Gay-tastic

The association between fashion and homosexuality is quite fascinating. I presume it originates in the various conflations of the term ‘gay’ over the last hundred or so years, stretching from ‘happy and jolly’, via a brief period as a synonym for ‘poofter’ to the currently modish slang term for ‘a bit shit’.

The clothing aspect is of great interest though. As someone who tends to view clothes more in terms of a nuclear explosion rather than a recipe (now check that out for a shit analogy), it sometimes intrigues me how fashion and style acts as a sort of implicit uniform for the wearer and observer. Hence, long black hair, baggy trousers and a hoodie with blood, guts and zombies tends to suggest a goth or metalhead. Similarly, ridiculously tight jeans, a baggy oversize, overpatterned hoodie and a militantly dyed fringe implies some association with emocore music. I could continue listing such similarities, not all musical – umbro, nike and the chav, or the power suit and the cocktail bar, for instance.

In all of these, the uber-fashionable, uber-gay style where literally every hair is in place seems odd. All the others imply a certain choice, or a personal validation of life experience. The businesswoman proudly having broken through the glass ceiling, yet maintaining her femininity for instance. Likewise, the perverse emo approach of dressing so different from the mainstream with all their eyeliner and fringe that they end up looking the same. Perhaps I’m in a minority, but validating something as essential as the mere fact of gender through fashion strikes me as somewhat odd.

Perhaps it emerges as a reaction to homophobia, or equally, gay pride and AIDs in the 1980s. Perhaps its as entirely normal as the chav, the powersuit or the emo’s eyeliner. Perhaps my finding it weird is just a reaction against some buried uber-gay aspect of myself (I get camper when I’m drunk, apparently). All these options sound valid – from the massive, social and cultural to the minutely idiosyncratic.

Yet I feel there may be some other explanation. And one which settles down neatly nearer the idiosyncratic end of the scale.

When getting dressed yesterday I had an existential crisis as to which pair of shoes went better with my outfit.

Oh dear.

xHx