Even if you don’t know anything about fashion, NYC Fashion Week means one thing: parties. Lots and lots of parties. So we’ll be out and about. IF you see us, come over and give us some love. And if you wave an NYC Fashion Week story you want to share, email us.
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Jagged Little Pill
Mike Wallace talks about the “enigma” of homosexuality. If you don’t know anything about the Mattachine Society history, educate yourself here. Mattachine is more than a party on Thursday nights @ Julius, gentlemen. It was a political movement. The video is about 45 minutes. What’s the biggest takeaway here? For me, the most shocking moment comes when one “expert” blatantly declares that homosexuals are by definition incapable of finding happiness. [Via Dave White @ The Advocate]
From the video directors:
The video for Fever Ray’s ‘Keep The Streets Empty For Me’, taken from the album “Fever Ray,” is directed by Jens Klevje and Fabian Svensson, a dynamic director duo in the field of artistic moving image. They are based in south of Sweden were they running the visual bureau Conjunction.se.
Fever Ray and the song “Keep the Streets Empty” struck us immediately with its fateful sound and images of abandoned suburbia begun to grow in front of our eyes. We wanted to continue the journey that started in the former videos and our ambition was to catch the feeling in a very direct and true way and create a video where dream and reality intertwine.
Fabian and Jens
BIBS & BOOTY | Everyone should be in favor of gay adoption. First of all, gays are more open to adopting all types of defective children – like older ones, cripples and retards.
Lisa Lampanelli's memoir "Chocolate, Please: My Adventures in Food, Fat, and Freaks" drops 9/15. | Photo: Shutterbug
So, if you’re not willing to adopt those disenfranchised youths, you’re not allowed to be against gays doing it! Only a moron would disagree with the fact that it’s better to have two dads who are gay and tell you they love you than one dad who won’t love you because it makes him feel gay.
Even homophobes should support gay adoption. As a matter of fact, if you are really disgusted by homosexual sex, you should encourage gays to adopt because, trust me, after a day of diaper-changing, cleaning up messes, and dealing with temper tantrums, nobody’s going to be sucking a cock.
Small-minded religious folk argue that if God wanted gays to have children, kids would come out your ass and not your vagina. Conservatives wonder aloud why gays would want to inflict a life of shame and guilt on an innocent child whose only mistake was losing the homo lottery at the orphanage. Those poor children, they say! First, their birth parents leave them, now they’re getting bashed at school because some selfish butt pirate has a point to prove. They wonder if it warps a child’s mind to go from having no parents to having two moms with chest hair or two dads who can’t throw a football.
Personally, I’m all for gay adoption. What’s the worst thing that’s going to happen if you let a baby get adopted by gays? His booties will match his bib? He’ll make bitchy comments about Barney’s weight? The only real difference you’ll see with a child from a gay couple, is that when he refers to his “bear,” he’s talking about his fat gay uncle.
But the burning question is: Why would gays want to adopt? Doesn’t getting married ruin their lives enough? Save your sanity, faggots! Just spoil your pets like you used to. Sure, your dogs hate when you dress them up like Bette Midler in “The Rose” and Perez Hilton, but they’re easier to raise than kids and can be put down without a trial.
LC IN WONDERLAND // While the mainstream media covered Lauren Conrad’s (aka LC from the Hills) ‘LA Candy’ the moment it was released, it took Homo-Neurotic a bit longer to stomach the idea of reading it — and even longer to get through the first twelve of forty-five chapters.
However, once you reach Chapter 13, ‘L.A. Candy’ grows into pure, unadulterated, trash gold. A girl on a reality TV show writes about a girl on a reality TV show! How one can begin to wrap one’s brain around this concept is beyond me.
Much like LC’s show “The Hills” itself, the book begins with entitled, fussy rich girls chatting about boys while they scout out new watering holes. The lead character Jane and her BFF Scarlet move to LA together to start a new life, a thinly veiled representation of Lauren and Heidi Montag (the now super-fame whoring slut extraordinaire of Spidey notoriety).
The story drags as Lauren gets an internship with a Nazi PR woman (*cough* ‘Teen Vogue’ *cough*) and spends close to 100 pages documenting what they’re wearing while on bad dates or while at glitzy LA hotspots: “She had chosen a peach top with ruffles down the center, tucked into a red, high-waisted chiffon skirt that ended just above her knees.” It’s really thought provoking stuff and probably the only contribution from Lauren herself who wrote the novel with “collaborator” Nancy Ohlin.
But just as one begins to suspect that millions of trees were wasted to produce this most trivial, contrived storyline, the book takes a 90-degree turn for the better.
INSERT HERE// Mimi Imfurst gives away one of her secrets at BeBe Zahara Benet’s documentary fundraiser earlier this week.
Part of the new wave of talent emerging from the illustrious Central St Martins, Roksanda Illincic (along with her contemporaries like Marios Schwab and Louise Goldin) provides a fresh new perspective on dressmaking. Fusing modernism and body conscious structure with a light touch of romance, Illincic’s creations convey an ease without sacrificing intellectual heft. Her American counterparts could do well to learn from her example and go beyond simply making pretty party dresses or hip separates for downtown kids.
Ralph Ueltzhoffer Text Portrait
EVERYBODY DOES IT // In the wake of Michael Jackson’s death there’s been an abundance of specials, marathons, and shows devoted to his musical career. In watching these it is clear that though his immense talent is undeniable it is absurd that anyone ever believed he was straight. With a voice that rivals Minnie Mouse and dance moves more astonishingly fluid than a Cirque de Soleil performance on acid, how he ever elicited hordes, nay entire populations, of screaming female fans seems almost unfathomable. Riddled with accusations of child molestation, absurd marriages to rock n’ roll royalty, and surrogate children of suspicious background, his personal life made little case for heterosexuality. But yet to the bitter end the King of Pop never came out as a queen.
It’s not uncommon for popular musicians and actors of dubious sexuality to be adored by female fans. Of just the ones to be confirmed you need to only look at Clay Aiken, Lance Bass, Ricky Martin (well soon to be confirmed), Jordan Knight, Rock Hudson, and Neal Patrick Harris, just to name a few. Though they range from the ridiculously obvious to the bit more surprising, they all at least at one time had a legion of followers that would vehemently defend their sexuality. As I once argued with my best friend during a heated debate over Anderson Cooper, does this insistence that they are straight reinforce homophobia and the heteronormative assumptions it fosters, or are we merely reluctant to label someone’s private preference?
As gay men we get a lot of flack for telling our straight (girl)friends that certain celebrities are gay. They assume we want all of the hot guys to be on our team, leaving them with the chubby sidekicks. Though I find this reaction to be understandable, I think it plays perfectly into the homophobia perpetuated by the mainstream media. Though it kills me to say it, if blogs like Perez Hilton or Gawker hadn’t come along, the media would still be so frightened by litigation they would continue to avoid raising the question of someone’s sexuality, a task that had only been left to the disreputable tabloids.
Many will argue that stars are entitled to their privacy and should not be coerced to come out, and I agree. But I also think that their silence only serves to hold us back, rather than move us forward. Online we can speculate about stars, anonymous commenters indiscreetly share their stories, and as a community we at least confirm amongst ourselves whom is one of us. The power of the Internet to answer these questions is largely responsible for the strides we have made in the last decade.
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Our fellow queer bloggers over at East Village Boys hosted a bacchanalian party Thursday night at the Hose in celebration of their first eighteen months in the blogosphere. The evening was complete with go-go’s (barely) attired by Nice Collective and a live performance by Gio Black Peter. More photos in the gallery after the jump. Photography by Homo Neurotic’s Shutterbug.
NewFest Documentary Programmer Cameron Yates and "Pop Star on Ice" Producer/Directors James Pellerito and David Barba
Filmmakers gathered at the NewFest’s Logo Lounge on the penultimate day of the film festival. Photos by SMHayhurst.
"Were the World Mine" Director Tom Gustafson; Las Buenas Amigas Vice Chair, Board of Directors Jenny Rosario; Yoseli Castillo; Jason Evans
Mark Leonard, SVP of Multiplatform Programming at MTV & Logo (center) and NewFest Narrative Programmer Jonathyn Pankrantz (right)
MORE PICTURES AFTER THE JUMP!
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homo-neurotic is recovering from a mind-blowing hangover. All that NewFest partying and Broadway drinking games has got homo in rehab-mode. But stay tuned, we’ll have something up before 5pm today.
–MWH
Photo: Timothy Preston
[NSFW] The sound of groans and cries of sex slowly lured me back to consciousness from a vodka-infused slumber. Where am I? An apartment I’ve never been to before. It smelled of cigarettes, left-over pizza, and equally left-over lube. The long night of debauchery that preceded seemed like an all-too vivid dream: Pregaming. Dancing at Thrust. Freshening up every now and again. Then I’m off of work to party more until I pass out. Read: black out. My friend–ex-coworker was awake when I returned from the loo. “Where are we?” I had the feeling he would know. “Don’t you remember? We crashed at Nathan’s apartment.”
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Mama's Boy by Doug Strickland (2004)
All gay men have complicated relationships with their mothers. Though all parent-child relationships can stray towards the disordered, that of a mother and her gay son is particularly special. Some of us count our mothers as one of our closest friends and confidantes, others despise their moms as a cruel and intolerant Joan Crawford type and the very thought of family gatherings makes their blood run cold. Growing up we may identify more closely with our mothers than we care to admit, or like wayward and resentful daughters, we do our best to eschew any semblance of relation or attachment. In either case, this central relationship in our lives figures prominently in shaping the men we become, for better or worse.
Growing up I was driven only by an intense desire to please and impress. Overachieving at everything except sports, I wanted to prove my worth and importance to not only the world, but to my parents. Subconsciously, I felt that my sexuality would be such a profound disappointment that I wanted to make up for it in some way. Good grades, extra-curriculars, and a college scholarship seemed to be my only means of doing so. It was only after I had come out, which completely failed to surprise any member of my family or society at large, that I even began to engage in any behavior that they may disapprove of.
But I know my story is not shared by all of us. There are plenty of gays who feel and felt that they had nothing to prove to their parents and relentlessly pursued their dreams and desires regardless of how their family may think or feel. And they are not wrong for doing so. Our parents gave us the gift of life and hopefully provide us with love and support through our childhood and adolescence but that doesn’t mean we owe them our unending gratitude. Having children was also their fulfillment of adolescent dreams or marriage vows, and the resulting lives they produced are given the freedom to use it however they please.
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Graphic: Chris Sauve
Is Vogue editor Anna Wintour a “huge bitch?” She says she’s drawn to Vogue because of her “passion for the magazine” — and if that makes her a bitch, so be it. With a 200,000 a year clothing allowance not including her daily hair and make-up costs (all paid for by publisher CondeNast) what Anna considers “reasonable, like a $1200-dollar Alexander Wang cocktail dress, isn’t always accessible.
What bores you? “Mediocrity,” she responds “It doesn’t as much as bore me as much as anger me.” In a post recession world, the designers come across more as caricatures than real people — puppets in a game played by French aristocrats and International business men.
Who will replace Anna? It’s not clear. But when the time comes, she responds that her sorte will come, “Certainly, very quietly.”
The best commentary on the Anna interview come from New York Times reporter (and force to be reckoned with) Cathy Horyn:
No one would bother disputing the assertion that Wintour is the most powerful person in fashion, and that she exerts her power in a variety of directions, beyond editorial decisions. But what’s the impact of all that power? And, more, what’s the downside? It’s also surprising that CBS didn’t put up a countering view of Wintour’s influence. Grace Coddington and Andre Leon Talley were candid about their boss, saying that she can be intimidating and so forth. But the segment needed outside opinions.
FULL VIDEO POST JUMP.
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Photos: Timothy Preston.
[NSFW] Some sleazy old guy, probably an investment banker for Bear-Stearns or something, was stroking my sweat-lubed leg. I had to dig deep into my emotions and wait patiently and feign interest in this old mischievous unattractive character. I only stayed because I was calculating that he would be a big spender. My cue arrived when he dove into his pockets, and that’s when I gently kneeled down to give him a better view. The payoff that I was expecting for undulating my package in his face finally came as he slipped a bill into my undies. It’s twelve-fifteen, and that’s the first five bucks I’ve made of an average 60 expected on a Friday night.
One of my friends once likened go-go boys to sociopaths in that they’re people who survive by manipulating other people. That’s not necessarily the case, as most of my fellow dancers were inherently normal, good people, on or off the bar. I would argue it’s actually the worry of losing the rewards of go-go dancing—namely, the money and the attention—that actually compels people to exhibit otherwise abnormal sociopathic behaviors. As I had mentioned in a prior writing, it’s amazing how much you would compromise yourself to feel good.
Not many boys get to that point. Most of the newbies don’t stay around for long because it’s hard to accept the startling reality that you’re regularly exposing yourself to strangers and having them touch you in ways that would make you slap them if it were any other day. It dulls the pain if you convince yourself that you were outliving all those fallen boys because you were the one with bigger, more appealing balls. What a twisted application of survival of the fittest.
Here are two fantastic photos of supreme overlord of American fashion Anna Wintour taking a stroll down the street that we found on Heron Preston’s blog. What tune do you think she’s got playing in her head as she trundles along? Post your answers in the comments section! Best comment gets bragging rights, a mention on a subsequent post and maybe we can even try to work out a prize! You have until the end of the week. The winner will be announced on Monday.
Ok Andre we get the whole cape thing. You know what? Sometimes it’s a little fierce. Heck we’re even getting used to it. Its YOUR thing and that’s ok. But seriously, the Roger Vivier flats? The Marni necklace? Maybe I’ve been watching way too much twisted Japanese anime but I’m starting to think that you’ve been kidnapping Park Avenue matrons and harvesting their body parts/ accessories to add to your own.
For heavens sake did anybody watch Akira?
Become our fan on Facebook! Pretty please with a cherry on top?
Photo: Timothy Preston
[NSFW] I met so many dancers at Thrust that came and went. I was a part of a core group that stuck around, weekend after next. To help you better understand where I’m coming from, I’ll describe this uncanny cub pack here. Anyway, it’s time for something lighter, right?
Roman was one of the first I met my first time at Wet. That night, he gave a blowjob to the manager so he would get hired because he couldn’t find his papers. I saw him about 3 months later partying at mr.Black; he wasn’t dancing any more.
Dave danced at College Thursdays only, but also worked at Thrust coat checking for almost 2 years. He had the owner in his back pocket—which is why it was surprised everyone when he left suddenly. We then discovered that $3,000 had disappeared with him thanks to an intricate coat ticket swapping scheme. Try explaining that to the police, when you’re the owner of a gay club that posts scantily-dancers on the bar without paying them.
Connor was a dancer that Miss Lexus revered, that is until he came back from Fire Island a hot mess. He was drugged out, crazy, and didn’t make the money he used to. No promoter wanted to touch him anymore, because apparently rumors never stay in paradise. That’s the worst thing that can happen to a go-go boy—you lose your appeal because people come to view you as a messy used rag.
Angel (that’s what he called himself) was a sick kid that ran away from DC to the City, and was dancing to stay alive. Thankfully he usually got a lot of money on the bar. Then he disappeared (like I said, this happens often). After I quit dancing, I briefly saw out partying. He didn’t look too good. Two months later, I awoke on a business trip at 3 in the morning to a mass text asking me if I knew anyone who wanted to buy “good shit” from him.
As part of their NYC pre-pride celebration BUTT magazine is hosting a show of queer-themed video art, at Terence Koh’s gallery Asia Song Society (ASS). The BUTT team has announced an open call for video art submissions that are “fun, sexy, provocative yet still charming, kinky, smart, thoughtful, unique, visually dazzling.”
But gents, keep it brief. Videos should be no longer then 20 minutes. (Art: Paul Lee, “Score 2, 2008″)
DEADLINE May 20.
Send DVDs to:
Attn: Michael Bullock
BUTT Magazine US
195 Chrystie Street
Suite 700 C
New York, NY 10002
Or send links to: office@buttmagazine.com