Brave New Queers?

[January 14th, 2004] I spend a lot of time with my partner. That means I get to spend a lot of time with his friends. Now, I don't mind that. Truth is, many of them have become my close friends, too.

But something bugs me: Why do a couple of them have to be so damn boring?

Now, I'm not talking about our straight friends.

In the past, I somehow equated being straight with the horrific notion of being dull (read: the focused pursuit of such ordinary goals as home, marriage and family). But I'm surprised by how many of our thirty-something straight pals are living out interesting lives (read: exploring such exciting paths as world travel, higher education and rock-and-roll superstardom) without ever once talking about settling down or getting hitched.

Truth is, I'm talking about some of Juan's gay friends.

Not all of them, mind you, just a few of them--whom, if I didn't know better, I'd suspect of being full-fledged heteros. Especially one of Juan's closet friends, Ross Urquhart.

Ross loves football. He drinks beer (not just the good kind). I've never, ever seen him in anything that remotely resembles "club wear." And he's much more likely to slap you on the back than air-kiss you on the cheek. Now that sounds like a straight guy to me. Trouble is, Ross is totally out. And to my queer eye, he seems to be totally comfortable with the fact that he is gay.

But he doesn't act gay.

Which is strange to me. And even stranger is that I realize Juan's former frat brother, who doesn't have one lispy bone in his body, will probably never adopt any of the affectations I associate with a full-fledged homo.

You know the signals I'm talking about, don't you? Until recently, it was fairly easy to tell if a guy was gay (or British) just by his mannerisms. Queer cultural signifiers helped us forge our identity. But they also lumped us into several categories, including: the fashion whore who'd scratch your eyes out just to get his mitts on your Louis Vuitton man-purse; the nelly clone who passed himself off as a butch gym rat; and the drama-queen loner who recited music from Broadway musicals. But now we have a different kind of gay guy: the "normal dude," who--like his straight brother--just wants to find a house, settle down with a partner and have a pack of rug rats.

What the hell happened? And have I become a boring queer guy, too?

I mean, come on, I've settled down. I have a longtime partner. I treat my dogs like children. That sure seems worlds away from the cackling caftan queen I expected to be at the age of 41. And it sounds more like Ross than I'd care to admit.

So why am I forcing Juan's friends (and myself) into the closet of fabulousness? In truth, everything I assumed about gay culture and style can be perceived as stereotypically limiting. And I am not the only one. Just look at the stars of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. They have become experts at translating gay affectations for the dreaded metrosexual as well as for the masses.

But now it's time to accept the fact that there's nothing wrong with being a normal gay guy. Sure, I might think it's boring, but at least the stress of striving for a soap-opera-worthy life will finally fade into the background. Who could ask for anything more?