Track, which wasn't butch) like the Student Council or the French Club. In this environment intelligence, passivity and sensitivity were considered synonymous and extremely uncool.
Freaks were fundamentally outsiders, for any number of reasons. They had little if any parental control, so their appearance tended to be extreme in a post-hippy, pre-grunge kind of way. They all did drugs, ranging from pot and booze to any number of options of "harder" substances available. Being social pariahs liberated Freaks from any expectation that they behave in any sort of expected fashion. And as the overwhelming fashion in that time and place was apathy, any passionate interests were the mark of a freak.
Many Freaks went to the Vocational School to study Auto Body or Building Maintenance, others might have haunted the art department and library (like me) or be musicians (unless it was band, which was the province of the Fags).
As Freaks had access to drugs, they would find their popularity momentarily enhanced on weekends or over the summer, only to find that they were pariahs once we were back in school.
I was considered a Fag until the summer between 9th and 10th grades, when I morphed into a total Freak. I had been a fey sissy boy in Junior High but learned to butch (and dumb) it up, started smoking and drinking and found new social doors opened for me. Unlike Jocks, Freaks weren't bullies, and unlike Fags, Freaks had lots of fun.
As the ultimate illustration of the disconnect between being a Fag and homosexuality, when I came out (to everyone, everywhere) in my Junior year in 1977, my Freak-cred remained spotless. It was even enhanced by my disclosure, as I was the only out-and-proud kid in my high school, making me the ultimate pariah for many. But my Freak friends stood by me loyally.
This vast detail is to illustrate a basic fact in my social development, which is what this discussion is really all about. From the age of 15 I felt totally liberated from the rigid norms imposed on greater society and felt free to pursue my own goals and behavior patterns. Stereotypical notions of "typical" gay norms were no more obligatory than the rigid and sexist notions that automatically equate sensitivity, creativity and intellectualism with femininity.
This means that, to me, I can be free to be truly myself: a complicated, emotionally-aware and intellectually curious man. Physically I was always poorly suited to the stereotype willowy, limpwristed paradigm. I am short (5'6) but broad-shouldered (41" chest) with muscular arms and legs. My voice is low (a friend once said I sound like the love child of Lauren Becall and Ted Kennedy), and years of vocal training have given me what has been called a "radio voice". When I swish, it's got the humor of irony.
I was in a nine-year relationship with a self-described "big butch bottom". We met on his first night ever in a gay bar. He was 32. He was totally completely "straight-acting and appearing", listened only to "classic rock", drove a pick-up, worked in construction. It took years (and I was only partially successful) to try and instill a sense of gay pride instead of the inner self-loathing that kept him in the closet for so many years.
Although I was exempted from his generalizations about "typical faggots" (and those of many of his friends), he never quite wrapped his mind around the possibility that fashionable clothing and show tunes were as socially relevant as ball scores. Nor could he ever understand my fury at attempting to piggy-back Super Bowl parties with my birthday (1/28).