They never tell you in the Big Gay Handbook. And frankly they should because I was not expecting it. But it turns out that the first Christmas together is a very interesting relationship test.
Author: Richard Glen
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COMMENT: Tyson Fury: Be Careful What You Wish For
Boxing has never been an easy sport to love for many people. It’s a sport that at its heart can be seen as two grown men knocking seven shades of daylight out of each other.
Of course, there is always the counter argument, that there is a beauty in its brutality, that it is as much a mental contest as a physical one. And certainly as a business, it can draw crowds and money. The richest prizefight of all time was held in Las Vegas in May this year between Floyd Mayweather Jr and Manny Pacquiao, with prize money of an estimated $200 million. And that’s before we even stop to think about the hundreds of millions the TV rights for the big fights went for.
As a sport it thrives on big characters to bring the big cash in. And controversy. But over the last couple of decades, even die-hard boxing fans have had their patience tested. The confusing and fractured competitive landscape created by having four sanctioning organisations, with no single governing body, allegations of greed and corruption, too few household names, and growing competition from mixed martial arts such as UFC have taken their toll.
The lack of big names, with a few exceptions, has seen average TV revenues decline. For example, in the UK declining viewing figures versus expensive television rights has meant that boxing has very rarely been shown on terrestrial television in the past few years.
Plus of course, there are the frequent calls for boxing to be banned due to the risk of severe injury or fatalities during a fight. It is a sport that often finds itself in the spotlight for all the wrong reasons.
And now we have Tyson Fury. The new heavyweight champion. Certainly, he looks presentable enough on the poster to keep the sponsors happy and won the world title after going in as the underdog against Wladimir Klitschko. So far, so Rocky. But then there is the homophobia and bigotry.
“There are only three things that need to be accomplished before the devil comes home: one of them is homosexuality being legal in countries, one of them is abortion and the other one’s paedophilia. Who would have thought in the Fifties and Sixties that those first two would be legalised?”
Here’s the thing that all professional boxers have in common; unshakeable self-belief. So while Fury and his people have retreated into public relations disaster retreat mode and claimed, predictably, he was misquoted, this is a sportsman that has made the leap from the back page to the subject of opinion pieces like this one and dominated social media.
The petition to remove Tyson Fury from the nominees for this year’s BBC Sports Personality of The Year has been widely publicised in the past few days. And I have the feeling that Fury’s management are secretly delighted. Because guess what? Now everyone knows the name of the new world champion.
So what if he’s been widely derided as a homophobe? Boxing thrives on controversy and now with his bad boy credentials turned up to the max, Fury can safely go into his next fight as the kind of edgy, divisive figure that boxing has long thrived on. It may be a cynical view but I suspect that Fury and his team will not be too upset if the BBC bow to public pressure and strike his name from he ballot. Because the increased public profile and the new status as a hate figure is exactly what promoters and TV networks will pay the big bucks for.
He has his views which I’m fairly sure are not shared by the vast majority of boxing fans. The truth is that now his infamy has grown to a point where being a hate figure actually helps his career. Because who doesn’t want to see the villain get taught a lesson by the next challenger that comes along? By tapping into the public desire to see him get what’s coming to him, Fury will potentially be bigger box office and make a hell of a lot more dollars.
Yes, Tyson Fury should not be considered for the title of Sports Personality of The Year. He is guilty of nothing less than hate speech and the BBC should never be seen to endorse that. The sad thing is that for Fury, the storm will only push his price up. He’s not running for public office. His job is punching people for cash. And to earn the big money for that, political correctness is not in the job description.
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COMMENT | What Jeremy Corbyn Has Already Done For The Gay Community
Many of my gay chums often tell me they are not “into politics”. Personally, I’ve always often thought this was a bit odd because I’ve always thought of being gay and being political as going hand in hand.
We have long had things to fight for in the name of fairness and equality and pressure to put on those in power; the long struggle for equal marriage being just one example in recent history.
But politics, especially that coming straight out of Westminster, leaves many cold. And after the recession and all that nasty MP’s expenses business then is it any wonder?
Even if you despise all things political though, the rise of Jeremy Corbyn has been inescapable. And somewhere in the media storm and the thousands of words written about him, there is one announcement that is both very welcome and hugely long overdue.
In unveiling his Shadow Cabinet team, Corbyn named Luciana Berger as the very first Shadow Minister For Mental Health.
Here we need some context: a University of Cambridge study published in September 2014 found that 12 percent of lesbian women and almost 19 percent of bisexual women reported mental health problems, compared with six percent of heterosexual women. Also, 11 percent of gay men and 15 percent of bisexual men reported problems, compared to five percent of heterosexual men.
It’s pretty clear that mental health is an area of huge importance to the continued wellbeing of us all in the LGB community. However long waiting times for an initial hospital consultation and the postcode lottery that results in standards of care being entirely dependent on where you live continue to be a big problem.
And we all know that the Conservative policy of austerity has led to funding cuts to many organisations that were previously there to provide support and advice.
Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves here; the appointment of a Shadow Minister is in no way the miracle cure to solve the problem with the current state of care. And to be brutally realistic, we still have a government in power who plan on cutting public services yet more in the next few years. Not a great sign that an already difficult situation will get easier anytime soon. But at least for once we can say with certainty that a political party is actually taking it seriously rather than paying lip service with a brief paragraph in the manifesto at election time.
So yes, these are politicians we are talking about. And we’ve all learnt not to trust them right? So it could turn out to be a naïve hope but just maybe the appointment of Luciana Berger means that with the closer scrutiny a designated minister should bring, there just might be a grown up conversation about mental health care in this country.
Yes. I did say it was possibly a naïve hope.
But mental health matters. Given the statistics it is a topic that touches all of us in the gay community, if not personally then chances are through our closest friends and families.
And that is true, whether you are “into politics” or not.
Views expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its editorial team and owners. As part of our mission statement, we have published this comment piece as part of our open platform. If you’d like to reply please use the comment section below and if you’d like to write an opinion piece please visit: www.thegayuk.com/Submit
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COMMENT | Aylan Kurdi must not be this week’s hot news story
It’s been a big week for armchair activism.
We all saw the picture a few days ago of the drowned body of three year old Aylan Kurdi on a Turkish beach. The haunting, heartbreaking images travelled around the world, dominating both mainstream and social media alike.
It was a news story that so far has marked a turning point in press coverage and public opinion of the ongoing refugee crisis. In the Facebook and Twitter world when sharable content is the key to make us sit up and pay attention, giving the story an unspeakably sad and very human face, suddenly gave it a hook.
And all it took was a viral image. And a dead child.
So the good news, if anything can be classed as good news in this whole desperately sad story, is that the death of Aylan Kurdi and the photographs that were printed and shared thousands of times within hours has changed the popular perception of refugees. Guess what everyone? It turns out the ‘’swarm’’ of “migrants” trying to gain entry into Europe were actual human beings after all; mothers, fathers, children.
There is nothing more shocking, more heartbreaking than a dead child. It is an image that speaks of waste, of innocence destroyed, of unimaginable grief. Nobody wants to see photographs of a drowned toddler popping up on their Facebook but the horror and outrage produced was enough that even Downing Street has been forced to acknowledge that the British government has been forced to look again at their policy due to the change in public mood. So a big congratulations to everyone who retweeted or hit the “Like’’ button on that article from The Guardian. We showed them.
If I sound cynical, I’m sorry to say I am a little. The nature of our 24 hour news cycle and the constant hunger it and social media creates for new material means that there is a real risk that this chapter in the worst refugee crisis since World War Two will be viewed as this week’s hot story before the popular news agenda moves on to the next coffee time discussion topic.
This is an example of just how much popular opinion and sincere outpourings of outrage and compassion can jolt government into action. At least in the short term. And the problem is it is very short term. The harsh public scrutiny that the British government and the rest of Europe is under in the wake of the death of Aylan Kurdi must not stop when the next Facebook friendly news story comes along and saturates our news feeds.
Remember Cecil The Lion? After he was shot in Zimbabwe by that American dentist earlier this summer, he was everywhere. I remember signing petitions calling banning imports of lion trophies to the US and European Union. And one could not move for pictures of both poor Cecil and Walter Palmer, the American hunter who killed him. But then the photographs and saturation coverage and serious discussion in the media about conservation in Africa faded.
At the risk of offending hardcore animal lovers, it would be very inappropriate to compare the fate of one lion in the jungle to the desperation situation facing thousands of refugees fleeing the Middle East. But that story from just July of this year is the perfect example of the modern news cycle; blanket coverage, a heavy social media presence and a huge groundswell of public outrage triggering much debate and discussion until the story burns itself out and fades from public consciousness.
The size and scale of the refugee crisis means that it is very much ongoing. This new wave of public empathy and protest triggered by the heartbreaking photos from a Turkish beach has forced governments to act. It’s a start. But clearly only a start and for the sake of the lives of thousands of men, women and children it must continue and build.
Aylan Kurdi must not become this week’s Cecil The Lion. He deserves better than that.
Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.
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Political Pride, An Alternative Pride In Manchester This Bank Holiday
Since it began in 1995, Manchester Pride has grown into the UK’s largest pride event. The four days of the August Bank Holiday weekend sees teams of thousands descend on the city to party and watch performances from the likes of Texas and Danni Minogue.
But with a tagline of Taking Pride Back To Its Roots, just a short walk from Manchester’s famous Gay Village, this year a team of volunteers are running a free two day event for the LGBT community called Political Pride. It’s designed to be an alternative to the commercial, mainstream weekend programme taking place around Canal Street.
Catherine O’Donnell, one of the organisers of Political Pride explains where the idea came from.
“It was originally conceived by LGBT Youth North West. They have a lot of young people who take part on their float in the parade every year but after it’s finished there is nowhere for them to go as they’re under 18”
“So this is an alternative space for them or people who don’t want to drink or those who want to think about what Pride was originally’’
With a weekend of events including international film screenings by Queer Story Showcase, spoken word performances, workshops and discussions, activism is very much at the heart of Political Pride.
‘’One of our events is a panel discussion called Where Do We Go From Here? For example, after same sex marriage, there are still problems with that legislation especially for the trans community. So we are thinking about what are the next things to fight, not just in the UK but globally as well. There is still obviously a lot of homophobia”
“We want to connect historical events to what’s happening today and inspire for the future.”
Amongst all the serious discussion, the organisers are also keen to stress that there is much fun to be had at their weekend of events, especially bearing in mind that with Manchester Pride taking place around the bars and clubs of Canal Street, they’re programme is very much created with young families in mind.
“There is a picnic in the park. And we have an indoor space too so if it rains it doesn’t matter!
And there will be a lot of arts and crafts. We’re going to be doing some banner and badge making, thinking about the political side of art and how it can be used to make protest materials.
Plus great news for fans of Great British Bake Off. Political Pride is presenting an opportunity to show off your skills. With a twist.
Catherine O’Donnell explains,
“On Sunday we have a cake competition. There will be prizes for the best tasting cake but also for the best political slogan. It will be very competitive. Make Cake Not War!!!”
With support from Proud 2 B Parents, LGBT Youth North West and Manchester Metropolitan University, the overtly activism focused side of Political Pride will certainly not be to everybody’s taste. But on a weekend when the gay community are at its most visible in the city, an opportunity to hear different voices and perspectives can only be a positive step.
Political Pride takes place in venues in Manchester City Centre on 29th and 30th August.
More details can be found on their website http://politicalpride.weebly.com
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COMMENT | Why We Loved Cilla
Saturday teatime. In my house, this meant my mum would cook a special tea, steak or gammon with pineapple if we were very lucky, which we’d eat on trays in front of the telly. And tea and Saturday night TV in the late 1980s and 1990s would mean Blind Date and Cilla Black.
At its peak, Blind Date had viewing figures of 15 million viewers. Impressive enough but Cilla Black’s reign as Queen of British Television was the second act of a long career.
The story of Priscilla White, the cloakroom girl at The Cavern Club and pal of The Beatles that became a pop star is well documented. Cilla may never have been as credible as a Dusty Springfield or as cool as a Sandie Shaw but amongst her back catalogue were songs from some of the greatest writers of all time. And let us not forget Burt Bacharach, a man who knows a thing or two about female singers has claimed that her version of one of his greatest songs Anyone Who Had a Heart was his favourite. Not too shabby for a woman often derided for her vocal ability.
Looking back now on her career, the amount of time she remained Our Cilla and a major star is what’s truly impressive. Today a ‘’hot’’ pop star can be casually dumped by their record label barely after the first album has hit the internet and winners of talent shows are sent back to obscurity at the slightest whiff of declining recording sales, Cilla managed to move from pop music to light entertainment and television in a way that never seemed jarring, remaining a big name in the process.
Her TV career actually began with her own BBC show in the late 60s and early 70s. But it was with the double whammy of Surprise Surprise and Blind Date that introduced her to new generations. And Cilla did cross generations. She managed the rare feat of being a true family entertainer, Auntie Cilla; an audience who remembered her from the peak of her pop stardom sitting down with their own children to watch light, often silly but more often than not fun shows together. Her flame red hair and unique mangling of the English language may have been easy to mock and the programmes she hosted would be regularly sneered at by highbrow critics. But her popularity and ability to draw an audience remained undiminished.
Saturday night television was very different when Cilla was the Queen of it. This was the pre-Cowell era, a time before phone voting and copycat talent shows. Of course the producers of Blind Date were probably every bit as much the cynical puppet masters that the X Factorproduction team are today but now it seems like a kinder, gentler time. When the stakes are a trip to the Costa De Sol and some awkwardly scripted flirting, it seems quite quaint compared to the possibility of a Christmas number one and all the music industry corporate baggage that comes with it.
Despite her love of sequins and spangles, and a pair of legs that even in later years women half her age would have killed for, Cilla was never glamorous. But she was showbusiness. An old school style of Champagne glass ever present in hand, never leave the house without a full face of make up and killer heels on, summer seasons and pantomime showbusiness. It barely exists now. Entertainers have been largely replaced by presenters and proficient autocue readers on TV and you’re likely to find somebody who came third in Big Brother playing Aladdin down the local theatre at Christmas rather than someone who learnt their craft on the working men’s club circuit.
Reading the tweets and tributes about Cilla Black, I know mine was not the only household that invited her into our homes at Saturday teatime. She was a guest who made us chuckle, occasionally may have made us cringe a little and a guest we had fond memories of.
Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.
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THEATRE REVIEW: wonder.land, Manchester International Festival
★★★★ | wonder.land, Manchester International Festival
Now in its tenth year, the Manchester International Festival is a biannual showcase for newly commissioned work by leading artists from all around the world.
One of 2015’s biggest shows is wonder.land, a new musical featuring music by Damon Albarn of Blur and Gorillaz fame.
wonder.land, a new take on the classic story of Alice In Wonderland, tells the story of Aly. Aly is a lonely teenage girl, recently moved to a new area after the bitter split of her parents. Bullied at school and feeling neglected by her mother due to her baby brother, one day she stumbles across wonder.land, a website promising escape into a virtual world. Creating an avatar called Alice, in this world, Ali makes new friends and some refuge from her loneliness until the day her headmistress, Ms. Manxome confiscates her mobile phone and she is denied access to the game. Before long, Aly finds herself fighting for her existence in the game after her identity is stolen and her virtual friends turn against her.
The story of Alice in Wonderland has long been one of the most loved and iconic of children’s books. This version, with themes of online gambling addiction, bullying and fractured families is a fiercely contemporary adaption. Elements of the Lewis Caroll tale remain but with a modern twist. For example, the Mad Hatter becomes Matt Hatton, Aly’s recovering gaming addict dad with a history of mental illness.
If this sounds all a bit worthy then luckily wonder.land has enough sly wit and playfulness to prevent it feel like a preachy night at the theatre. The innovative design, mixing 3 dimensional back projection with moveable sets creating the two different worlds of the show also added a huge amount of visual excitement.
wonder.land is not without flaws. The music, a combination of traditional musical theatre orchestration and electronica is pleasant if not especially memorable and the big climatic showdown between Ali and the villainous Ms Manxome feels rather rushed. This is not to deny however that this is a bold, exciting and original piece of work.
In a strong ensemble cast, it was Anna Francolini who was the performance of the evening as Ms Manxome, this version’s Red Queen. Ms Manxome is an old fashioned big barnstormer of a role that it’s very easy to see musical theatre actresses of a certain age fighting to play. Francolini attacks the part with swagger and enormous charisma.
Special mention must also go to Rosalie Craig in the lead role of Ali, who brings huge quantities of vulnerability to her performance matched by a strong singing voice. Her complicated relationships with her parents and budding friendship with Luke, himself a target for homophobic bullying, are affecting and powerfully portrayed.
For all it’s modern trappings, at its heart wonder.land is a story about family and the quest for self-esteem. Lewis Carroll purists may very well hate it but plenty other will relate to its warmth, wit and the timeless themes under the hi-tech surface.
wonderland
Palace Theatre, Manchester
2nd to 12th July 2015 -
COMMENT | How I Learned To Stop Worring And Love Kylie
My mini joke was always that it was a homo crime for which I could have my Gay Card confiscated.
And there have been times in the company of my peers I’ve been the odd queer out. But the truth is I never was a Kylie fan. Quite the opposite in fact.
My personal opinion was that she was the poster girl for all that was bad in your average gay CD collection. And I was way hipper than that. My taste veers between skinny white kids with guitars to tortured hip hop ghetto types to electronic artists that are barely household names in their own households.
By comparison Kylie Minogue always felt a bit, well, naff. From my cooler than thou music bunker, I had ruled years ago that she was kiddie pop sung mainly through her nose by a now middle aged ex soap star. Move on, nowt to see here…
Anyway, with heavy heart then I accompanied my Kylie lovin’ other half to Hyde Park to watch her headining the BST Festival. When I say heavy heart, Grace Jones and Chic were on the bill, both acts that put a nicely designed tick in my hipster music box, so on paper it was not going to be a total waste of a day. Though of course as the selfless boyfriend I am, I would have to tolerate Minogue.
Grace and Chic were excellent. Predictably so. I kind of knew that before both played a single note. But I digress. For this is not a column singing the praises of the support acts. Oh no. This is me relating the tale of just how I became a Kylie convert.
The trade off of the big name summer outdoor gigs is always high ticket prices, restricted view due to distance from the stage in a huge area (we were not that far back but still felt like we were standing somewhere in Essex) and the sense that they are more about corporate interest and sponsorship than musical quality. At BST in Hyde Park all of this was on show. And yet…
It was roughly three songs in, during the glorious glitter ball rush of Wow it clicked. I “got’’ Kylie. Yes, it’s a simple formula on paper; keep the BPM high and hit the chorus at full throttle. It is however brutally effective.
Plus as my other half so succinctly put it at her strongest, the biggest surprise is that thanks to some clever state of the art production Kylie sounds both ultra contemporary and like the future. Simmering beneath the pop sheen of a Can’t Get You Out Of My Head or a Get Outta My Way is something darker and quietly subversive.
In a royal park on a summer Sunday night amongst the heavy branding of credit card company sponsorship, the moment the harsh electronic rhythm of Slow was cranked up, as heavy as anything in underground EDM became a mass communal moment.
Then there is Kylie herself. After several decades in the business, it seems fairly redundant to say she is a polished performer. But likability without blandness is no mean feat to pull off. Unlike her contemporaries, the grim determination and often joylessness of Madonna for example, Minogue comes across as hugely likeable. Niceness is pop stars is so rare that in her case it feels refreshing rather that forced or insincere.
I will always struggle to stay in the room for The Locomotion and I Should Be So Lucky still is the wrong side of cringeworthy. But after years and years of dismissing her, I can honestly say I have found corners of her back catalogue I genuinely love.
Until the next time KM.
Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.
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COMMENT | Rise Of The Dad Bod and Proud Of It
Well, I never… Sometimes one can be totally of the moment without doing a darn thing. It turns out I have a Dad Bod.
The Dad Bod had been much blogged about of late; it is, and I quote, a physique that says‘’ “I go to the gym occasionally, but I also drink heavily on the weekends and enjoy eating eight slices of pizza at a time.”
Okay, someone has clearly been reading my diary.
The problem is that we live in a time where everything has to be overanalysed and commented on, that being Average has to have a big fat (well, if not fat exactly, then definitely lacking in killer abs) label shoved on it and described as a trend.
Believe me, thousands of us go to the gym, begrudgingly spend 30 minutes on a treadmill and then spend Saturday night getting our moneys worth at the Chinese buffet long before it became a thing for Buzzfeed to get itself overheated about.
Much has been written in the last few weeks about slightly gone to seed middle aged blokes. Basically we are so hit right now. That is not to say that there is not a more serious point here about what healthy looks like. Frankly though it’s rather nice to see a relatable physique put up on a pedestal for once because as much as I enjoy the stream of the shirtless and godlike on my Instagram feed, it can make one feel a little bit inadequate. And fat…
Of course, the gays are not above shoving people into categories. “Bears” – our version of the Dad Bod, in theory at least. For the unitiated, and if you are then why the heck are you reading this website, according to Wikipedia this is a “often a larger, hairier man who projects an image of rugged masculinity.” Having been to bear club and seen the crowd reaction when the DJ drops a Kylie record, I could dispute the rugged masculinity part but that’s another story.
The problem is that within the language of the bear community the sheer number of different boxes according to type is exhausting. To name a few ‘’panda’’, ‘’otter’’, ‘’grizzly’’, ‘’koala’’, “chub’’, “wolf’’.
Yep, us gayers definitely like our labels. And not just on a designer jockstrap.
Articles like the stuff about Dad Bods is yet another example of good old click bait, creating a story out of nothing to get it shared and debated on social media. Very 2015.
But as a middle aged bloke with a bit of body hair, a love for red wine and a workout schedule that is at the moment best called “light’, I’ve often wasted time wondering where I belong on the gay scale. Not beefy or furry enough to be a bear and I vaguely remember that actual otters have webbed paws so I’m not entirely comfortable comparing myself to them.
So Dad Bod… Yes, it’s a silly term but the good news is I read the blurb and think “Yup, that’s me’’.
Now if you excuse me, I must work on my physique. There’s a bottle of merlot and a large Four Cheese pizza calling me and I just answer to keep on trend.
Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.
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COMMENT: Unless You Take A Selfie Did It Really Happen?
Selfies. We’ve all read how that it is the word of the past couple of years. The buzzword that sums up the zeitgeist. They’ve mutated now to the point for the true selfie aficionado, the timer on your camera phone is your New Best Friend. Of course the true classics of the genre still occur in a bedroom or bathroom. Or if really bored, on public transport. Swiftly uploaded to social media with a snappy caption.
However as a Gay Man, I’m aware of a whole other sub category. This is the locker room selfie. Yes, the post workout shot in a mirror, usually accompanied by words like ”Arms Day!” or ”Making Progress!!”. These are the selfies that invariably elict a groan as they pop up on the newsfeed. Whilst eyeing that half empty packet of digestives with a mix of regret and guilt.
I know personally I once deleted an acquaintance from Facebook who not only posted a daily locker room selfie (I felt I knew the geography of his gym changing room better than my own kitchen) but also posted an album entitled ”My New Vest”. Twelve pictures. Wearing a new gym vest. From different angles. That was my tipping point.
Each picture elicited comments of ”Looking Good!”, ”Getting Big Buddy” or an ever articulate ”Grrrr!!!”. And indeed he was impressive, if way out of proportion (it was plainly not often Legs Day). So it was all for validation. Or vanity. Or both. Well, yes. But the cult of the selfie also stems from a basic need for material.
Newsflash: bodybuilding existed before the invention of camera phones. Also people bought new clothes prior to the dawn of the Internet. But now we live in an age when if something is not documented and uploaded, did it really happen?
So a self portrait is if not a substitute for conversation, then an artificial starting point for it, provoking comment or ”likes” in a quick, obvious way. And being good at social media is reliant on a constant stream of Something. In a short attention span, sound bite world then it can only exist if we constantly upload the new and the current. We’ve all cottoned on that anything is fair game. A new vest, you on your daily commute to work, a pumped pair of biceps. It’s why Instagram exists at all.
Every day is Judgement Day. We share glimpses of our bodies on the internet, be it via a post workout snap or a holiday beachwear photo all the time. Now you know what your work colleagues look like in shorts. You may not necessarily want to but… And as human beings it’s virtually impossible not to compare. The sheer number of images that exist makes it inevitable.
Growing up in the 1970s, cameras were wheeled out on high days and holidays. Having a picture taken was An Event. Something for Christmas, Birthdays or Holidays. Now sitting at home bored and watching telly is an event. A quick fiddle with your iPhone and the world can see your sitting at home, watching telly, bored face. Boredom and the mundane is worthy of being documented in the rush to fill a vacuum with new material to share.
In a similar way, the accessibility of cameras has changed the way we view our bodies. The naked selfie, like those we send to a potential or current lover. We are part of a generation that can do that. In the old days, which seem like the Stone Ages now, no one would dare take anything ”rude” to Boots for developing.
Horror stories abounded of the nice lady down the road who was dragged out of the local chemist by the Vice Squad and labelled a pornographer just because her husband was feeling artistic one evening. And Polaroid cameras were all well and good but now we are surrounded by the instant technology for capturing images.
More means to photograph ourselves means more opportunities to view ourselves. More room for self criticism. The massive world of images of each other that engulf us is a constant invite to comparison. We are now more aware of how each other look undressed. A casual lying in bed on a Sunday morning selfie tweeted to our followers is now not only an invite to judge ones bedlinen but to survey the muscle tone in ones arms and shoulders.
Of course this is not to say that everybody is frantically uploading near naked pictures of themselves. There are many who never would, which in its own way is just as telling. The absence of a casual (or posed) display of flesh in itself becomes a statement. I have a good friend who swears he would rather die than post a shirt off photo on Facebook as he ”doesn’t have the body”. Not strictly true. He does indeed have a body. He is also a smart, attractive man who exercises regularly. So why the insecurity?
But also I understand the reason why. In a time where gym selfies have become a genre all in themselves, where fit, well muscled men can upload pictures of themselves and complain they are not yet big or defined enough, then is it that much of a surprise? And yeah, many of those same ripped fitness types are stereotypically vain, egotistical tossers brandishing their camera phones like a weapon. Just as many however look at the pictures and see only what they consider flaws. Just like those of us who never break a sweat.
That’s the other thing about selfies; we dismiss them a lot of the time as vanity. Yet we still look and judge. We show people a split second of ourselves. It may be contrived, edited but 15 years ago did you ever dream you would see an old school chum straight out of the shower, getting ready for a night out in the privacy of their own bathroom? And what do you think on seeing that? That her taste in bathroom tiles is a bit suspect. Oh and hasn’t she put on a lot of weight…
Our selfies say a lot about ourselves. How we view each others says more.
Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.
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COMMENT | I Lost My Job Today
Today I lost my day job.
If I’m honest, it was not a huge shocker. I had worked there since last year and it had been a bit of a change in career direction but the last couple of months I’d felt a lot like I was drowning with no rubber ring at hand. Still when one of management asked if i’d ‘’got a minute’’ and invited me into another room it felt inevitable and also a gut punch.
That was a few hours ago. Since then there have been a few tears, most of them when I walked through my front door to be met by my partner with a hug and an ‘’it’s all okay, babe’’.
His utter, unconditional support and downright bloody loveliness about a situation that screws up our immediate plans was the killer. I wouldn’t blame him at all for being livid with me. And I’d love to say I would be exactly that sweet and caring right now. I’d love to but… I’m not sure.
And then, as is the gay way, after a lot more tears (Mine) and even more words of support (His), he took me to the corner shop and bought junk food and a very big bottle of vodka. It’s unopened in the fridge right now. But let’s be honest; that will not remain the case for very long.
My poor, darling man… He blames himself. We got together at Christmas and then moved in together and got engaged roughly five minutes later. More tsunami than whirlwind romance. So yes, maybe I have been less than focussed at work due to the sheer size of life changes in such a short time. But I’m an adult, I make my own choices. And one of them is the amount of work I actually do at work. Like I say, the abrupt interruption in what I will charitably call a career was not exactly a bombshell out of nowhere.
I saw the storm clouds rolling in but still went out without an umbrella.
So sat on my sofa on the afternoon I have become, hopefully, temporarily unemployed I admit I am terrified. This is even before the paranoia at the bottom of the corner shop vodka has kicked in. I read the newspapers on he weekend about how the new Tory government and the welfare cuts to come will make life tougher for many. Potentially that includes me.
I’m a middle aged poof, with a patchy career history. My age and a CV that is less than dazzling makes this start of a new chapter seem like one case of Picking Myself and Dusting Myself Down too many.
It’s not that I’m proud or picky but getting to 5pm in a job that pays reasonably okay… Well, at this point winning the big one on the Lottery seems shorter odds.
Anyway, enough self pity for now. Tomorrow is a new day and all that crap… And I have employment agencies to pester and try to spin this latest hiccup into something vaguely positive. That will be stretch.
However for now, there is a bottle of vodka in the fridge and a supportive partner to share it with. It may seem bleak. It could be worse.