In praise of the girly-boy

There's been a lot of coverage in the media recently about girly boys. So, what is it about childhood gender identity that challenges us so much? Why are we so sissiphobic?

Things seemed to kick-off at the end of last year, when blogger Nerdy Apple Bottom wrote about her 5-year old son's decision to go to a Halloween Party dressed as Daphne from Scooby-Do, and her anger at the reaction of her fellow moms.

Then, we had a J-Crew ad that showed their head designer painting her son's toenails pink, which sparked a flurry of coverage, lead by FoxNews, around

what constitutes “good parenting”, with the inference that painting your son’s toenails pink was a clear example of “bad parenting”, backed-up with expert testimony that this was a surefire way to cause lasting damage to the boy.

And then we had a story of Malaysian authorities creating specialist camps to rid schoolboys of effeminate behaviour, which - interestingly - seemed to garner almost universal condemnation, and a general sense that this just goes to prove how crazy and foreign those South-East Asians are, what with their prohibition of chewing gum and their predilection for caning poor American graffiti taggers.

The lesson from this: criticism/condemnation/character assassination are acceptable ways to ensure that people conform to gender stereotypes - but overt physical coercion is not. Good to know...

I’ve been thinking about these cases quite a lot. And reflecting on my own childhood. It may be a sample of one, but if my experience is in any way representative, then young kids are pretty

blasé about about what they like. Preference is an early part of what forms personality. I mean, when I was a toddler, I took a shine to a doll (gasp!) at a garage sale (apparently, when you pulled the cord, it made a growling sound - and I thought it sounded like a tiger. Go figure.) - my parents were pretty cool with my selection. But, like most toys, it quickly fell from favour.

Now for FoxNews, that might be the smoking gun for my suspect orientation - but my read of the impact is that it made not a jot of difference.

But, a little later in life, what really made the difference to me and the way that I felt that I should behave (and the toys that I should like), was the impact of peer pressure.

Conformity is such a powerful force, most of us girly boys are brought into line well before we need to be sent to Butch Camp. And by the time I went to school, it was clear to me that dolls were not acceptable toys for boys.

Another piece of anecdotal evidence. When I was in my first year of school, my first best friend was a boy called Adam. We were in the same class. We hung out in the playground. We played 45-and-out with the big boys. And the big girls giggled at us, and tried to coerce us into games of kiss-chase. But, one day, with a mixture of bemusement and exhilaration, we witnessed the impact it had when one of us caught the other in a game of kiss-chase. I don’t think either of us had any idea why it might provoke such a reaction - and so neither of us objected when asked to repeat that act for the benefit of the assembled onlookers. But, boy, did it create a stir. Nobody really explained to us what was wrong about it. Apart from the fact that it was very wrong. So, we didn’t do it again.

Thinking back on this, I had a flash of realisation - I could try and track-down Adam, and see if this early counter-conformist expression was an indicator of a lifelong ‘suspect orientation’. Test the FoxNews’ child-rearing expert’s assertion that permitting early expressions of gender transgressive behaviour can lead to - ahem - ‘confusion’ in later life.

Now, I know there’s a dangerous assumption here - but the fact that Adam is now married, a champion downhill skier and a Major in the Army (having seen active service in Iraq) - makes me think that he’s probably not a sissyboy. As for his orientation, we can only surmise.

So, the straight boys of the world can breathe a sigh of relief, safe in the knowledge that I cannot convert them with the beguiling power of my soft lips.

So. I was still mulling some of this over when I read another article on instilling gender roles when raising kids. Coverage has been building on the Canadian couple who have decided to raise their newborn baby without gender. (Although this doesn't seem to be the first recorded incidence. A Swedish couple did the same thing in 2009)

Now, I don't make a habit of commenting on the way parents bring-up their kids (but - hey - they were the ones who did the media interviews...), but I applaud their decision to encourage their eldest two kids (boys, by the way) to express themselves freely, without concern for what is considered traditionally boyish appearance or behaviour. But I have to say I don't agree with their decision on how to raise their youngest. By keeping this child’s

gender a secret, these parents aren’t challenging the stereotypes that constrain us, that say ‘Boys can’t be caring and nurturing!', 'Girls can’t be tough and strong and aggressive!’ All that these parents are doing is retreating from the issue, rather than challenging it. I also don't think that they are giving the child 'freedom to choose'. After all, the child's sex is pretty definite. Its gender expression may be more commutable.

In my experience, our restricted sense of what masculine and feminine identities are, means that those who sit somewhat outside those parameters are subject to the full-force of society’s opprobrium.

And for scaredy-cats like me, who no longer play with dolls, pick flowers from the garden to make home-made rosewater, or experiment with painting their fingernails (all of which I was guilty of, until I realised that I wasn't supposed to do things like that), I owe a debt of gratitude to the brazen and unbroken gender-benders, the girly-guys on the front-line, who continue to push the boundaries by just walking down the street. Although I may not be cheering, inside my regulation issue t-shirt and jeans, I’m bursting with pride for you....

Rainbow ground zero

San Francisco is one of those places that it lives in the mind - almost independently of the worldly reality of the actual place.

Even prior to coming here for the first time in 2001, I had a strong concept of how the place should feel. Looking back to that first visit, what I expected was pure distilled 1970s: OK, so maybe not totally hippies in flares, smoking weed and holding-hands whilst skipping though the park...but not far off it. I envisioned sun glinting off the Golden Gate Bridge, all bathed in that dappled light and innocence of childhood photographs. And GAYS. Lots and lots of ‘em.

And - of course - I wanted it to feel like “coming home”. Even in rural mid-Wales, the lure of the Castro was there, tantalising my 16-year old fantasies with images of carefree acceptance and easy access to Hot Guys. I was already sold.

So, my first visit in 2001 was a reality check. Yes - it did feel like a pilgrimage to the Mecca of gaydom. But, like many pilgrims, I wasn’t able to overlook the tawdry commercialisation of the sacred relics. (So, in Lourdes it’s lurid plastic Virgin Maries to take home your souvenir Holy Water. In the Castro, it was Rainbow-coloured, erection-shaped candles to put on the mantel and genuflect to)

And - yes - it did feel like the centre of the known gay world...but there was an 'end of the empire' faded-grandure. A sense that it was living on its past glories.

Well before 2001, Gay™ had already successfully launched franchise operations in most sizeable European cities, so walking into a bar in the Castro felt as familiar as walking into a McDonalds in any UK city. Same decor, same items on the menu, and same initial excitement, quickly receding to leave behind greasy fingers, a slightly salty aftertaste and a vague sense of disappointment.

And, rather than the freewheeling, carefree and radical. It felt - well - rather comfortable and suburban. A combination of the ravages of the AIDS epidemic and the dot.com boom-fuelled property bubble must have kept the Castro accessible only to those already well-established, and those just passing through. So, it was lovely to sit on the bench outside Peet’s on Market and watch those handsome, chiselled men in their 40s stroll past with their dogs, and shoot the breeze with the other handsome, chiselled men in their 40s. But for an unassuming Brit in his 20s, it didn’t feel like my kind of place at all. So, I left it there, and flew on to Sydney, and another first visit to a place I never expected to - very much later - call home.

So, I’m two weeks into a very different visit to San Francisco. I’d been back to the city (I think) five times since my first visit in 2001. It’s certainly still an incredibly beautiful place, with the hills and the water, that special light, and a feeling of expectation. The glimpses of views behind the painted facades of the Victorian houses are still tantalising, and the Golden Gate Bridge still impresses.

And I’ve changed. The beard and the beer-gut help to ingratiate. And I’m certainly less green that I was on that first trip in 2001. Still haven’t bought any rainbow dick candles. But, yesterday I did go to the GLBT History Museum, and pay my respects to the most significant relic on display: Mary-Ann Singleton’s outfit from Tales of the City.

Now, where are those baby wipes?

Assembly-line friendships

OK. So, what did my time with 'BB' teach me? (*Apart* from how to dodge a nifty right hook. But that's a whole other story).

We met in the fag fug of Horsemeat Disco, when I was blearily exiting a previous relationship, and had been looking for nothing more than a bit of fun. A fuzzy frolic by the pool table, led to coffees and (oh how noughties gay London) further dates - workout dates - at Soho Gym in Waterloo.

It soon became clear that 'BB' was driven by a number of things...but, actually, most of them pretty straight-forward. The categeries of Top Trumps that he was particularly interested in?

• Muscle (and it was about SIZE)
• Furriness
• Masculinity

But basically, what he was looking for was strokes. The 'warm fuzzies' that he got when a guy who ticked all the attractiveness boxes gave him a little bit of attention. And it was that most powerful of motivators - insecurity - that gave him his drive.

Now, us gays are generally pretty fluent in the language of attraction and the dynamics of desire. And we have diversified our relationship structures to accommodate them... So, for many in the 'straight world', non-traditional and non-monogamous relationships may seem worthy of a 'behind-closed-doors-exposé', but I've been living the intricacies of friends in 'trouples', and navigating my way around the politics and politeness of couples with open relationships since I came onto the scene.

Now it's pretty clear what's going-on within these relationships - it's real-world and real-time and plain to see. But with the rise (and rise) of online social networking, what happens to monogamous couples when the online networking seems to move beyond 'social' and into 'sexual' territory?

With 'BB' I knew the offline stuff that happened. He had a broad circle of friends, and loved to be chummy with the hottest guys on the scene. He got a lot of strokes that way. But it was something that I knew about, and didn't feel threatened by.

But when 10 or 15 hot new 'friends' appeared on his Facebook profile every day (and each profile picture was a variation on the theme of - you guessed it - muscled, hairy torso), then I started to wonder what was going-on. What was he getting from these guys? And how did it reflect on our relationship?

My conclusion is that social (and sexual) networking on the internet allows us to do assembly-line friendships.

Stick with me here. Prior to the industrial revolution, production of goods was by artisans or craftsmen. Basically, if you wanted some shoes, you went to a cobbler, and they made the shoes themselves, for you, from the basic components. With the rise of Taylorist management science, and the advent of mass-manufacturing processes (as pioneered by Henry Ford) manufacturing tasks were broken down into smaller and smaller components, and labour became very specialist. So, with our cobbler example, there would now be one person who's only job (and only skill) was to cut the leather upper for the shoe, someone else to punch the eyelets, and yet another to stitch the sole.

Are we doing the same with our friends? Are we breaking-down the craftsmanlike nature of what it takes to be a 'fully-qualified' friend or lover, to develop a set of specialist 'friends' whose role is to provide different elements of our relationship needs?

It became clear to me that 'BB' was using the internet to flirt. Pure & simple. He was using those hot, hairy torsos to give him a regular drip feed of validation. And that was a drug. Why stick with the real compliments and caresses of one lover, when you can access the strokes from a thousand virtual ones....even if that's all that they give you. It's intoxicating.

But where do the rest of us go from here?

How does it affect the quality of our relationships, if - like assembling a Ford Model T - we are going to one set of friends for flirting, another set of friends for sex, another set of friends for emotional intimacy, and another set of friends for domesticity?

I don't have an answer. But my heart tells me that having so many different identities isn't healthy for the soul. I think I aspire to being a Master Craftsman of Friendship.

Gay Top Trumps: Collectable, Competitive, Compulsive

Do you know the game Top Trumps?

It was a playground favourite of mine. Played behind the school kitchens during recess (or "playtime" as we called it back in early 80s Britain). In retrospect, I was always quite quick on the uptake when it came to games - both the childish type and the ones we spend our adult lives working on - so maybe that's why I enjoyed it so much when I was maybe 6 or 7 years old. It was a practice run for the real-life comparisons and everyday competition that are a part of adult life.

Much has been talked about when it comes to the sexualisation of society. Botox Mom being the latest example of adult concepts of attractiveness or success being imposed on children (beauty pageants for 5 year olds, anyone?) - but there are plenty more of them out there.

As a young man, growing-up gay, I also transitioned into a world beyond "playtime", where the adult games that we played were so much more serious, and the potential spoils so much richer. I'm often reminded of Top Trumps, and how it's the stakes that change - not the games.

The "gay community" has historically defined itself in relation to "the straight world". And we have our own unique twist on the criteria for attractiveness and success. It is an interesting case study on what happens in a free market, when all regulation is removed. Consumer power rules! Buy! Buy! Buy, baby!

Sexual consumerism gives us a way of assessing our value - both as buyers and sellers. And that's what brings me back to Top Trumps. The lesson that this game teaches is all about competitive advantage. What have you got that is better than the people you're competing with? And this was the lesson that I learned (the hard way) when I did my 2nd growing-up as a gay man. In a perfect market, everyone can see who's got the broadest shoulders, the bluest eyes, the best butt or the optimal height...

How's a guy to compete? And how's a guy to come-to-terms with his place in 'the pecking order'?

1. Self-improvement: Any wonder that they used to hand out a gym membership with your membership card for the international homo fraternity?
2. Switch to a new market: Supply and demand.... if what you're selling is fat & hairy, then hawking it to a crowd of muscle-chasers is a hiding to nothing. Whereas in Bear World, fat & hairy is the gold standard
3. Move the goalposts: If you can't compete on biceps, try comparison against educational attainment. If 5'7" just ain't making the grade against a shade over 6', well, then maybe a $50K higher salary can help you walk taller.

It is the essence of Top Trumps that helps the underdogs of the gay world cushion our egos. It's a move from the simplistic view of erotic capital, (that the straight world seems to be waking-up to) - but a broader sense of the worth that individuals have to offer...and a clearer understanding of heterogeneous sexual demand, and the proliferation of what constitutes 'the ideal' in our gay commodity market.

Step One: The first step

"Even the longest journey begins with a single step"

Attributed to Lao-tzu (c 604-c 531 bc), founder of Taoism

The desire to produce something 'finished' - something honed and polished, that perfectly encapsulates my thinking - is the key reason why I haven't done something like this before. After all, it's been a loooong time in the gestation.

I guess the traditional way of writing, where the author writes, re-reads, edits and re-writes their work is laborious and time-consuming. And it produces something 'finished'.

But the perfectionist instinct goes hand-in-hand with a sense of procrastination or defeatism. "I can't possibly write anything, because I don't have the time to get it just right...and I'm not sure that I really have anything very interesting to say, anyway...." And so another 6 months goes by, without having actually produced anything.

So. For me, a new credo, a new set of blog rules:

1. Doing *something* not moderately well is much better than doing nothing perfectly
2. Get a stake in the ground. It may or may not lead-on to something else
3. Perpetual beta: It's OK to come back to something later, and continue to revise and hone it
4. Chronology doesn't matter. You don't have to wait until you have introduced the characters before writing about the action
5. Experimentation and play are the lifeblood of creativity
6. I'm more of an impressionist than a photo-realist. (ie it's the emotion you convey and impact that you have that counts. Technical expertise is not an end in itself)

Enough of the navel-gazing. Time to write...

Prologue

The idea of Writing A Blog has long been at the back of my mind.

The attraction is both personal and public; part confessional, part sermon.

In my 20s, I kept a diary for a couple of years or so, in the period after I graduated when I was traveling a lot, and wanted a record of the places and people, and the things that I'd done: a simple aide-memoire, that spoke to my fear of losing the memory.

Re-reading it now, however, it's clear that the more interesting (and more enduring) elements of the exercise were the insight it gives into both my emotional state at the time (a kind of emotional barometer) - and my rationalisation of how the two components (what I was doing and how I was feeling) worked together... in essence providing the reference point for Where I Was At.

So, I guess the key difference for diary vs blog comes down to two things: audience and objective.

This blog needs an audience. Firstly, I want to avoid the tendency for navel-gazing that could afflict a simple diary. I'm not sure I have any sense of who that audience could (or should) be for this blog...but as a way of moderating and curating my thoughts, I think a sense of audience is important. So, in a Brontë-esque way ("Dear Reader"), my first intent is to make this as personal and conversational as possible. Hopefully, that way it'll be readable too...

And the objective. Well, I'm going to aim for the intersection of doing and feeling - and in the process, I hope to be able to draw out something more, that gets to the heart of Where I Am At - but that also translates to something that You, Dear Reader, will actually want to bloody well read.

Here, in hope, we go!