The Hierarchy of Homos, or The Weakest Link in the Dating Food Chain.The Olympic God: You've seen 'em. They're beautiful, they've got negative body fat, and it requires little or no effort to maintain. But they do it anyway, 'cuz they know they're at the top, and they don't wanna end up at the bottom of the heap. Would not be caught dead dating below the level of C-You/C-Me. And that, my friends, would be slumming.
Body Rock: The classic Chelsea Gym Rat. Buff, hard, wrorking it. They know they're a clone, and not only are they not horrified by their sameness, they celebrate it. And they look down on you for not being smart enough to know that sameness is good, They rest secure in the knowledge that you want to be like them, but never will be. They've earned the right to laugh at you.
C-You/C-Me: Yeah, they work out at the gym, and it's paying off. And you know why they're working out at the gym? 'Cuz they want to be able to date Body Rockers, and think that someday, if they work hard enough, they might even become Olympic Gods. But for now, they're getting off on the fact that you're watching, and you want them.
The Fit Boy: There are two categories of Fit Boy. The first doesn't really have to work at it. He's naturally lean and athletic, and really can't be bothered to go to the gym... maybe he works out at home, but maybe not; he's got more important things to do. The other is the Fit Boy who works out, but only 'cuz it makes him feel good. He's gonna get laid no matter what, 'cuz it's not about his body, it's about how good he feels about himself. He's only in the middle of the food chain 'cuz his beauty is casual and careless... sometimes, in the middle of a horrific work out, even the Olympic Gods wish they could be this effortless.
Too Kool For Skool: Usually waif-like, usually sporting a soul patch, and usually naturually skinny and boyish. Most often, an art student or musician of some sort. A real East Village type. These boys are too busy raving and designing the next haute couture to be bothered to dally with the rest of the little people. They disdain all the muscles as gross and unnatural. Actually, they kinda reside outside the Hierarchy - in a space their own. The Fit Boys are busy looking up the food chain, and the Average Joes (see below) are too busy lusting after the Fit Boys and wishing they could be Fit Boys, or too busy working at making the leap up to the next category.
The Average Joe: The regular guys - the ones who, for whatevever reason (laziness, distraction, lack of time or self esteem) can't make themselves go to the gym with any regularity. They wish they could, but they just can't. And they're suffering for it. But it's all about the ennui. The suffering may be painful, but not as painful as the effort involved in re-shaping their bodies and grabbing at their dreams.
LazyBoy: Just can't get out of the recliner. Seriously intimidated by the whole gym environment, and hopelessly in love with the boys waaaay up the food chain and waaaaay out of their league. But able, fortunately, to still have someone to look down on:
The Fat Guys: They're the one thing that every gay media image has taught us to despise: Fat. Regardless of whether or not they've learned to love themselves, they have to accept the scorn of just about everyone else. They're entirely too used to hearing the line, "You're a great guy, you're just not my type." Just about the only chance they have of hooking up is with others from their level of the hierarchy, though this rarely stops (some of) them from shooting for the stars.
The Mess: Though not necessarily a fat guy, is most likely one. More importantly, though, these guys are mentally unstable, owing to some factor most often associated with childhood. Easily identifyable as the profoundly sad individuals in gay chat rooms who continually repeat a post offering their (entirely too) detailed self-description, and what they're willing to do for just about anyone who comes down the pike. In weaker moments, even the more noble of the fellows further up the food chain are tempted to make fun of them.
So there you have it. I don't know how you feel about it, but it doesn't seem as funny to me as it did when I first came up with it - although it still seems to me to be pretty insightful. And because I know you're gonna ask, and to save myself the e-mails: When I developed the hierarchy, I placed myself squarely in the LazyBoy category. I'll leave it up to you to figure out where I'd put myself on the scale these days. But I can tell you this much: I'm movin' on up.
Remember how I was talking about Michael Smith, they guy I met at the Mountain Playhouse party? Well, at the risk of getting myself in trouble and because so many people wanted to know: Olympic God, baby. That man breathes rarified air I shall never taste.
No comments:
Post a Comment