A guy from work introduced me to his boyfriend this week. He seemed pretty nice, but it was weird, because he didn’t look gay at all. He was a computer programmer and looked like any fat, balding slob you’d run into on the street. I have to say, I would never let myself go like that if I were gay.
If I were gay, I would be very well groomed. I’d purchase two high-quality suits, one nice suit jacket, and two pairs of wool trousers. I’d get about eight shirts tailored, and I would own my own tuxedo, for special occasions. I’d grow my buzzcut into a sophisticated Caesar cut, and I would brighten it with tastefully blended golden highlights. Each morning, I would tame my hair’s unruly kinks with a dollop of molding paste and a little reparative shine serum. (It’s important to use the right products, if you want to maintain healthy hair—especially when it’s gay. )
If I were gay, there’s no way I’d shave with a disposable razor and a bar of Dial soap, like I do as a straight man. As a gay man, I’d make shaving a ritual. I would prepare my face with a foaming exfoliating cleanser, then I’d use a cucumber shave gel and a sharp blade.
I didn’t feel this way six or seven years ago, but I have a harder and harder time distinguishing serious discourse in official publications from the Onion.