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I am not a transsexual! There is nothing wrong with transitioning your spare parts. Nor is there any wrongdoing in using them on married men from New Jersey at the pier. However, it’s not my thing. I just like the clothes. On a Friday night after a couple of cocktails and sample sales, someone handed me a flyer stating:

Transexual wanted! A reality show producer seeks a transvestite, transgender or transexual person. $500+ a day….

What?! At $500 a day I could be! Where am I going to find some breasts? Perhaps, I could find someone who knows someone at the pier. Wait…let’s be clear, I am nobody’s tranny.

We live in an environment where dressing like our straight male counterparts is ideal. I meet so many of these cookie-cutter macho men dressed in wife-beaters and Timbs. They are closeted queens, getting poked by trannies in the alleys behind bars all over the city.

I choose not the suffocating anesthetic of street wear, but the electric jolt of designer skirts and dresses. Men’s fashion hasn’t changed much in the past 50 years. While menswear designers and consumers are content with those complacent concoctions, masquerading as fashion, I prefer to blend my genders to create new gender-bending silhouette: a juxtaposition of soft and hard.

Living in the city that never sleeps, you’ll find that the way we dress is not as gay as you think. In terms of what we wear, it’s a lot more closeted. Take our gay-borhoods or gay bars, you’ll find most gays dressed in t-shirts, jeans and fitted caps. No skirts, dresses or even short-shorts in 100-degree weather. When did we take the homo out of homosexual, and made it a homogenous decree for fellow gays to live by?

In the height of the sexual seventies before the age of AIDS; the city was swept with so many gays, parties and party favors. Although sex is usually on the table, in the bathroom, or in the doorway. A time when gays were so out it was in again. Now we have Splash closing and countless others before it, gay bashings and fake drugs. It was like the city’s insanity was wiped away with a giant sanitation napkin. Are we too afraid of the big disease that nearly destroyed the city three decades ago?

Before Paris was burning in underground clubs all over the city; it was on fire on the streets of Manhattan. Tales of sex, drugs and discotheques is like an urban legend compared with the status quo. Who gave New York City a Xanax?

The rise of Time Square and the fall of the twin towers put a damper on the edge of the city. The ho-stroll is filled with broke homeless hoes. The bars now cards and even the oldest male clientele have to show ID. Our first gay bar in the country, Stonewall, after four decades is now a museum for single women, the lesbians who love them, and random straight men who want to have sex with them all. The after-hours is in Atlanta, and the sex shops are empty. Barney’s Co-Op shut it’s doors in Chelsea for good, leaving little viable options to shop in the gay-borhood.

Our city is in a slump. We the gay people need to put our heterosexual self on the shelf next to the porn stash and take the homosexual back out of the closet.

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