"What IDAHOT Means To Me"

This piece was originally published in full on SameSame.com.au on the 17th of May, 2016. Available here.

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It was a brittle and cold evening around the suburban centre near where I lived. Five o’clock and the sun was already beginning to set. The streets, usually bustling with energy, were melting away into a more quiet nightlife.

A close friend and I were hanging outside the train station, when she ran into some people she knew. They were big muscled blokes, kicking back and chain smoking. The kind of guys who threw their weight around wherever they went.

My friend also decided to tell them, for whatever reason, that I was gay.

Within seconds of hearing that info, their ears pricked up. They were onto me. They lurched forward, armed with hate and almost cackling vitriol. “You’re gay, huh? You a fucking gay? Why don’t you suck my dick, then? Suck my dick, you fucking faggot.”

In total fear, I ran away, their shouts echoing behind me.

I was a shy rake, not yet out to his parents, and had only just come out to his close friends. I was fourteen years old.

That was to be one of my first direct encounters with homophobia and bigotry, but it wouldn’t be the last.

Even now, in a time of my life where I am so out and proud that I write candidly about sexuality online, I still get scared when I’m dropped off near that centre. Thinking about who might be around, or if I’ll be singled out and targeted. As though my sexuality can be read from a distance, or smelled on me like cologne.

In the decade that has passed, I have experienced many more instances of abuse and violence. Whether it’s slurs spat on public transport, or shouted abuse from strangers, or the slight chink in the expression of an acquaintance when they realise what I am.

Today is International Day Against Homophobia And Transphobia. It’s a day to recognise and stand up against the violence prevalent in our society, which continues to threaten people in the community.

This is a society in which half of all LGBT individuals hide their sexuality or gender identity in public, for fear of violence and discrimination. One in which they are several times more likely to experience mental illnesses like depression. Where children are kicked out of homes and forced onto the street for being who they are.

Several states in Australia still have the Gay Panic defence, meaning that should a straight man decide on a blue Monday to murder you in cold blood, he need only infer that you, a gay man, were trying to hit on him, to have his sentence reduced from murder to manslaughter. And too many in our society continue to try and tear down our beloved queer institutions, like the Safe Schools Program.

While American civilians bicker and moan about whether or not trans people should be able to use the appropriate bathrooms for their own personal bodily functions, said trans people are being abused, assaulted and murdered in the streets. Trans folk suffer vitriol far greater in number than their gay and lesbian counterparts, leading to higher rates of mental illness.

The Russian government continues to silence the voices of sexually and gender-diverse people, refusing to acknowledge them as human beings, jailing them for speaking out. And in far too many countries to this day, simply living, as a gay person, will see you killed by members of your community. Sometimes even by law enforcement.

All the while, gay men still clutch their ears and block out the fragmented echoes of the AIDS crisis, grappling with the sense of masculinity imposed on them by heteronormative society, rejecting one another in episodes of internalised homophobia for being ‘too femme’ or ‘not masculine’.

And, of course, we still can’t get married. Bloody hell.

I think of these facts of life, and they hurt me. I am wounded by the reality that this world doesn’t fully cater to my kind. I fear for trans people and worry for gay people and struggle to comprehend the lack of acceptance by members of our very own government.

But I also know that things are changing.

Since that grim day being abused by men in the street, I have met others who blocked out their memory with kindness. I have met straight people – muscled blokes, who throw their weight around – that embrace me with warmth and kindness.

I believe that through love, charity and expression, and the occasional burst of well-channelled outrage, we can change the way society views our people. That we can create a safer community, one devoid of the trials our forefathers faced, for LGBT youth to grow up in.

If you’re gay, or trans, or any other shade of sexuality and gender-diverse, who might be struggling with confusion and fear over what you are: know that you have a vibrant community standing behind you.

IDAHOT is a day to show our support for those who have suffered, and remember those we have lost. Gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, queer and intersex. All of the colours of the pride rainbow.

Let’s stand together in solidarity, and help build a better world for our young people. Let’s stand tall, proud and strong.

We can save lives.

'Dear girls: Gay men are not your handbags'

This piece was originally published in full on FashionJournal.com.au, 5th of May 2016, available here.

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To kick this off, a couple of little details about me:

One: I’m a gay man. That means I’m attracted to other men. It also means I am part of a community. I share a rich history with other gay people all over the world. There’s some good stuff involved but mostly it’s a lot of stigma, hatred, violence and death. It also means some people see me as automatically girly or less of a man. Whatever that means.

Two: I write about and photograph fashion, music and lifestyle. That includes writing for this website. Look at you, reading my work. I appreciate you. Let’s be friends. That dress looks great, by the way.

As a gay man who writes about and peruses the fashion industry on occasion, it’s often assumed the two are related. Simply by being someone who wears clothes and who doesn’t mind a floral bonnet or a nice Thurley frock, I’m often stereotyped as a ‘fashion gay’. 

By virtue of fashion being woman-dominated and gay men being seen as feminine, it’s often assumed that gay men automatically dress well. That we’re dainty, flouncing queens, styling the womenfolk and fixing their hair (yours could use a cut-and-colour, btw). 

And while I don’t really mind being the princess you so desire me to be, there’s something that I desperately need to say.

I am not your handbag.

I’m not your Gay Best Friend. I’m not your stylist. I’m not your Carson Kressley from Queer Eye For The Straight Guy. And for the love of God, I will not go shopping with you.

I can hear you sighing: ‘But gay men are the best!’ over there. And to that I say, ‘I know’. We’re amazing. But there are a few things we’ve got to talk about first. Bear with me. 

Far too often I'll meet someone who, noting my liking for fashion, will try and take me under her wing as her ‘new gay’. The number of gals I meet in smokers rooms at nightclubs who want to take me shopping, is directly proportionate to the number of straight guys I wish I could kiss. 

That’s a lot, if you’re wondering. Like, oh boy.

Don’t get me wrong. I understand the appeal. Here’s a man, a real, human man, who doesn’t want to touch you. He’s not interested in putting his hand up your skirt, which means you don’t have to tell him to fuck off. And you love it sick. It’s a novelty. I’m actually super happy you feel comfortable hanging out with me, because the world needs less creeps and more kewl friendships.

But why must we pretend that by virtue of my sexuality, I have a working knowledge of Givenchy? 

I don’t even know who Riccardo Tisci is (to be fair, I don’t know who I am, either). Marc Jacobs only got my attention thanks to his accidental nude Instagram snap. I’m also quietly angry that a Marc By Marc Jacobs shirt, which looks not too dissimilar from a General Pants basic, is worth $330. I can hear you typing a comment about ‘the quality’, but seriously. It’s a plain white tee. 

It’s gotten to the point where I can explicitly play it up, just to get ahead in life. PR girls at fashion festivals adore a ‘sassy gay’; we’re like women but not at all. I will also do it just to make you enjoy me. It goes a little like, “Oh my god, Marais top, yass queen! Dior, right? Totally Chanel, just divine, mwah”. 

In my moonlight gigs as a nightlife photographer, I can abuse my own sexual orientation to get more shots. I’ll be at work and I’ll see a group of fashion-forward babes with cosmos in hand. I’ll approach them for a photograph and immediately play up the ‘sassy fashion gay’ stereotype. And it works, every single time. They love me; they pose. And on the way out, they want me to know I’m ‘fabulous’.

But when you assume, because I’m brave enough to don florals, that I’m camp as a row of tents, you might think it’s innocent. The reality is, however, you’re rejecting my cultural history, my life, and turning me into, at best: a two-dimensional stereotype; and at worst: a plaything. A tool you can use to make yourself more ‘fabulous’.

And I know many fabulous gays. Some of them love fashion. Myself included. But they are not fashion gays. They were not designed in a shop, nor were they handcrafted to make you feel good with a distressed leather finish. They are human beings with histories, interests, stories and lives. 

Then again, I suppose you’re better than a homophobic dudebro. Wanna hit up Chapel Street? You’re really working those boots.