Of femmey boys and other lovely things…

The comments in my last post, and in some of those that linked to it, ended up mentioning femmey men. Now, as should be blatantly obvious to anyone who has ever seen this blog before, I rather like femmey men. I’m not crazy about full drag, at least in the sense that I don’t usually find it sexy, although I often find it aesthetically pleasing in a non-sexual way. Femmey in a more general sense though…yes indeed, that is something I like. Pretty faces, smooth skin, eyeliner and lipstick, hair colors not found in nature, hairstyles not traditionally considered masculine…all these things on men I find appealing. The real sweet spot for me seems to be men who are androgynous – neither classically masculine nor classically feminine. Contrasts, if you will, are my thing.
I have also spent most of my life post-puberty involved in subcultures within which femmey or androgynous men are very much admired, and are accepted by everyone. From my early teenage gothdom, and the various points at which I’ve revisited it, to the group of Visual Kei-loving guys I hung out with in college, to my fondness for seventies glam rock, to the skirt-wearing hippie guys I know here in the Bay Area, I’ve been around men who don’t fit the traditional masculine mold for a long time. As a result of that I’ve seen close-up the way society treats femmey men, and it’s not pretty.
Jesse, who I hung out with in high school, used to get guys trying to (or threatening to) beat him up on almost a daily basis, just because he was a pretty boy with long hair who wore eyeliner. Danny, another friend from high school, was gay baited constantly, and he didn’t even dress femmey, he was just a gentle guy who wasn’t very “masculine”. Hiro, who I knew when I was in college, was forced to take up aikido as a teenager because he was coming home with blackened eyes and bruises so often that his mother was scared for his safety. He wasn’t wearing drag, either, he was just an androgynous boy who wore showy black clothes and eyeliner. Alec, who was first a friend, then a boyfriend, and then finally a friend again, got gay-baited all the way through high school not because he was actually sleeping with men, but because people assumed he was. And then there’s the ex-boyfriend who was gang raped in Edinburgh because he was deemed too femmey – he was wearing tight jeans, a brightly colored silk shirt, and eyeliner.
Interesting thing…a big part of the supposed “justification” for the harassment all these men went through was that their femminess was deemed to be a sign that they were gay. In reality, only one of these five men had any sexual interest in other men (Alec), and even he wasn’t sure about that himself at the time.
Where does that idea come from, that femmey=gay? I know plenty of gay men who don’t fit that stereotype at all. In fact, the vast majority of the femmey men I’ve known have been straight.
I think the “I want to kick your ass because you’re gay” thing is a smokescreen, really. I think what the harassment of these men is really about is enforcing societal norms of what a man is “supposed” to be in a much broader way. I do think that sometimes it’s about sex – I suspect that a lot of the “I’ll kick his ass!” impulses are a result of other men feeling some kind of attraction to these men and not knowing what to do with that feeling. It’s far, far easier to say “he’s gay, and that's just wrong!” and then hit someone than to deal with the idea that maybe you, yourself, average dude, might not be quite as straight as you thought you were. Sometimes I think it’s about the idea that there are rules that everyone has to follow and those who flout them should be punished, because God damn it if I have to follow the rules then why should other people get away with breaking them? I think sometimes it’s about fear, and sometimes it’s about demonstrating what little power one has by picking on those who rank even lower in the pecking order than one's discontented self. It’s a complicated thing.
I’ve tried to raise the subject of these femmey men, what their experiences are, how society treats them, the ways in which that might be a problem, in many contexts, amongst both feminists and MRAs, and in both cases the response has been a resounding “so what?”. That bothers me. It especially bothers me coming from MRAs, who after all are supposed to be the advocates for men. What about these men? Why do they not count? Why is their pain irrelevant? Should MRAs actually be calling themselves MMRAs (Manly Men’s Rights Advocates)?
I suspect that my inability to swallow some radfem arguments about Class Man has a lot to do with the fact that I’ve spent so much time around femmey guys. The typical feminist arguments about Class Man do not fit this group at all. This is one of those cases where the party line simply does not match my actual life experience. What am I supposed to do, ignore the evidence of my own eyes? Pretend to believe in the existence of Class Man as some kind of monolithic group when all of my actual experiences are telling me that there is no such thing as Class Man, that men come in all kinds of varieties, and that not all of them are the enemies of womankind?
I mean seriously…I’m supposed to see these guys as the enemy? Wry, sarcastic Jesse who was always ready with a joke and a late night phone conversation to talk me down off the ledge when I was an angsty teenager? Gentle, goofy Danny, who was always there for me when I needed him, who felt more like family than my real family a lot of the time? Sweet, empathic, protective Hiro, who two weeks after meeting me saw me walk into a club and knew instantly that something bad had happened to me, who pulled me into a corner and cuddled me and stroked my hair until I finally broke down and told him about the creepy landlord who kept groping me…and who helped me find a new place and made sure that he was there when I told the landlord and when I actually moved out so that nothing else would happen to me? Alec, who kept me sane while my mother was dying of cancer? My poor darling ex, who instead of reacting to what happened to him with anger or bitterness turned into one of the kindest people I’ve ever met? This is the face of the enemy? Are you fucking kidding me?
And Anne Coulter, Michelle Malkin, and the lovely StormCloud are my sisters, whom I should trust. Are you smoking crack?
It seems to me that, when one is young, those femmey boys are often the best allies a budding young feminist can have. There’s strength in numbers, after all, and when one is taking one’s first steps in bucking the system it helps a lot to be around others who aren’t too thrilled with the way things are currently arranged either. I’ve known many such men over the years, and a lot of them have been far better allies to me than most women I’ve known. Each and every one of those men holds a special place in my heart, and anyone who doesn't understand why is unlikely to be a person I want to know.
So, allow me to raise my glass to all the femmey guys out there. I know how much shit you all deal with on a daily basis, and I admire the courage it takes to be yourself when everyone around you wants you to be something else. Any time you need an ally, I’ve got your back. After all, there have been so many times when you’ve had mine.


PS This is an excellent excuse to post a couple of pics of my favorite femmey boy, yes? I’ve always loved these pictures…partly it’s the smug grin in the first one, and the ridiculous cuteness of the kids (the nephews of the main guy – apparently good looks run in the family), and partly it’s just the sheer subversive humor of the whole concept. Well, that and the fact that I’d like to borrow the boots. The second? He looks so adorable I want to give him a cuddle.The third one…OK, let’s be honest, it’s the thighs. And the contrast between the girly outfit and the very boy-like body language. Good thing he’s wearing those boxers!
(Actually, not necessarily a good thing. Damn boxers, why must they provide so much coverage?)
Also note that this ties in with one of my other fundamental beliefs…ultimately all clothing is costume. It exists to be played with.