'The Gay Shame In Us All' by Dan Brophy

Today a rally for same sex marriage will take place in Melbourne City on the steps of the State Library.

Protest, though important as a way of raising awareness, to me wont do enough, as even the most open-minded and accepting of us are still suffering the affects of thousands of years of homophobia engrained in the collective consciousness.

‘Gay Pride’, the banner ideal, is a purely hypothetical notion. So far we have gotten to the stage where we identify homosexuality as ‘acceptable’, that there’s ‘nothing wrong with it’. This unfortunately caps our understanding of it’s importance at the mere point that it should be ‘allowed’. What many don’t understand, even the gays themselves, is that their place in society is crucial.

Even amongst the gay-friendly enclaves of inner-city gen-Y, we are still not convinced it’s more than OK to be gay.

A few years ago, university lecturer friend of mine told me that there is an fundamental scientific difference between the brain of a gay male and the brain of a straight male. It lies in the corpus callosum – the space between the left and right hemispheres of the brain.

The corpus callosum of a gay male brain is wider, meaning that when motor neurons are firing from one side to the other, there is “more room for emotion to get in the way of the decision making”. A straight male’s hemispheres are closer together, meaning their decision making is more “mechanical”.

The brain of a gay male is therefore more closely resembling the brain of the heterosexual female. And for lesbians, their decision making is more “mechanical” rather than “emotive” due to a similarity with the heterosexual male.

I have often reassured recently outed gay guys by sharing this anecdote, so that they should think of them self as super-human rather than handicapped, as they present the greatest strengths of a man in physicality, and the greatest strengths of a woman in mentality.

Unfortunately we are living at the tail end of an era in which civilization has denied the feminine principle. Christianity turned the Pagan celebration of a “Mother Earth” into a “Heavenly Father” and continued to disavow women through witch burnings and the relegation of women to the duties of the home.

Even now, the most homophobic cultures are the ones in which women are seen as secondary to men, the most obvious being Middle Eastern and African.

There is shame associated with boys who are camp or ‘act gay’, when in actual fact they are just acting feminine – a trait which is seen as weak or flawed because somewhere along the way we were taught that being a woman was weak and flawed.

A common ‘bible belt favourite’ argument against the acceptance of gay is that homosexual sex is “unnatural” because it doesn’t eventuate in reproduction.

A theory I’ve encountered suggests that gays are meant to be responsible for giving birth to a different type of sociological function, that of new ideas and ways of thinking.

Without the fundamental drive to procreate getting in the way, the homosexual is liberated to pursue a life dedicated to the creation of thoughts and ideals which beautify and change the world.

There is a reason why the arts are filled with homosexuals - it’s just them enacting the destiny as prescribed to them by creation itself: to be creative, to create life, but in ways in which we haven’t yet known it.

Leonardo DaVinci and Michelangelo are prime examples: both clearly responsible for dramatic leaps in human consciousness, both documented as having relationships and fascinations with men – as seen in the adoration of the male form in their work: sprawling homo-erotic murals that play out like renaissance era Calvin Klein campaigns. Ironically enough, all commissioned by the Church.

There’s a reason why the gay brain is formed as it is: more available to the emotive decision making of art and creation. There’s a reason why homosexuals exist in society, as an antidote, a means to balance the hetero-centric ideal which has reigned for the past twenty centuries, this masculine principal which has left the world in the state it’s currently in.

Today’s rally may eventuate in the acceptance gay civil unions in this country, but until gays learn to harness their strengths and recognise that they have an important role to play in the society’s evolution, rather than begrudge themselves the celebration of their strengths, ‘gay pride’ will be something that exists only in a colourful flag or on a parade route.

We would be better united if we were better as individuals.

'Tired Horses' Portraits by Dan Brophy

"Impossibly Thin and Ridiculously Young..." OR "Fashion's Obsession with 'The Boy'"

One trend that will define this moment in men’s fashion is the celebration of ‘the boy’.

Five years ago Germaine Greer read the zeitgeist of growing preoccupation and wrote a book about this centuries-old fascination. We now live in a world where the desirable masculine image is not one of physical strength or robust sexuality, but fine-boned innocence and lily-white timidity. From the lost-boys of Prada to Jill Sander’s vacant, Scandinavian youth, to Clavin Klein’s ethereal adolescence, and on it goes: Kenzo, Dior, Lanvin: all perpetuating a sexuality owned but not understood by it’s mascot.

But why this current move towards a men’s ideal that is so child-like? Surely those who can afford these trends are professionals, most of which could be the fathers of – or maintaining a ‘father complex’ relationship with – the boys on the pages of the magazines. Why would a man desire to emulate the imagery of the boy? Has the gradual feminisation of men’s fashion – both clothes and cosmetics – and the rampant metrosexuality boom of the first half of this decade finally laid the way for men to experience what grown women have long-suffered in fashion advertising: the celebration of unattainable youth? In love, as it is sometimes said, ‘you always like what you lack’. The same can be said for the lusty world of fashion. For in this day and age where one can have everything, it’s usually at the expense of one’s youth – and innocence. Maybe that’s what’s being sold now, as sex, power, wealth and ‘luxury’ have already been packaged, sold, copied and reproduced on the High Street. Is it an exercise in the daring or new, this provocative sexualization of ‘the virgin’, or are we just being fed the darker desires of homocentric fashion world? And are gay consumers responding in the same way as heterosexuals? Is there then the added desire to have as to be? So much of this trend is coming out of London or Paris, where the thin and pallid look of the inner-city creative reigns supreme amongst stylists, designers and photographers. Maybe this is their chance to make fashion in their own image, not the ideals they have been brought up with, like those of (photographers) Weber and Avendon. If one was to make clothes for pale and skinny men, it’s much more aesthetically gratifying to show them on a pale and skinny sixteen year old. This trend does have its detractors. There has been an attempt made by some labels to stand apart from the flock: ‘the beard’ has made a seemingly subversive appearance in the advertising of Westwood, Rykiel Homme or Gianfranco Ferre. Dontalla Versace is presenting something very different in the dishevelled favourite of middle-aged women, Patrick Dempsy - though to what affect, is entirely unsure. And old-school image makers like Bruce Weber and Mario Testino cap the youth of their muse at an age old enough to at least maintain the illusion of sexual dominance. Is the new youth-quake ideal sexually regressive? Or, in light of the view of powerful masculinity that has pervaded our storytelling since the birth of the hero, is it a new beauty that challenges our previous notions of what a man should be? At the very least, for those who don’t enjoy it, like most things in fashion, it will be gone before too long.

*This article was a finalist in the British Vogue Young Writer's Competition

For those who missed it: Weekend At Britney's - The Circus Tour, Melbourne 2009 Review

THE DANCING BEAR IN THE GOLDEN CAGE (YES, THAT IS ACTUALLY AN ATTEMPT AT AIR GUITAR)

Before watching the Circus Tour Show, a friend had joked that Britney was like a Cossack Bear chained to the stage by her leg, made to perform for us. Lucky for those who get to watch a Russian bear perform, at least there isn’t the heavy malaise of meds and the dead eyes of a broken spirit to hamper the enjoyment of the circus. During the forty minutes Britney was actually onstage, she got into a gold cage to sing ‘Piece of Me’ and it was at that point that I realised those pulling the strings on one of pop’s most personality-free puppets were entirely aware of the bird-in-a-cage metaphor that summarizes a career in which the star has very little to do with the end product. It was like the Golden Age of Hollywood all over again: Judy Garland, plied with prescribed uppers so shoe could get through the filming of Meet Me in St Louis. Apparently Jamie King, Madonna’s tour director was brought in at the last minute to basically restructure a show where the lead singer couldn’t lead or sing. So much of the entertainment came from video screens, circus performers and solo moments for her dancers, while she was downstairs, offstage wondering where she was and how she got there. I had terrible seats, though I’m glad I did, because it was heart-breaking enough to witness the exhaustion of a lazy, uninspired performer who was so far removed from what she was doing, let alone to have to see it up close. The only people who were being fooled where the fans young enough to have never seen a person sing live. They’re shrill, crazed screams when Britney would spend a calculated twenty seconds down their end of the four-pronged arena before she slumped to the adjacent round to strike the same limp, in-articulate pose was a reminder of the out-of-control pop machine that has manufactured not just this style of music and entertainment, but the merit on which we judge a performing artist. What Madonna begun in the 80s with her original brand of spectacle touring, Britney’s minders have replicated. But this photocopied version (in Madonna’s Stick and Sweet Tour wig, no less) was barely alive, let alone in the moment. It was like ‘Weekend At Britney’s’. And yet the fans loved it, because it was Britney, here, “live”, in front of us! I didn’t actually go for the purpose of seeing Britney, although ever since she tried to reclaim her identity (or avoid hair-analysis drug testing) by shaving her head, I have been interested in the ‘spectacle that is’. I went because I have spent so much time exercising and driving to her pop songs, from ‘Baby One More Time’ (which was originally written for the Back Street Boys - bizarrely obvious once you are aware of it) to her hip hop inspired work with The Neptunes in the midpoint of her career and producer Danja on her last two albums. The genius with which these songs were remixed and produced to be heard in an stadium reminded me just how much I love the tracks, and quite frankly it could have been anyone up there miming to them – we were, in any case just watching over-produced drag. I don’t know whether this is the level at which she always performed, but this particular brand of ‘shopping centre appearance’ pop is a lot more forgivable coming from a teenager, especially given the ticket process she is now commanding. The huge arena in which she performed, designed to fill the biggest stadium in every major city of the world and help cover the cost of her prescriptions, unfortunately only highlighted how limited her ability to move could be. Using the motif of ‘the circus’ was entirely too telling - but unlike when it is done well, it was too obvious that Britney Spears is just smoke and mirrors.

The High Horse Or: How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love The Blog.

As a big-mouthed media whore, I don't know what has taken me so long.

Never one to forgo a pop-culture band wagon or the chance to voice my opinion, I was surprisingly reluctant to pull up my soap-box. The ‘blog boom’ seemed to occur at a time when I was attempting to reign in my ego, and something about mouthing off weekly and expecting others to wallow in it didn’t mesh with the work I was doing on myself at the time.

To some, the blog boom is a reflection of a narcissistic cultural climate, the one Andy Warhol predicted and technology assisted.

I say it’s symbolic of the inevitable next stage in our social evolution.

We are the first Anglo-generation who are not only unafraid of our emotions but willing to parade our emotive opinions for all to witness.

It is no coincidence that this era spawned the ‘emoticon’ ;)

Summarizing your weekly life in paragraph is more than just ego-perpetuation, rather it is the sharing of internal truths, thinly veiled as criticism or social comment.

In a world where self-expression is often ironed out by socialization, the dawn of the cyber-self has validated the opinion of the everyman.

Perez, The Sartorialist, The Fug Girls all saw what their heroes where doing and said ‘I can do that too’.

In Australia, this is especially important as each generation becomes less and less aware of the once pertinent national inferiority complex. Some of the most talented artists and creatives work here in isolation and are now starting to see that their ideas, their work is as valid anything to come from ‘London-Paris-New York’.

We all want to know ourselves and to be known, and though some may argue technology has robbed us of the communication we once shared over the back fence, another would suggest the fence is now built with HTML code and the neighbourhood is large as satellite transmission will permit.

I stopped worrying whether my opinion was necessary and realised that there mere fact that I had one was enough. Here, with open arms, is my offering to the 'world according to blog'. I hope to make it committed, cultivated and candid