Man oh man.
Norah Vincent opens “Self-Made Man“‘s strip club chapter recalling a day-shift lap dance she got, and just absolutely letting the stripper have it. She writes of her “stretched belly and small, angry breasts,” then confides that “her face was where the squalor showed the most.” The stripper pulls Ned (Norah’s male form) “into her chest, sagging one meager breast on each cheek.” Listen, exposure to Kid Rock’s music makes me irritable too, but BE NICE.
Breasts can be angry? You can sag them on things now? Boy, it’s been a minute.
Kicking a woman while she’s down is rough enough even without this moment eight pages later, when Norah laments the general plastic quality of the strippers:
This reminded me of a gay man I’d known, who, when I asked him why he preferred men, said, “Because they’re so nice and dry.” There was the same gay misogyny on display in these clubs.
Emphasis mine. This guy’s answer sounds less like misogyny and more like a desperate need to quip in the tired urban-gay tradition*. What kind of mom-ass question is “Why do you prefer men?” There is no answer, and if there was, it wouldn’t involve the relative humidity of men and women. A fellow ‘mo like Ms. Vincent should know that. Bad lesbian, Norah. That’s a bad lesbian.
Overall, I’m a little annoyed that my gender is studied via bowling leagues and strip clubs. That’s like observing women by going to an American Girl Tea Party and a Clay Aiken concert**. You’ll learn something about those women, but you won’t Learn Something About Women.
* I was the “celebrity caller” at Hamburger Mary’s Gay Bingo last week. You don’t want to know what happens when you call O-69. You really don’t.
** Or studying gays by being at Hamburger Mary’s Gay Bingo.
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