This is the second piece in an ongoing series on creating a cult following. For the initial article, please click here.
If the researchers are right, gay men are petulant, impatient early adopters capable of packing more energy into a decision regarding new shoes than one concerning the World Bank. Never mind that this is how we used to talk about women—men were the “wallet carriers” and perfectly permed housewives were too busy folding in Miracle Whip to care about civil rights or the Pill.
This was, of course, untrue; merely the pallor cast upon greater society by a much smaller segment. Today, the wonks are working the same crap on gay men, and I stood witness to what they worship last Saturday in New York: clubbing.
Think about it: the typical American church experience involves a fair bit of pomp and circumstance, utilizes costume to mark duty or class, engages the congregation with music, teaches a little lesson, involves women in diminutive/disciplinary/custodial roles and would not be complete without the collection of funds.
The role of costume is the most immediately apparent at a gay club: all black means staff, and all designer means club royalty; the frequenters, the court capable of denouncing you as trash or announcing your arrival as the hottie du jour. It’s all so reminiscent of high school: the cliques, the drinks, the drama.
The fag hags are like the nuns, keeping everything in line, warning their twinky charges against unseemly hookups and too many drinks. The collection basket is like the cover charge; and the lesson, the “homily” if you will, comes hard and clear for some after a few visits: it’s the same people, doing the same thing, hoping for the same thing, week after week.
Perhaps we are recreating these highly structured institutions on our own terms, which isn’t so unlike Miss Black America, Chinatown or Little Italy save for the fishnets and Madonna music. This is what marginalized minorities do, and I am inclined to say that anyone that opens a gay-centered business which mimics a traditional hierarchal social structure (as in, the kind we’re supposed to hate) will reap some serious spoils.
Actually, someone already has: Limited Brands, revivers of Abercrombie & Fitch. Can’t sit on prom court? Try my $80 jeans; go to a club and down some $10 drinks and feel better: you may make manager someday.