The New Jerusalem

There’s this stereotype that gay men are fashion icons, full of excellent taste, constantly giving makeovers and always stocking their wardrobes with the latest fashions from milan and paris. Look at me. I am gay. I own jean shorts. I have never in my life performed any body hair removal activities. I do not have six pack abs. I’m not certain that I have abs of any sort. So what does this mean? That the cliches of gay men having exquisite taste are untrue? No, I have brilliant fashion sense, or at least that’s what dear Coco told me. I realize I’m a fashion nightmare, and I have concrete ideas for how to rectify this problem. The issue is, unlike those homosexuals you’ve seen on tv, I’m too lazy to spend hours waxing my back and working out and spending 140% of my income at diesel. It seems like a waste, doesn’t it, for me to have these magical gay superpowers and not have the driving need to use them for good. And the reason is that I suffer from the greatest super-weakness a homosexual man can know. The reason I don’t spend hours working fastidiously to prove my beauty and style and cultural accuity, the thing that consigns me to the torpid and zhlubby state before you is that I, unfortunately, like myself already, and don’t really feel the need to expend an excess of effort proving anything to anyone. I know, I’m never going to get a show on Bravo that way.