MEMOIRS OF A GAYSHA: the Measure of a Man

I copied my friend Dicky’s post here because he says things so effortless. Gays challenge gender using our own bodies – why are people afraid to take up that important work? Keep flaming, homos.

MEMOIRS OF A GAYSHA: the Measure of a Man

Dicky Julies


Gay men are attracted to Men. Man with ripped pecs and buff physique  sweating Old Spice masculinity . Man with his baritone soothing voice and his effortless limping swag. Man for me used to be the ghetto brother with his GTi golf and his Triple Seven jeans with a buffet of pockets who would call me at past 11, when only steam on the car windows was judging our association. Man is what society looks to for protection and the symbol of strength. Man is what we want because we are attracted to Men and not meire. The image of a Man is what we want, so we suppress the very thing which we perceive to be the antithesis of Man. Being Gay is not Man.

Being gay is subordinate and weak- a subspecies of Man.  The place where it is despised the most is not only in the Middle East, Uganda or the local Beaufort West revival- but the very circles which should be a safe haven for authenticity of self. The gay “scene” does not want you to be gay- they want you to act like the societal perception of Man, and unashamedly endorse it calling it “straight-acting.” And to be crucified by the very people you thought to be the community cradle of support and tolerance is more unconscionable to me than being hated on by someone who cannot think further than what gives him that heterosexual erection. Gay men are attracted to societal image of Man. And in so doing, we reject ourselves.


“…Oh what do I do? I am a corporate lawyer…yeah…What I did the weekend? Oh I partied at Bubbles…it’s a drag bar…my best friend is a drag queen…” The only thing that filtered through that man’s head, staring at me with Craig Johnson- doe eyes is the image of the dapper corporate suit Man evolving into this revolting bitch-troll GAY with glitter lashes , enveloped in sequins and feathers ( actually kak fierce when I think about the image though lol). When I got home I received a sms: “Sorry I am not into guys on the ‘scene”’. The very next day a facebook friend deleted me because some of my pictures (I was wearing an off-the shoulder 80’s Jane Fonda inspired top) made me look like a transvestite. The conversation started like this:

Him: “You looks so gay!”

Me: “Thank you.”

All of this got me thinking as to why the response in the dating world has been so different for me this year. After some sushi- induced soul searching, it got me thinking about my old dating practices. When a guy used to phone me, I would make sure I was sufficiently hangover or had a minor bout of flu in order to churn a sufficient amount of Barry White realness in order for him to want to meet me. And when we met I would limp to the table, legs apart as if my thighs had been chafing;  walking as if every ounce of fabulous had left my body like a straight Pentecostal gees had cometh over me. When guys ask if I am straight-acting I would say “yes” because that is exactly what I was doing : even though my acting was more Justin Timberfail than Meryl Streep fierce. But I have always felt this awkwardness about myself- dating wasn’t fun and I didn’t feel like I was really living my authentic life. But through initially living vicariously through the courage of some of the amazing friends who can just “be” so effortlessly in high risk situations (for example watching my bff  try on the those kitten heels in Mr Price for the shits-and-giggles), I have reached a point where I have the strength to truly say “Fuck this Shit”. And mean it.

It awakened my consciousness to realise that being part of the LGBTI community is not being “on the scene”. “The scene” is actually the majority of men who are able to assimilate into heterosexual culture, and perceive their luck of being “masculine” as the essence of Man- The rest of us fem plebs are making futile attempts to throw away the flamboyance and fierceness we so lovingly hoard within ourselves in order to be part of THAT scene. The scene is not the three clubs on Somerset road or the Parow Industria gravel pit. Those are clubs- venues for the minority. The scene is the backdrop in which we live our lives, which is not filled with Drag Queens and limp wristed sassy mabels, but one where the gay mentality is still where we would rather persecute ourselves as butch queens in daytime drag trying to fit in.

Alanis Morissette must be basking in this cess pool of irony. Because in actual fact, the epitome of strength and courage is that boy who through the accident of birth, has to live his life in Uganda where societal conditional love is the only thing he would ever experience.  Swag is that school boy who is all embracing of who he and will swing his hips even if what swings back at him is the backlash of adversity and discrimination.  I always hear guys say that being loud and fem is just acting for attention, but ironically I have found that feigning an “aweh my bru” attitude is more a cry out for attention than anything else.

Being truly accepting of your authentic self, and being tolerant and accepting of others living their truth- loving thy neighbour as we love ourselves- should not only be the image of Man, but the test of Humanity. I salute and admire all those who dare to be themselves even when it means transferring the base in your voice, and instead putting the base in your walk, painting your face and allowing it to cook at 180 degrees, and having the balls to be able to tuck them away. My catholic schooling (bless Sr Rosemarie) taught me that “Manners maketh the Man”. And if the barometer of Manhood is strength of character, then darling a Gay Man is more Man than the archaic societal definition can handle on an easy Sunday Morning. And that’s the real T.

I truly long for the day when Gay Men would allow themselves to be attracted to Gay Men.  Realistic, no?

Love and Living! LIVING!

Fem Flamboyant Girly Gay MAN.Its Dicky. Bitch


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