Life Is a Banquet

It’s not that the bobble-heads haven’t struck a blow for lesbian equality on TV. This show is groundbreaking and it’s going to be a first-class hit. The show’s got enough drama to keep gay people connected and enough soft porn to attract a whole new audience of salivating straight men (the very ones who abandoned their sets when their girlfriends tuned in to Queer Eye). But in a world where image is everything, I’m just troubled by how they look.

It used to be only gay men and teenaged girls fretted and fussed about how pretty they were. But the women from The L Word have set a new standard on television—and it just ratchets up the pressure to conform to the Barbie ideal that is so unhealthily embedded in gay culture. We’ve one-upped Truman Capote by claiming, "You can never be too middle-class or too thin."

Eric McCormack has talked about how he had to be "retooled" after the first season of Will & Grace—cutting his hair and losing weight and working out with a trainer. For the past five seasons, Will could pass for a social X-ray, but Jack tells him he has a double chin every other week.

Granted, a fixation on fat is not an inherently gay trait. A friend of mine was on TV recently doing an interview. His dad called and said, "You looked fat!" When Joe told him the camera adds ten pounds, his dad shot back, "How many cameras were there?"

Maybe we just reflect the standards set by mainstream culture. But I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it than that. Nearly every morning for the past 20 years, I’ve hit the gym before sunrise to join hundreds of other gay men, all straining to pump their muscles to perfection. I tell myself staying fit is the key to a long life—but when I am really honest with myself, I know there’s more to it. My dad was a high school jock, and my three brothers followed in his footsteps. I was the bookish one, the big sissy who couldn’t throw a baseball to save his life. I knew I was a disappointment to my father until I went to college and discovered running and weightlifting. We ran together when I was home for the summer, and even went to the gym. It was the first time in my life where conversation between us came easy.

Those times together forged a lifetime habit. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there’s a little voice in the back of my head that sometimes whispers, "You’re still a big sissy." It fuels my body as I crawl out of bed at an ungodly hour to start working out—that self-imposed pressure to prove myself in a straight world that still tells me I am not enough.

Looking good is a way for us to subtly thumb our noses at our straight brethren—and to gain an edge in that unspoken gay/straight competition. But does that drive for perfection— borne out of a need to stake our claim—set us up for disappointment and unhappiness?

My friend Richard chortled when he called me between his "Combat Cardio" class and a major shopping binge at Armani Exchange a couple of days ago, "I’m so glad I’m not straight." He got some pictures of a party his old fraternity brothers attended over the holidays. "I look fifteen years younger than they do! That’s what married life will do to you-pack on thirty pounds," he said, before he went on to lament that his latest date stood him up the night before.

That dilemma is played out more dramatically in the first episode of The L Word. Two of the leading women are trying to have a baby; they’re happy to accept sperm in a cup and reject any thought of allowing a man to penetrate to produce. Their efforts come to naught until a hot guy at a party pays them court. Suddenly, their values shift—why not do a three-way to get what they want? He’s hot and he’s willing, so what’s the problem?

They invite the guy home. The would-be stud refuses to perform sans protection and walks out. It’s a pivotal moment in a relationship that is already in trouble. The choice to exploit their beauty at the cost of their values leaves them high and dry.

That’s why I’m not completely comfortable with the L-girls and Will and Carson and Kyan. Every one of them is beautiful and sleek and has a wardrobe I’d kill for. It’s just that they embody that relentless and unforgiving emphasis on appearance that flourishes in our community like kudzu in the Georgia clay—choking out every living thing in its path.

Of course, appearances are important. But we should give ourselves permission to want—and expect—more for our lives. As Auntie Mame used to say, "Life is a banquet—and most poor suckers are starving to death." It’s time we learn to pick up a fork and dig in.