Yes, you heard the oxymoron right.
The ill-fitting label of style-loving "metrosexual" has jumped the shark. Straight men have dumped their more masculine identities in favor of swish-worthy and sensitive endeavors (painted toenails, anyone?). Likewise, according to a report from the Journal of Clinical Psychiatry, straight men are as hung up on their body image as queer men are.
It's enough to make an old queen scream.
In the interest of allowing gays and straights to sniff out their own kind in the brave new world of '05--let's call it the homosphere--we bring you a list of four things that are definitely not gay anymore.
Dancing: Hooking up on the Net has removed a need for awkward social interaction (read: public humiliation) amongst the homo community. Queers today would rather eat glass than ask a man they don't know to get their freak on at a nightclub. It's just not done. Frat boys, on the other hand, hump each other on dance floors like it's "Caligula Night" in Cancún.
Stark Street Bars: Queers don't need a stinking street to call their own anymore. At least that's the philosophy of the rebellious junior homo set who, over the past several months, have abandoned traditional Pink Triangle outlets (Brig, Boxxes, Scandals) for straight watering holes that let their freak flag fly at weekly "queer" nights (Porky's, Goodfoot, Holocene, Doug Fir). Talk about a mixer.
Skirts: Specifically Utilikilts. Outfitted with side saddle pockets, these Seattle-made skirts were once the rage of butch bears. A cross between a tool belt and something a Scotsman might wear sans panties, these sturdy hip huggers used to dot Pride parades like so many rainbow flags and looked especially fetching when paired with a leather harness. Now you're more likely to see one of these skirts on a Teva-wearing, child-toting, hippie barista who needs more than one place to stash his "stuff."
Public Nudity: It seems like hetero dudes are the only ones who like sand in their cracks nowadays. That's due in large part to the fact that queer men no longer need to strut their stuff on a sunny beach. Now they can show all their junk and their trunk via a trusty, must-have webcam. Again, blame Internet culture for the total dissolution of all things queer, public and pubic. It's weird. Now that gays have a way to meet in private, it's like we've gone right back into the closet. Why tell anybody you're a fag when all you have to do is make up some fake stats about yourself (straight-acting, seven inches, top...right) and post it on Craigslist.org--which, by the way, is getting freakier by the second. Queers must retake the beach, lest we loose Peacock in the Park next.
Oh, wait.
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