Fashion is funny. It also cloaks you in homosexuality.
This story begins Friday night at a bar -- named after an adorable rodent -- between a group of four friends. Or as Carrie Bradshaw says, "a squirrel is just a rat in a cuter outfit." The squirrel is like J.W. Anderson, where as the rat is like the mall staple Jack & Jones.
My friend, the squirrel, but lets call him Boner (it's synonymous with his actual surname), dresses well with confidence. Boner has a penchant for cheerful socks, fitted jeans, collared shirts, fall jackets and knows the difference between oxfords and monk straps. He's a heterosexual that is pursued by both members of the sexes.
Why? How? I don't get it.
My other friend, lets call her Hydrangea (it's synonymous with her actual surname [I'm so good at this!]), has null gaydar, but knows how to navigate an a-line skirt to perfection. Hydrangea thought Boner was a homosexual based on how he presented himself. We all had a good laugh and she proceeded to explain herself saying that he just dressed, "too well." We subsequently continued to drink some more.
I have to wonder, though, in a denizen of relatively well-dressed people, how do you differentiate between gay and straight based on sartorial choices? I know homosexuals that think cargo pants are trending this fall, you would assume they are "straight". On other hand, you have straight men who enjoy hand welted footwear, you would conclude they're "gay". They probably are gay, they're just "masc". Duh.
Me, I would say I am well-dressed. I embody a post-minimalist look. I don't know what that is, but sure. Hydrangea already assumed my sexuality.
Was it the moustache? My exposed ankles? My mannerisms? My left-wing ideologies?
Photo: Le 21eme