He's not bluffing with his muffin
It was about a year ago I sat down to sushi at a Polk street resturant near my house. My friends and I had just gotten our edamame when they came in. The dykes. The glorious dykes.
These were the 1980's idea of what a lesbian was.
You go into a dyke bar in San Francisco now and you won't see them. The girls there now are called Boi's, they are impossibly slender, small breasted, elegant in their fitted plaid shirts and painstakingly sculpted short hair. They wipe the remaining dusting of cocaine from their noserings before charming the pants off of you, bedding you, then high fiving like bros with their friends the morning after. the new dykes who have rejected everything the old dykes were about.
The dykes in the sushi bar were kitted in the classic stereotype. Middle aged women in Leather vests over baggy t-shirts, vast breasts unhindered by bras, studded dog collars, tapered stone washed jeans...and the mullets...oh god the unironic, greasy mullets. These were the lesbians that know you think they look like men. They know it and they don't care because they are over that shit. These are the dykes that ride bikes. These are the dykes that will pinch your ass when you go to the kitchen to get them a fresh Budwieser. The Hold outs. The ones that that spelled women with a "Y" and MEANT IT.
I wanted to high five every one of them.
I chittered in my seat and resisted the urge. But I still have a soft spot for things that seem so unabashedly homosexual. The limp wrist, the timberland boots, the glitter or the lady-mullet, there is something about a relic of the kind of homosexuality that harkens from the days of absolute suppression of the gay lifestyle when it's participants HAD to be so out there that a dress code came into being to mark your own that is heart warming. That makes me misty for all those queers who came before me who made it possible to live prouder and less afraid. The ones who made it easier for the next generation to wear whatever the fuck they pleased and still be who they are because these homos pushed through and MADE it ok.
So when I say that this is the GAYEST shit I have ever seen (and I have seen some GAY SHIT.) I want you to understand how I mean it. And I mean it in the most reverent of ways.
Johnny Weir? You go, girl. I see you at the bar and I am buyin' you SO MANY COSMOS.
These were the 1980's idea of what a lesbian was.
You go into a dyke bar in San Francisco now and you won't see them. The girls there now are called Boi's, they are impossibly slender, small breasted, elegant in their fitted plaid shirts and painstakingly sculpted short hair. They wipe the remaining dusting of cocaine from their noserings before charming the pants off of you, bedding you, then high fiving like bros with their friends the morning after. the new dykes who have rejected everything the old dykes were about.
The dykes in the sushi bar were kitted in the classic stereotype. Middle aged women in Leather vests over baggy t-shirts, vast breasts unhindered by bras, studded dog collars, tapered stone washed jeans...and the mullets...oh god the unironic, greasy mullets. These were the lesbians that know you think they look like men. They know it and they don't care because they are over that shit. These are the dykes that ride bikes. These are the dykes that will pinch your ass when you go to the kitchen to get them a fresh Budwieser. The Hold outs. The ones that that spelled women with a "Y" and MEANT IT.
I wanted to high five every one of them.
I chittered in my seat and resisted the urge. But I still have a soft spot for things that seem so unabashedly homosexual. The limp wrist, the timberland boots, the glitter or the lady-mullet, there is something about a relic of the kind of homosexuality that harkens from the days of absolute suppression of the gay lifestyle when it's participants HAD to be so out there that a dress code came into being to mark your own that is heart warming. That makes me misty for all those queers who came before me who made it possible to live prouder and less afraid. The ones who made it easier for the next generation to wear whatever the fuck they pleased and still be who they are because these homos pushed through and MADE it ok.
So when I say that this is the GAYEST shit I have ever seen (and I have seen some GAY SHIT.) I want you to understand how I mean it. And I mean it in the most reverent of ways.
Click to viewJohnny Weir? You go, girl. I see you at the bar and I am buyin' you SO MANY COSMOS.