Girls Who Like Boys Who Are Girls?

by Diego

McNally Robinson Bookstore (on Prince St., between Mulberry and Mott St. in NoLiTa) hosted a reading of "Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys: True Tales of Love, Lust, and Friendship Between Straight Women and Gay Men" on Thursday, July 26. The collection includes anecdotes by both fags and hags from various generations. Four of the many authors read part of their essays, which ranged from obtuse observations of awkward High School existence (yawn) to melancholy tales of being young and lost and ridiculously in love in the 90s (remember that?). One highlight when it comes to hilarious lines coming from a hag's mouth was: "I didn't wanna, like, swallow it, so I had to transfer it to the mattress."

Another highlight of the evening was one of the stories read by a fashionista fag hag (the co-founder of Gawker.com). Her piece, overflowing with David Sedaris-esque wit, explored life "before the gays", when she grew up in rural Alabama and without a fag to call her own.

But the truth is, it's hard to even remember exactly what these people read. As much as one must appreciate the fact that the relationship between hags and fags is being explored, it's also inevitable to notice the degree of superficiality with which the issue is being treated. Yes, gay men make for great shopping alibis, and hags are funny and insecure and just as slutty as gay men are -- which may give them all a little solace. But whatever happened to thinking about what really lays underneath the fun and glitter? Who can handle one more coming-out story set in rural Iowa, involving a laundry-folding mother and a truck-driving father? And "Will and Grace" comments just aren't funny anymore. The show has been as dead as dial-up for a good five years.

The whole "coming out struggle" and "having a gay best friend is so cute" thing had it's rise in the 90s. A decade later, it really seems obsolete to be regurgitating the cliches. What we need is a deeper philosophical curiosity, instead of being caught up in the "fun-obsessed" flatness of celebrity-hetero-ism. If one doesn't have fundamental metaphysical questions to investigate, maybe one can grant oneself the right to check PerezHilton all day and rehash drunken stupor anecdotes over happy hour five days a week. But if one's gay -- and, thefore, has a deformed and incomplete sense of identity -- then one should be devoted to more meaningful literary pursuits.

I'm not really sure what we gain as individuals or as a community by consuming stories of how much fun it is to hang out at the mall flaming out together. I am sure "Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys" has much more than just these anecdotes of hollow gay fun, but from the reading, it also showed little interest in finding out the whys and becauses. It seemed more invested in the celebration of the masking of our problems (via "fabulousness"), than in what really moves us, disturbs us and defines us.

I understand everybody needs to make their buck, but it may be wise to leave that kind of entertainment for cyberspace and safeguard literature as a place for nobler pursuits.

Either way, you can click here to buy the book.

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