'Gay-on-gay bullying'

This piece was originally published in full on SameSame.com.au, Sunday 27th September, available here.

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People often fall under the impression that the gay community is one harmonious union of likeminded souls, singing jamboree tunes and embracing one another in the spirit of love and equality. The reality couldn’t be further from the truth.

Some of us are bitchy, toxic and unkind. And when we hit – we hit hard.

Once you were a young boy. You crawled through life, hiding in the shadows, isolated from the rest of your peers. The truth was, you were in the closet, and nothing struck fear into your heart more than the idea of someone finding out. No power on Earth, you promised yourself, would force you out into the open.

Then, one day, your world fell apart, as through one circumstance or another, your sexuality was revealed. You were at the mercy of antagonistic bullies, who lashed out with all the vitriol that teenagers are capable of. The rest of your high school years went in a blur. You were beaten, bashed and battered – but ultimately, you survived, and sprung out into adulthood.

That’s when you discovered the gay community.

Coming from a world where you are not accepted, into a collective that takes you in without question, can be a shock to the system. Especially when the mutual ground you have with these newfound friends and acquaintances is based in something you were attacked over for your whole life. It can feel like you’ve been liberated – finally! A chance to prove myself! A chance to be whoever I want to be!

But it can also feel like high school all over again.

This may be because in our re-introduction to the world – the new world that we promise ourselves will see us transform into self-affirming superstars – we subconsciously endeavour to compensate for all that we lacked in our teen years.

“I see it all the time. Gay-on-gay bullying. Bitching and drama and adolescent chaos.”

Gay men, who were once pimpled and timid victims of abuse, change themselves into what they perceive as glorious works of art. I have seen these gay men try to compensate for all they were without, and become their own ideas of perfection; work hard on themselves, their bodies and their lives, to make up for all that they lacked in high school. The gay community has provided a window for them to climb through and free themselves from pain.

It’s become an almost tragic coincidence that the men I’ve encountered who have changed the most are often the ones who feel they have the most to prove. The psychological trauma of a disjointed and troubled youth runs deeper than mere skin and muscle, and with those changes, those efforts at self-improvement, I’ve seen attitudes shift, and personalities alter – for the worst. Cue a tragic recompense, as these gay men bully and attack one another, living vicariously through a high school persona that they never got to experience.

I see it all the time. Gay-on-gay bullying. Bitching and drama and adolescent chaos.Men attacking other men, over bullshit as simple as talking to someone online, shaming individuals on their social media profiles. Direct call-outs by name and face, not just your usual ‘what’s the deal with this headless profile?’ – Hostility and subtle harassment the likes of which Mean Girls taught us not to commit. The bullied become the bullies.

I think I’m more sensitive to it all because I was a victim.

Fresh out of high school, I tried to ‘find myself’ in the gay community – the bright new world of acceptance and love. Only to be ousted by a group of homosexuals who apparently took issue. It started off as, ‘you said something bad about our friend’ – (never substantiated, but I digress) – ‘so we’re going to say bad things to you’. Bickering ensued, back and forth, back and forth, and I thought it was, in the early stages, just a bit of fun and banter.

That was until I started receiving phone-calls; getting threatening messages; being set upon by hordes of mutual friends. My face, published on their profiles, upon which terrible things were written and said. I shit you not; an actual website was made, satirising my personal writings. It escalated into the offline realm; shouts of abuse and public threats. A couple of them began a running joke, wherein I was a rodent, and I should kill myself with rat poison.

When I took the online content to the police in a folder, to file a report of ongoing harassment, the folder numbered over fifty pages. Over fifty pages of online bullying, from a group of gays, none of whom could remember what I had said or done.

A mild bump had become a full-blown tumour, and before I knew it, I couldn’t handle it anymore. It became a dark time in my life, and even though it’s been a number of years, I still feel pangs of angst and hurt when I look back on it.

These people were in pain, so they began to inflict it upon others.

Your words have power, and the worst possible scenario to arise from an adolescence of persecution from teenage villains, is to become the villain yourself.Think about the way you treat those around you, and perhaps this community, so oft stagnated by high school era bullying and hate, can grow and evolve. Let’s not allow the torment we suffered in high school to seep into the way we treat one another now.

I remember that my bullies told me I wouldn’t amount to anything. That I’d never be a writer, and no one would ever publish anything I wrote.

So it only seems fair that I would publish this now, years later, and let all of these young gays know, who might feel harassed and tormented by those around them – that I know how it feels.

Through years of hurt and persecution, the troubles of an angst-filled childhood, you have grown.

Don’t become the persecutor. And don’t let these people tear you apart – because you are so much stronger than you know.

How To Survive The Australian Summer

It was hot yesterday. I know this because when I woke up and logged into Facebook, head swimming through an excruciating weekend wine-haze, I was confronted by the pet hate of most social media users:

Topless selfies. At the beach; at the park. Photos from that day of sun kissed faces on balconies. Guys and girls swigging Club Mate in singlets, shorelines glinting in the background.

Sure signs that summer had almost arrived.

This was unprecedented, and left me with a gaping hole in my stomach, not unlike that which I had chundered up due to mixing drinks the night before.

My heart filled with dread when I realised that I, like so many, was unprepared.

Soon we will all fall ill with heatstroke as the mercury heats up at long last. Which is why I’ve arrived to spill the tea and aid those in need.

Consider this your Australian summer survival guide, or How To Survive The Australian Summer: A listicle by a bitter homosexual.

Prepare to go shirtless.

If you’re not a complete plebeian, you spent the entire winter months of June, July and August getting jacked the fuck up, lifting harder than you’ve ever lifted heavy objects before.

Forget warm overcoats and layering black on black on slightly lighter black: the Australian summer is all about taking every opportunity to go shirtless in the daytime (and the night, if you’re that kind of pretentious alpha-bro). Because what #blessed girls day out isn’t complete without some red hot Instagrammable bikini photos? 

Without the requisite Beach Body all “shredded for summer”, consider yourself wholly unprepared. If you don’t look like an actual swimsuit model ready to stalk a resort-themed runway by December of this year, you may as well just stay inside.

And for those thinking of visiting an (illegal) solarium: Do not spend money on something that comes from the sky.

Optional extras: Mediterranean tan; rampant egotism.

Speaking of nudity:

Fire all your winter cuddle buddies:

When cold plagues the Australian climate, it’s mandatory to enlist at least one or two vague Tinder matches to snuggle up to in the freezing night. However, come the warmer months, mere human contact becomes cursed with sweat drops and pungent odours, often masked with Lynx Africa and your own self-hate.

Unless you’re willing to compromise and risk hyperthermia by cuddling up on a towel by the beach, there is no call for any of this lusting up business. So delete your dating apps and throw away your boxes of condoms, because the kind of athletic sex you’re used to is about to be ruined by stagnant perspiration.

Say goodbye to your winter fling, because if you think it’s bad enough seeing a dude lose his water content at forty degrees on the side of the road: Imagine him touching you.

On that note:

Stay hydrated.

By hydrated, I don’t mean with water. Did you think this was a healthy PSA? Child, please. I mean beer. I mean cider. I mean vodka cruisers in the cool night air.

If there is one past-time Australians have perfected to an absurd degree, it’s the notion of the day drink, or the blissed-out Sunday sesh. Your Saturday nights are about to become extinct, since Australian event promoters nationwide are about to thrust at you with the full force of whatever daytime parties they’ve planned months in advance.

And if you’re willing to fork out the requisite life savings, there are even some fantastic summer festivals you could attend. If you’re fond of sweaty muscle bros, denim booty shorts and the sight of a guy being carried off by his mates after guerning out on too much ecstasy.

Or you could stay home with your friends, and take smiling group photos for Facebook to distract from the reality that you’re all sitting up in front of the fan, whispering “It’s so damn hot” every five minutes.

Post about it on social media.

Because I truly had no idea it was hot outside, and without your constant visual aids filling my Facebook feed of your vodka watermelons and wiener legs at the beach, I might never have picked up on this.

Because sweaty choking heats don’t constantly plague my nights, rather than gentle warmth, as my comfy flannel pyjamas are now suffocating death traps rather than loving cotton hugs.

Because I have literally never seen the inside of a commercial gym, and really need to be reminded of how you’re up to your fourth set of abdominal muscles lining your cheese-grater stomach. (Side-note: How are your arms so big when you’re not even flexing? Stop that.)

Because the entirety of your existence revolves around making yourself look better on the Internet, and if that means posting heavily filtered Instagram snaps of you and your beverage posing at some nondescript balconied-bar (with mates) - then by God, you’re gonna hop to it.

December will see the rebirth of a tradition, a seasonal shift in our cultural awareness, as the sun beats down and cooks our brains until we are rendered inferior forms of life, babbling “Summer’s finally here!” and “Hashtag, warm nights with great friends!”

Though I pray that I will not fall victim to this annual craze, I can only assume that by the time the sunny season rolls around, I will be a fake tanned mess of blonde locks and muscles on my muscles, sipping midday Sangrias with my girls.

Take this guide, and go forth. Be strong, soldier on, and may hand-fans and sunscreen be with you.

'You're more than just a bicep!'

This piece was originally published in full on SameSame.com.au, on September 2nd 2015, available here.

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We are a community that, in so many ways, takes pride in our physically attractive members and our conventionally gorgeous gay boys. We do so at the exclusion of a lot of other elements.

And I have to ask – why?

Why does the gay community celebrate people simply for being attractive?

Why is it that, when I open certain gay websites, I’m confronted by articles titled with shit like “The ten most attractive dudes on Instagram”? Or, “Five straight footballers who look good without a shirt on”? Why is this considered newsworthy? Why are these stories taking over?

Marketing campaigns for gay nightclubs are awash with images of nearly naked attractive men, showcasing ripped physiques and chiselled jawlines. The target market for these soirees seems to be every homosexual with a self-esteem problem, as all of the photographs documenting these nights are of the most physically appealing individuals you can find. They’re of the most subjectively ‘gorgeous’ characters – and these are dubbed the ‘elite’ gays, and the ‘alpha’ homos.

I should point out that I am a photographer by trade, and have primarily worked in nightlife and events for the past five years. I know what the purpose of this type of marketing is, because as part of my various briefs, I have been asked to fulfil this style in the past. I have explicitly excluded unattractive patrons from my photographs, and have gone out of my way to document the most aesthetically appealing individuals at an event. Because a client wants their brand to reflect a certain image, and they want to market themselves with a specific style.

Which would be all good and well, if it didn’t seem like this kind of attractiveness-is-key advertising was seeping out from the homo nightclubs – and into our big gay media.

Articles putting hot dudes on pedestals are absolutely everywhere. Every day, there’s a new journalistic dive into What Straight Guy Has The Best Ass? Here’s That Z-List Celeb You MUST Follow (For His Abs!), and Guy Minding His Own Business Loses His Pants “AND WE ARE HOT FOR HIM!”

And sure. Some of us probably are hot for him.

But people are starting to take notice of this vapid excuse for marketing and journalism. People are starting to see it for the empty and vacuous thirst-fodder that it is, and growing steadily disheartened. I’ve started making a conscious effort to check the comments section every time another of these articles pops up, and it’s becoming awfully predictable. “Is this what you call journalistic integrity?” one might cry, or “Another article praising a hot dude for looking hot” sighs another.

This is now becoming a concerning facet of the community that threatens to erode the depth of our collective journey. Whether it’s as individuals with extraordinary stories, or as survivors battling through in spite of homophobic opposition, our story is being quietly tucked away behind a giant framed photograph of Nick Jonas’ abs.

I should also point out at this point that I have no issue at all with gay men expressing their sexuality, and I am the furthest thing from a sex-negative prude. If it were up to me, we would all be semi-naked in a nightclub, gyrating upon one another in our underwear, and making out on Mardi Gras floats. I respect and adore public expressions of gay sexuality, as so often it is used as a tool to shun the systemic oppression that has silenced us and rendered us invisible.

What I take issue with is that so much of this looks-oriented digital and print marketing does a disservice, not only to the individuals being adored for their looks, but to the community as a whole, and represents a shallow decline in the integrity of our community.

“Stop celebrating people simply for being attractive. Start celebrating them for their intellect and accomplishments; for being clever, for being unique, for being kind.”

There is one very good reason why we should be fighting this descent into superficiality:

Because we’re worth more.

Because our young people – the consumers of our media and the harbingers of our future – need to be shown that their value is greater than the width of their biceps. That their worth is not directly tied into the proportions of their face and body, but based on the strength of their characters, their kindness, their generosity, and the thoughts that they put out into the world.

We must communicate to them that we are not Neanderthals, where physical power and aesthetic visage is of the utmost importance. We represent so much more than mere mass and good looks, and we are capable of vast oceans more than commercialised thirst.

And if there are physical characteristics worth being appreciated for, it’s that which your parents and your families gave you. Every line, spot and curve that is yours and yours alone, which the tabloid media dictates are not worth having love for. All because you do not resemble the image of a beautiful man in a gay magazine.

Gay people are just as impressionable as straights, and at the same mercy of junk food news and marketing. When a young boy sees an image of an attractive person being glorified based simply on how they look, what it tells them is: You’re not good enough. You will never be good enough, unless you look like this.

That can have an incredibly destructive effect on someone’s self-worth.

And that, to me, is not good enough.

We should strive to break the mould of making icons out of abs, and broadcasting these individuals as the ideal, the infinitely desirable, based purely on their looks.

Stop celebrating people simply for being attractive. Start celebrating them for their intellect and accomplishments; for being clever, for being unique, for being kind.

Because you are more than just a bicep, or a pretty face in a gay magazine.