You’re Not My Market!

February 27, 2005 at 1:23 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

I was going through the lounge music rack at Odyssey in Gateway, when Cess walks up to me from the soundtracks section and says “she was checking you out.”

“who?”

“that girl in the red shirt who just went out”

“oh god, not again.”

this has been going on for the past few weeks. i have a suspicion it’s been going on for a couple of years, but has just become more pronounced lately because i have began to pay more attention: girls have been checking me out, adding me on friendster and once, one even tried to be textmates with me — a dubious “19,f, makati” — who only stopped sending me messages when i told her i’m “38, m, QC”.

the other day on friendster a girl (assuming she’s legit, of course) even sent me a PM asking me, quite simply, and quite tastelessly so, if i wanted a fuck. *shiver*

is it the beard? is it the puppy-look eyes and the droop of the shoulders? the “generally decent and approachable boy next-door look with just a hint of naughty” that gets them? now i can understand it if girls were checking me out in a record store, or in a 7-11, for instance (sheesh). but how do i explain those anonymous texters? what is going on in here? do i not look gay enough?

cess tells me that yes, i do not look gay enough. in fact she’s had a couple of boyfriends before who were not only once jealous of me. when i went to her house a few years back, her family thought i was her boyfriend, and apparently they were not upset, until she told them all how much the thought of us being lovers made her want to throw up (me too!) and that i’m gay. a month ago i had this thing also happen with hazel in conspiracy, and thank goodness i had that cleared up immediately. and in friendster, i’ve gone back to change my profile to explictly state “dating men” just so i can weed out crushers from those girls who really are interested in friendship.

but imagine me trying to be cute while i’m having coffee and instead of that cute guy sitting accross, it’s the girl sitting next to him that looks at me. this is a sick, cruel twist to what is usually described as “love working in mysterious ways”.

apparently i’m too macho for my own good. but that’s society’s problem, not mine. i am not about to wear make up to emphasize a point. and eventhough i sound like a woman on the phone, i am not about to take down estrogen pills anytime soon so i can grow boobs. people think just because i don’t fit the stereotype homo on either extremes means i’m a member of that near-extinct species — guys who are neither gay nor taken.

the stereotype now is two-fold, i think. on the one hand is the age-old parlorista caricature, effeminate and loud. but a new stereotype is arising, one which i am closer to approximating but never quite comfortable with because it is so full of pretensions: the macho-drag. this is the muscle-shirt crowd defined mostly by its members’ toned bodies, ripped abs, tight ass, chiseled looks, and an overgenerous dose of hair products. this is the guy that barry walked up to in will and grace, and upon seeing him just as he was about to say hello said “no” with a wave of his hand. this is the multi-awarded actor who floats a chismis that he has a kid to douse reports that he was caught getting a blowjob from a fellow TV host in the parking lot of his mother studio. this is the snobbish, vain, self-centered stereotype i call the macho-drag because they make it look like macho IS the new drag.

although the attention is most welcome, it is still a bit unsettling to think i am attracting the wrong crowd. for someone who is neither pa-mhin nor effem, how do i make rampa if people can’t tell outright just what i am looking for?

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