Silver Sailor (another hot flash)

Yesterday I was walking down the street with my ear plugs in (my new thing, it helps drown out all the idiots) and I passed by a store window where I saw a silver lame' top for the holidays on a female mannequin in a disenchanted pose amongst a series of paper snow flakes. I suddenly broke out in a cold sweat and was sent spinning into a whirl of highly frothed whipped gay images from the past. The usual "STOP IT" flew out of my mouth before I knew it and I continued walking. Each step was a flash bulb going off in my head.

Flash
I am 18
Flash
A sailor hat
Flash
Bell bottoms
Flash
A silver lame' shirt
Flash
Me holding a clip board at a gay foam party

Next thing I knew I was walking into traffic, my face red with shame and my umbrella blown open.

When I was 16 there was nothing I wanted more than a silver lame' shirt to go clubbing in. I had remembered afternoons filled with Donahue and Sally where they interviewed the New York City club kids and all the flamers had on dramatic make- up, brightly colored hair and loud lame' shirts- it was my first real exposure to openly gay men. Now that I had come out to friends I had decided it was to time to fulfill my destiny as a gay, run away to New York, make it as Broadway actor by day and lead a fabulous life by night. I wanted a wardrobe filled with platform shoes, tight pants, loud shirts- but most importantly- a silver lame’ shirt. The idea haunted me- silver lame', silver lame', SILVER LAME'. It was like that damn "I want my golden arm" camp fire story.

When I turned 17 my friend LCL took me shopping in New York City. We visited Patricia Fields so she could pick up some make up and check out the shoes. When we walked in I began to sort through the racks and there it was- SILVER DESTINY. I let out a short yelp and snatched it from the rack. It wasn't lame' (I had since realized that lame' is an incredibly uncomfortable material) but it was shiny, reflective, stretchy and hot. I immediately ran to a mirror and put it up against my body.

There I stood in my cords, flannel, and converse draping the god awful shiny fabric over my emaciated torso. The music grew in my ears, the room began to swirl, and I saw it- the future I had planned. I was fantastic, I was hosting club nights, I was in magazines, I was on Maury Povich talking about my life, I was the "it" boy- I was a success! I had to try it on, I just had to! I stepped behind the glittering curtain and threw off the flannel. I put arms through the cold fabric and sapped it up carefully. My skin was quivering and light bit of sweat formed on my brow. I turned around to face myself in the dressing room mirror- It was exactly what I wanted. I was convinced I looked great in reflective clothing, LCL agreed. 80$ later I was sure this silver piece of garbage would buy my happiness and acceptance into the "community".

It sat in my closet for a year.

When I was 18 I finally was old enough to get into a club without the aid of slutty teenage girls. LCL invited me to visit her in NYC where we planned a night of debauchery at The Tunnel. I decided it was time to break out SILVER DESTINY. I was so excited to finally wear it out in public and display my glistening glory. I was here, I was definitely queer and well, everyone but me was used to it.

What goes best with a silver shirt? Why a little sailor hat, a pair of tight, tan, second hand bell bottoms and clunky 90s shoes of course! The outfit was perfection. I was perfection, sickly teenage thin, looking like I was 12 in my tight clothing.

We had a great night out- we danced our asses off and at one point there was a circle watching us, I even heard someone shout "Damn that boy can dance". I had never felt happier. LCL was a great host and showed me off like a new toy. We even relaxed and did some underage drinking in the bathroom that Chloe Sevigny had her "I have HIV and am freaked out" walk in KIDS- I was in love with my outfit, NYC and living the dream.

I should have put it away, a one time deal and a memory to be savored. However, that was just not my style at that point- I was still confused and needed more.

That same summer I was living in Providence with WAGIN and desperately in need of a job. I had found an ad for a club promoter at this new gay club "Generation X". I was sort of done with the whole club kid/Broadway actor idea and was onto the "starving artist" notion. However when I read the ad I heard it- the thumping techno pounding in my brain- I saw it - me, club kid extraordinaire, fabulous, loved by all, and living the life. I called the number and went for an interview where I met a beefy gay 32 year old pervert. I got the job.

My “job” consisted of me walking around this "club" with a clip board talking to men and getting them on the mailing list. This "club" also had male strippers who would give you a private dance in the back (blow job) for a fee. I was oblivious to this. I was so blinded by my path to the top as a club promoter all I saw was “nightlife” (as lame as it was in Providence).

The big promotion for two weeks was the "foam party". If anyone has been to one of those events you know it is a nasty dirty affair- at that time I had no idea. I promoted that event with all my heart from 9pm to 12am. I told people how much fun it was going to be and what a great chance it was to meet other single gay men (At 18 I did not know anything about dating but there I was BS'n away). The final night of promotion before the party Beefy Boss came up to me and said "hey wear something special for the party". Oh and I did…

That night I prepped like a girl on prom night. I took a long hot shower, scrubbed everything down, did my hair, and clipped my nails, walked around in my underwear, put on moisturizer- the works. Out of the clothing chest came the pants, the hat, my new John Fluevog boots and SILVER DESTINY. I slowly dressed and saved the hat for last. I slightly tilted it to the side for effect- I thought I was the BOMB.

I arrived at the club and clacked my way across the pavement in my wooden soled shoes (giving me shin splints). I had the confidence of a Miss America contestant. I walked in the door and said hello to the surly lesbian that worked the door. She looked me up and down and waved me past with a quizzical look and went back to reading her book. I sashayed over to the bar where Beefy Boss was and gave a giant confidant smile. His face was not the face I expected- it was a face of "holy shit he really did get dressed up" combined with holding in laughter. The other sporty lesbian at the bar said "what the hell are you wearing, that’s not YOU!” Beefy boss immediately jumped in and said "You look great! Absolutely great! I would put you on the stage with the strippers if I could" and handed me the clip board "Now go get em!”

My confidence was waning.

Did I look stupid? Had Silver Destiny lost its touch in those few weeks? How could that be, everyone loves reflective material in the gay community right? I mean, I love reflective material… right? I went to the bathroom on the verge of a breakdown to check myself in the mirror. I looked great. "Fuck this place- this is Providence god damn Rhode Island, New York LOVED me!" I shouted like a mad man. I washed my hands and slammed the bathroom door.

Confidence renewed I went out and talked to strangers asking them to sign up for mailings and told them to go out to the patio and enjoy the foam. After about an hour and only two signatures I realized I had not even seen this “foam party”. I headed on out to the patio for a peak of the "fun". There it was- a small group of shirtless strung out looking fags grinding up on each other squealing, bumping, and humping amidst a sea of frothy grayish colored foam. I was shocked; it was like a bubble bath with a bunch of people- dirty slimy people TOUCHING each other all over, not caring, worst of all with all that soap NO ONE gets clean! I went in for a closer look, careful not to get foam on my Fluevogs. I was spotted by one amorous older hairy man who began to beckon me over. He gathered up a bunch of foam and SPLASH - nasty human sweat filled foam got all over my beautiful shirt and some in my mouth. Suddenly I was awake for the first time in my silver haze.

This was not who I was. The sporty lesbian knew it but I obviously didn’t. I didn’t even like this shirt all that much anymore let alone the stupid hat and the terrible music blaring in my ears during my revelation. I enjoyed the Smiths, sulking, smoking pot and drawing with WAGIN not squealing in piles of foam. Why the HELL was I here listening to crap music pretending to be something I obviously was not?! I felt a fool. I had been playing a game for so long I thought it was who I was. I clacked off the patio, placed my clip board on the bar, took off my hat and headed out the front door. I never looked back.

I called WAGIN on my "car phone" and told her I was coming home. When I climbed the stairs in defeat there she was to welcome me. I changed out of my clothes and joined her in the living room. She was waiting with open arms, a bowl, my sketch pad and some old records for us to listen to. I never felt more confused in my life.

I still see myself, from the outside, standing there, smiling like a fool in that outfit, trying so hard. I just wanted to fit in with gay men. I wanted to make gay men like me. I wanted to do what I was “supposed” to do as a gay man as told to me by the media, Sally and Phil. I never thought about what I wanted to do for me and who I was as an individual. I had never realized that you don't have to be outragous to prove you are comfortable with your sexuality. I guess that’s what being 18 is all about right?