Homophobia has been on my mind a lot this past week and I think I can trace this thought strand back to three separate scenarios, the first being the most obvious and easiest to explain: while casually flicking through the rubbish on TV I landed slap, bang in the middle of some grotesquely outdated and nasty sketch featuring the most offensive gay caricature I’ve seen in a long time – it was like a jolt back in time; it was not funny; it was depressing to watch and I was moved to complain – something I never do, free speech and all.
So, that done, I felt better and could go about my week as a responsible homo with a clear conscience, making a stand for better representation of gays in the media. However, as the week carried on, things got murkier and I realised my own attitude to each and every colour in the diverse rainbow of sexuality isn’t as pure as I thought.
I was introduced to Michael over drinks last Friday night. He is very camp and the longer I spent with him, the more I disliked him. He works with Rich and I joined up with them later on in the evening. They had already been in the pub since finishing work, so I was playing quick catch up when it was suggested to go for pizza. The numbers had dwindled by the time we got to the restaurant and there was now only five of us so I was pulled even closer into Michael’s sphere and the furthest I could sit was barely more than an arms length away.
The more we drink, the louder we got and the more I detested Michael. I know we were all being a bit too rowdy for a slightly plush restaurant, occasionally getting dirty glances from the staff, but why did Michael have to be so loud – and suggestive – and, well, gay? I felt that his high volume campery, over-the-top antics and innuendo was giving us away and drawing disapproving eyes to our table.
If I think about it in the cold light of day, and with an objective mind, Michael wasn’t really being any more outrageous or loud-mouthed than the rest of us. He was perfectly polite towards me, didn’t exclude me, often seemed interested in what i was talking about, and laughed at my jokes. If pushed I would even concede that Michael was quite funny and provided lots of entertainment – so why the dislike. I don’t think it was just because he was such a give-away in the restaurant because I had made my mind up already, and he could be applauded for just being himself and not caring what the other diners thought. Am I just being homophobic towards him, gay-to-gay?
My third brush with homophobia this last week is what I would define as a kind of ‘positive homophobia’. My female cousin uses Facebook like I do and we’ve started chatting. We were fairly close as kids, but I haven’t seen her for years. Turns out she only recently discovered I’m gay – I had assumed that my mum had spread the word soon after I came out to immediate family – and suddenly I’m on her ‘A’ list and she wants to come down and I’ve got to take her on the gay scene and we’ll have a ball. It’s like I’m suddenly hot property just because I fuck guys – I’m still the exact same person I was three years ago, the last time we saw each other, when I suggested she come down to Brighton and visit, but she didn’t have a pen to write my phone number!
I suspect she has this idea in her head of living out some fabulous Will & Grace episode, having a camp old time with those outrageous queers, like that funny poof on that TV sketch show. Maybe I should put her in touch with Michael.
Homophobia is so gay
So, that done, I felt better and could go about my week as a responsible homo with a clear conscience, making a stand for better representation of gays in the media. However, as the week carried on, things got murkier and I realised my own attitude to each and every colour in the diverse rainbow of sexuality isn’t as pure as I thought.
I was introduced to Michael over drinks last Friday night. He is very camp and the longer I spent with him, the more I disliked him. He works with Rich and I joined up with them later on in the evening. They had already been in the pub since finishing work, so I was playing quick catch up when it was suggested to go for pizza. The numbers had dwindled by the time we got to the restaurant and there was now only five of us so I was pulled even closer into Michael’s sphere and the furthest I could sit was barely more than an arms length away.
The more we drink, the louder we got and the more I detested Michael. I know we were all being a bit too rowdy for a slightly plush restaurant, occasionally getting dirty glances from the staff, but why did Michael have to be so loud – and suggestive – and, well, gay? I felt that his high volume campery, over-the-top antics and innuendo was giving us away and drawing disapproving eyes to our table.
If I think about it in the cold light of day, and with an objective mind, Michael wasn’t really being any more outrageous or loud-mouthed than the rest of us. He was perfectly polite towards me, didn’t exclude me, often seemed interested in what i was talking about, and laughed at my jokes. If pushed I would even concede that Michael was quite funny and provided lots of entertainment – so why the dislike. I don’t think it was just because he was such a give-away in the restaurant because I had made my mind up already, and he could be applauded for just being himself and not caring what the other diners thought. Am I just being homophobic towards him, gay-to-gay?
My third brush with homophobia this last week is what I would define as a kind of ‘positive homophobia’. My female cousin uses Facebook like I do and we’ve started chatting. We were fairly close as kids, but I haven’t seen her for years. Turns out she only recently discovered I’m gay – I had assumed that my mum had spread the word soon after I came out to immediate family – and suddenly I’m on her ‘A’ list and she wants to come down and I’ve got to take her on the gay scene and we’ll have a ball. It’s like I’m suddenly hot property just because I fuck guys – I’m still the exact same person I was three years ago, the last time we saw each other, when I suggested she come down to Brighton and visit, but she didn’t have a pen to write my phone number!
I suspect she has this idea in her head of living out some fabulous Will & Grace episode, having a camp old time with those outrageous queers, like that funny poof on that TV sketch show. Maybe I should put her in touch with Michael.