Prefab Identity
"Welcome to the Castro - here's your Prefab Identity," is what the signs should read as you cross Market Street and head into the rainbow-flag-adorned but otherwise dreary urban neighborhood.
I noticed that I could guess how isolated a childhood any man I'd meet may have had based on his flamboyance. That is to say that the smaller the birth town, the larger the flames. I couldn't figure out why we all acted this way, at times, and then it struck me: when one has no mirrors, no heros, no mentors to help define who he is or wants to be, and he also lacks the self-awareness while being wrapped in self-loathing and insecurity, well, he may just grab the first tangible and accessible personality traits that are presented en masse. I wondered, "where does the 'gayness' all come from anyway?" It was asking this question that caused me to lose the ability to carry on so.
I have never, at least to my knowledge, been defined as "flaming," but this thinking did make me look closely at my own behavior and speech patterns. This Castro-speak was so infectious and that, combined with the lack of bullying, the removal of the fear of getting the crap kicked out of me, and the freedom of just being, did make the opportunity to nancy around a bit more alluring. There was literally a local dialect around me and I worried about how much of it I might be inadvertently absorbing. Or was it simply a natural phenomenon? Did gay men speak and act this way by nature or nurture? I at least wanted to ask the question, even though asking it infuriated my peers. I was clear that the sexuality is real, natural and something with which we're born - but the affectation, if it is that, is it real, invented or adopted?
I then set out on my quest to find my own voice. What did I sound like? Did I really lisp? Did I enjoy jokes and speech with itchy rashes of sexual innuendo? The answer was, Not Really.
I also understood the important role that all this plays in the development of a man in a society that really does not want him by and large. Let's face it - there's rarely a celebration when we 'come out.' Nobody took me to Chuck E. Cheese, that's for sure. These habitual wispy pretenses were like life preservers for those adrift in the sea of isolation - they were necessary tools for connection, engagement and acceptance, three things society robs from anyone who is different. I also began to understand why this so called "faggot" comportment had always made me uncomfortable - even when I exhibited it myself; it seemed so inauthentic once self-acceptance had been achieved. I could almost see the men inside my friends and me screaming for new mannerisms or at least asking for them in a calm, masculine voice.
Still, I knew plenty of heterosexual men who were effeminate but curiously many of them also had close gay friends. Perhaps it was a one-size-fits-all modular personality, an equal opportunity eccentricity, ready for anyone who hadn't a clue yet who they were.
I became incapable of communicating with my fellow queer. Everyone became lab rats to me, subjected to my unfair secret mannerism surveys. The pendulum had swung too far in the other direction, and now I judged my comrade's authenticity on how much they accentuated their "S's." I became worried that I might spend the rest of my life alone for this reason. I didn't want a "straight acting" partner; instead, I wanted a "no acting" partner - not apparently straight nor gay but real. I realized then that I would have to examine my own characteristics to determine which were mine and which were adopted. I knew that I must become whoever it was that I wanted to attract.
I moved from the Castro neighborhood four years later having met someone seemingly free of foibles. We live in the country now and I love it here among the earthy folk. When we visit my old 'hood now, it's always an odd safari into the depths of the gay ghetto life. I see many young men with the prefab identity firmly in place and I fight the need to tell them what my experience taught me. Perhaps it was a journey only for me and they're just fine and comfortable with the way they are. I will always question it though and wonder what the community would be like if after coming out and being ourselves, we all just really began being ourselves without taking our stylistic cues from the others. Maybe the closet has many sets of doors.
I noticed that I could guess how isolated a childhood any man I'd meet may have had based on his flamboyance. That is to say that the smaller the birth town, the larger the flames. I couldn't figure out why we all acted this way, at times, and then it struck me: when one has no mirrors, no heros, no mentors to help define who he is or wants to be, and he also lacks the self-awareness while being wrapped in self-loathing and insecurity, well, he may just grab the first tangible and accessible personality traits that are presented en masse. I wondered, "where does the 'gayness' all come from anyway?" It was asking this question that caused me to lose the ability to carry on so.
I have never, at least to my knowledge, been defined as "flaming," but this thinking did make me look closely at my own behavior and speech patterns. This Castro-speak was so infectious and that, combined with the lack of bullying, the removal of the fear of getting the crap kicked out of me, and the freedom of just being, did make the opportunity to nancy around a bit more alluring. There was literally a local dialect around me and I worried about how much of it I might be inadvertently absorbing. Or was it simply a natural phenomenon? Did gay men speak and act this way by nature or nurture? I at least wanted to ask the question, even though asking it infuriated my peers. I was clear that the sexuality is real, natural and something with which we're born - but the affectation, if it is that, is it real, invented or adopted?
I then set out on my quest to find my own voice. What did I sound like? Did I really lisp? Did I enjoy jokes and speech with itchy rashes of sexual innuendo? The answer was, Not Really.
I also understood the important role that all this plays in the development of a man in a society that really does not want him by and large. Let's face it - there's rarely a celebration when we 'come out.' Nobody took me to Chuck E. Cheese, that's for sure. These habitual wispy pretenses were like life preservers for those adrift in the sea of isolation - they were necessary tools for connection, engagement and acceptance, three things society robs from anyone who is different. I also began to understand why this so called "faggot" comportment had always made me uncomfortable - even when I exhibited it myself; it seemed so inauthentic once self-acceptance had been achieved. I could almost see the men inside my friends and me screaming for new mannerisms or at least asking for them in a calm, masculine voice.
Still, I knew plenty of heterosexual men who were effeminate but curiously many of them also had close gay friends. Perhaps it was a one-size-fits-all modular personality, an equal opportunity eccentricity, ready for anyone who hadn't a clue yet who they were.
I became incapable of communicating with my fellow queer. Everyone became lab rats to me, subjected to my unfair secret mannerism surveys. The pendulum had swung too far in the other direction, and now I judged my comrade's authenticity on how much they accentuated their "S's." I became worried that I might spend the rest of my life alone for this reason. I didn't want a "straight acting" partner; instead, I wanted a "no acting" partner - not apparently straight nor gay but real. I realized then that I would have to examine my own characteristics to determine which were mine and which were adopted. I knew that I must become whoever it was that I wanted to attract.
I moved from the Castro neighborhood four years later having met someone seemingly free of foibles. We live in the country now and I love it here among the earthy folk. When we visit my old 'hood now, it's always an odd safari into the depths of the gay ghetto life. I see many young men with the prefab identity firmly in place and I fight the need to tell them what my experience taught me. Perhaps it was a journey only for me and they're just fine and comfortable with the way they are. I will always question it though and wonder what the community would be like if after coming out and being ourselves, we all just really began being ourselves without taking our stylistic cues from the others. Maybe the closet has many sets of doors.
Labels: Effeminate, Gay, Identity
posted by Lord Erstwhile Hopton at 8:27 AM
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