The reality of real men...

I've spent the last few days in race mode. Yesterday was a day to reflect.

I've been thinking about what a drag life is. Literally.

I've recently learned that some guys I didn't really know all that well were worried that I wouldn't want to hang out with them because they weren't butch enough. That I would reject them because they didn't meet up with some sort of moving target and allusive masculinity standard. I was very sad to learn this.

The word "real" comes to mind here. Everywhere I look, especially in hyped urban areas where there are just so many people competing for attention, real seems based on first impressions rather than experience. Folks seem to define and seek out "real" not based upon what's on the inside but by ever changing standards. "Real Men" love Jesus. "Real Men" drive pick up trucks. "Real Men work in construction" or "drive trains" or whatever.

"Real Men" don't wear dresses. They don't sing, they don't dance, they don't express themselves and they certainly don't wear foundation. I keep trying to understand this. I have always chased my own pursuits not because I got butch points for such endeavors but because those were my genuine interests. I never once gave any thought to what sort of reflection this was to my masculinity but I was simply trying to be true to myself.

As a kid my gay brother loved, no he excelled at cooking and fashion and even figure skating. He still does- well maybe not the figure skating bit, but he remains an amazing cook. He is tuned in to where fashion is going, what should be on the wine list and what shouldn't. He is also true to himself and I have always seen him as a real man. He has guts, he was and is a tough, loyal and dedicated friend. I've respected him because of this and I still do. I never wanted him to be like me. I always celebrated him most when he was himself.

These days he is very comfortable in his skin. Yeah, he cringes at my fashion sense, with good reason. He howls at the ghastly things that sometimes emerge from my kitchen. He giggles at the fact his gay brother proudly lives in a triple wide and has an addiction to fine mobile home architecture. I don't think either of us would ever be able to say with a straight face that the other wasn't "real".

But sadly there are more than a few folks who would not define my brother as a real man. And isn't that ironic, because I don't think as an adult he's ever worn a dress in public.

I have though.

I've worn dresses at rodeo grounds. In freeway medians. On ski hill chair lifts. All done to make people laugh and in the broader sense, mess with convention. Mess with the status quo. Make people rethink what makes up a real man. Which brings me back to Saturday night and the fact that a few guys were worried that I might be embarrassed to be seen with them.

I don't usually spend much time in the bars, but Saturday night not only did I find myself in a drag bar, but I would eventually find myself up on stage. Twice. I think the performers surrounding me would have been shocked to know about my character, the Pendleton Round Up Rodeo Princess, 12th runner up out of a field of six. From Echo. Upon first impression, I am the last person anyone would suspect as having worn dresses. In public.

My face still hurts from the horror of getting called up on stage, the laughter, the embarrassment, and the sheepish moments. I mean, I'm usually an outspoken guy who is not easily intimidated. I'm not a guy who is often at a loss for words. Its a bit troubling the power one drag queen can have over a formerly well adjusted and confident man. I now know the definition of deer in the headlights and I have a whole new take on stage fright.

I also know that there are many men who have big issues with drag. They internalize drag, combine it with their own issues and interpret it as an assault on their masculinity. Cowering in fear that somehow make up and big hair might rub off on them or reflect and somehow touch their manhood, I find it interesting- almost like the whole gays in the military debate. I mean you'd think drag has the potential to derail gay, real man, "unit cohesion"- especially from the aggressive way people try to distance themselves from it.

...Ok, so yeah, so maybe its not your deal. Maybe you have never played with Barbies or had an EZ bake Oven or even wanted to learn how to figure skate. I know these pursuits never really rocked my boat either. Not as a kid, nor as an adult. But seriously, as much as some guys distance themselves from drag, the flashing camera's at pride focusing on dykes on bikes, drag queens and leather boys, what sort of alternative do they offer? Drag is as much about performance and acting and creativity as it is a statement about gender. So why are so many folks threatened by a little non traditional performance art?

Recently, I've wondered if drag really has that much power to influence public discourse, put the fear of god into mankind, and change identity. If so we really fucked up in Iraq. Rather than sending over the troops, we should have just sent a contingent of big hair, big heels, and well, "big" girls to the middle east. With big weapons.

The world of "real men" has become mighty transparent and affected these days. Carhartts jackets do not make the man anymore than a maxed out Nordstrom's card makes the drag queen. Especially when you dissect the hyper influenced "got issues?" collision that is gay.com or bigmusclebear or whatever the "real men" site of the day is. As a guy who hates boundaries, who finds humor in any excess, I wonder how one human can so easily threaten the serenity of another person, and more importantly, I wonder how we get beyond this. I mean if the gay community has a broken record, this must be it.

It isn't the drag queens or the leather queens that keep men from coming out of the closet. It isn't the FAB five or the Will and Grace, Queer as Folk crowd. It's fear.

I'll be honest, I don't really identify with these scenes or TV shows and I get very frustrated that Hollywood seems so content to continually represent us in the same old tired ways, but the truth is we only have ourselves to blame. While those shows, those lifestyles don't represent mine, that isn't to say that they threaten me either. I've earned the right to complain that there are other views not because I distance myself from the sequined, designed to the nines set but because I stand proudly beside them, as an openly gay man.

As long as the majority of the "real man" Carhartts crowd is only content to surface in late night gay.com chat sessions or from the safety of a leather bar or only when its "safe" to from the middle of a gay neighborhood, there's no room to complain. Cowering in the corner, all feared up that a guy in a dress is going to be the only image society has to identify them with, the real men can't fault the drag queens. The blame rests with those scared miserable guys in the corner, the ones who so easily blend in and who live their hidden, fearful dual lives. The very same tough guys who spend so much time crafting their butch image have no idea the transparency of such folly, how obviously afraid they appear that those sequins are going to rub off on them. If you're not going to come out and be yourself, you don't have the right to complain about those who have.

I don't live and breathe drag. But I have tremendous respect for anyone who is a performer. Anyone who takes us out of our own miserable moment and who transforms themselves into a vision of something else. Anyone who can make us forget the present, help us laugh at the past, and give us a vision of the future, well, they're gold in my book. No matter what they're wearing.

OK maybe it doesn't take that much talent to lip synch or grab a dollar bill with your mouth while holding a microphone or a cigarette or an adult beverage. But it sure takes a hell of a lot of courage.

And the last time I checked, courage was one of the hallmarks of a great man, if not the truest foundation of a real man.