Here's a big fat follow-up to Lesbians Are Fat And Andrew Sullivan Is A Big Puss. Once again, the reader comments have prompted me to do more work. This time it was a suggestion from my friend JAM to look into The Beauty Myth, by Naomi Wolf. Just to clarify, JAM is a "Queersighted reader friend", not a "real friend", like on MySpace.

Wolf's basic argument is that women are pressured to conform to an idealized concept of female beauty. Yes, thank you fashion magazines, beauty pageants, Paris Hilton, and Eileen Chaiken. Even Jane Fonda, who had women everywhere working out to her exercise videos in the 1980's, admitted years later that between takes she was barfing up breakfast. She also added something about "good genes", in other words, "Let's face it, I was born beautiful". Jane Fonda is actually trying to help women by finally telling the truth. We're not all born beautiful. Some of us are heavier than others because we didn't get Jane's "good genes". Some of us will never be able to exercise our our way into a size 4. Jane's one of the few aging actresses who hasn't nipped and tucked her face into a permanent expression of surprise. I like her.

Look, I lost 30 pounds and feel pretty good about myself, but if I saw "style guru" Tim Gunn at a party, I would crawl through a heating duct to avoid Tim's "finger to the mouth, old queen look of dissaproval". (I love Tim Gunn and old queens, please don't write in)

Gay Republican and lesbian obesity expert, Andrew Sullivan, also weighed in, Naomi Wolf style ... "My hunch is that without shallow, physically-oriented men to appeal to, many lesbians feel even less need to stay in shape than many straight women do." My hunch is that Andrew is right and my other hunch is that Andrew's mother should have told him not to scratch his ass on National TV.

The New York Observer, a weekly Manhattan newspaper of some influence, recently posed the prickly question of whether or not the penis is poised for a major comeback in popular American culture. One of the paper's arts and culture gurus went on safari and lo and behold she discovered that penises are running wild throughout the concrete jungle.

Now before you poo poo the Observer's wisdom--likely because you've never heard of it and in truth the newspaper only boasts a subscriber list of a mere 51,000 readers--consider that the 51,000 consists of a hard core of very influential New Yorkers, the kind of people who tell the rest of you what's in and what's out. Yes, The New York Observer readers are the trendsetters and innovators who tell you what to think.

"Oh, really?" you scornfully retort. Really. For example, among other things, The New York Observer publishes Candace Bushnell's column on Manhattan's social life, a little something called Sex and the City. Heard of it? So sit up, shut up and pay attention. You never heard of Manolo Blahnik until The New York Observer kicked you in the consciousness. So when the Observer says the penis is back, the penis is back in all of its full frontal erectile functionality.

It would appear--and it is appearing with increasing frequency on stage, screen and television--that Harry Potter's peter in the revival of Equus was merely a harbinger of things to come.

I've long admired John Bartlett (right), the man and the fashion designer. The out and proud clothing extraordinaire has a "life experience check-list" that you couldn't possibly make up. Some bits and pieces:

- Graduate from Harvard University, check.

- Launch own label in 1992, check.

- Be the first menswear designer to receive the Perry Ellis Award for Best Newcomer in 1993, check.

- Get the CFDA Menswear Designer of the Year Award in 1997, check.

- Give it all up, at least temporarily ... um, check.

While most of us would probably work until we were blue in the face, John chose to stop, relax and reflect when, in 2002, he packed up his swatches and took a sabbatical to Thailand and Cambodia to study Ashtangha yoga and Buddhism.

Towards the end of 2003, he came back to fashion with a smaller -- and exquisite -- men's collection. And now, he just opened his own signature store in one of the coolest areas of Manhattan.

I recently spoke to the hunky designer about the gay guy's style, his store, his (three-legged) dog and what YOU should have in your closet this Fall.

Read up after the jump ...

There's only one thing I like more than a lesbian: a group of lesbians. Wait, scratch that. A group of British lesbians! Like, duuuh.

Don't these ladies look like they're having a great time?


I recognize one of my readers, "Bullet" in that clip. You think they'd let me join their crew? If I'm going to join forces with them, I feel like I should stand out (you know, more than by being black, not wearing make-up, being the size of two of them put together, and being super American). What if I wear those old school roller skates all the time like Tutti used to do on Facts of Life? I could be the one that alway's blows huge bubbles with my gum and wears giant headphones all the time. I'd be like that cat on Heathcliff. We could go around and 'terrify the neighborhoods'. It'd be glorious!

I think the girls are in their late teens and early 20s. I'll find out for sure once I get high-fived in to the group, and I'll be sure to show you an updated version of the hijinks. See more on their youtube page.

Watch the whole thing...


Story of my life...

You can see more on her youtube profile.

Oh and which outfit did you like the best? I liked the second one she changed into the most. That reminds me! I've always wanted to be the kind of girl who could pull off wearing ties. I just don't have a style. Anyone wanna volunteer to be my stylist?

I thought I'd help all of you wild and crazy QueerSighters start off your weekends with a super-duper smile.

I found this video that I think is pretty freakin' fantastic. It's got stuff in it that I think us gays love:

- Fabulous models walking down designer runways? Yup, got 'em.
- Exorbitantly expensive designer clothing? Yes, there's that, too.
- Trips and falls involving said models in said clothing? Um, sure!

Just think of this as 'America's Funniest Home Videos: Model Edition.'



Have a great weekend, everybody!

The notorious and dreaded Gay Agenda Guerillas (GAG) launched a full frontal assault on heterosexuals today, targeting the crossroads of the universe during peak tourist season. With the cunning of Al Qaeda, GAG's lavender troops began their recruitment drive early this morning in the heart of New York's Times Square.

Once a beach head was established behind the United States Armed Forces Recruiting Station, the rest of the square fell like a Dick Cheney shooting victim.

GAG propagandists lulled the city police department and Homeland Security officials into a false sense of status quo with claims that it was nothing more than National Underwear Day and nothing more than innocent models peddling the latest fashions in male and female unmentionables. So sweet, so harmless, so cunning. As the world's most famous crossroads swelled with lavender troops, the assault was soon unstoppable. New York officials had been fabulously duped.

SJP = Sarah Jessica Parker. And boy, do I heart SJP.

With the 'Sex and the City' movie starting production in the fall, I figured those of you QueerSighters without neither a DVD player nor HBO On Demand might be longing for a little SJP fix.

I caught this new commercial for her second perfume called Covet and, frankly, it's fun, fashion-forward and sexy, like our much-loved SJP (real) and our beloved Carrie Bradshaw (not real). Take a look:



So tell me, people: What do YOU think of the commercial -- or Sarah Jessica Parker for that matter?

As long as you keep your eyes and ears open (and under certain circumstances, your mouth) you're bound to learn something new every day. Today was no exception. In fact, early this morning as I was perusing the Asian press, I learned that while Hawaii may be the place to go for floral-patterned shirts and Austria may be the place to go for lederhosen, Taiwan is the world capital for butch lesbian fashion essentials.

It's possible that my butch lesbian sisters have known this all along, but it has surely come as a surprise to me.

And, if you're like me, you generally associate Taiwan with Oolong tea, Asus laptops and anti-Communist fervor, but certainly not an island of Rosies sans cosmetics.

I understand that the juxtaposition of the words "fashion" and "butch lesbians" seems counter-intuitive, but the designers of Taipei feel differently, so differently in fact that one of the nation's leading newspapers has reported (August 2) that the lesbian fashion and "chest-binder business...may be the next in line to become an export success" for the island nation.

How many ways can a gay man party? And how many ways can he rationalize self-indulgence as an act of gay pride and gay rights? This past Sunday's New York Times has yet another answer to this critical question.

Gay men and even some lesbians have asked themselves how can we fight the fact that there are no federal laws protecting queers from discrimination, the fact that gay kids are suffering through an epidemic of bashings in schools and the fact that gay families continue to be denied the same rights and protections of straight families? The answer seems to be building lovely sand castles on supposedly straight beaches.

We have money, we have time. Let's invest it wisely. So how about a beach party?. I know. I'm such a paper pooper. But when you call throwing a party a form of activism, my rave and rant alarms goes off.

War has its perks. Dick Cheney gets rich. Afghanistan's opium trade, protected by American troops, has exceeded all past sales targets. Dusty old Baghdad gets an extreme makeover. And queers get the hottest fashion look since assless chaps.

Under ordinary circumstances the senseless slaughter of war disturbs me and high fashion really bores me. I'm a khakis and button down shirt kind of guy. My dress up is Brooks Brothers and my festive is Tommy Bahama. I normally ignore the latest looks from 7th avenue, Paris and Milan. But when creative fashion designers make war hot, I'm thinking of installing a tarmac that leads right into my bedroom.

Associated Press fashion guru Joelle Diderich reports from Paris that the war lords of high fashion including Gaultier, Galiano and Yamamoto have turned carnage, human cruelty and soul-crushing into entertainment and sexy fun.

Diderich shares: "Army fatigues, gas masks and camouflage patterns swarmed the catwalk on Thursday as Paris designers reflected on troubled times in their menswear collections for next summer."

War is here to stay and the Parisian fashion industry has made it stylish. What a pity that Saddam Hussein didn't live to see it. He would have adored the Hermes orange hand-tooled leather gas mask.

Is my hemline too short? I think my politics are showing.

Of course you always wondered how manscaping began. Fortunately, the people who brought you the Phillips Bodygroom have made the ultimate video history of how men came to shave everywhere.

'The Story of Sack'



hat tip to Adrants.com

The mainstream media, the queer media and the queer blogosphere are yet again in a feeding frenzy since last night over the Undying Monster From New Jersey. Say what you will about James McGreevey but he is unique in having made a sustainable industry out of coming out. When did this all start? I can barely remember. 1894? 1605? Anyhow, this latest foray into the headlines is somewhere in between soooooooooooooooo gay and way too gay.

Either way, it's delicious. I feel like I just downed a Four Seasons restaurant hot chocolate souffle, a box of freshly made Neuhaus champagne and chocolate truffles and a Frrrozen Hot Chocolate from New York's Serendipity Cafe. Yum. Just when I was ready to bet my eternal soul that the McGreevey Wars couldn't get any more ridiculous, they do.

Well, it's Sunday night and I'm all a-twitter. And that's because in mere moments, the Tony Awards -- OUR awards show -- is about to begin; three hours of (what I hope will be) theatrical euphoria.

And I'm ready for 'em! Uh, I think. OK, my checklist ... where IS my checklist? Ah, found it! Let's see:




- Comfy jammies on. Check.
- Popcorn popping. Check.
- Bowl of ice cream prepared? Check.
- Cookies baking? Check.



I've been so anticipating this moment that I even rehearsed it earlier today when my friend, Albert, called and I hung up on him saying, "What? Are you crazy? I'm watching the Tonys!"

So now I give you now my neurotic (and, I admit, slightly abnormal) Tony Awards play-by-play ... after the jump!

Clogs [or Crocs]

They're just not sexy and, let me be clear on the subject, they don't look right on men - ever.

Boston Red Sox Caps

I especially hate these if the guy wearing one is cute. I just want to rip it off his head a put him in a Yankee cap.

A Beer Gut

It's not attractive. I don't care if you say you've espoused the bear lifestyle. A big belly just doesn't look good unless your job is to wear a red suit and slide down chimneys on Christmas Eve.

Now, I'm not saying I'm down with MeMe Roth's attack on Jordin Sparks, but, seriously, lose the gut.

Too Many Muscles

Technically, I think, we all have the same number of muscles, so, I'm talking size here. What's too much will vary from person to person. But as a general rule, if it looks like it takes a truckload of steroids to keep you that way, it's too much.

A Prince Albert

I don't like these, except in photos where they sometimes look hot. In person, they're impractical and simply present way too many logistical problems.

*

The list goes on... capri pants [on men], sunglasses at night, too many visible electronic devices on your person. But, tell me, what makes your list?