Realness is the New Black.. by Mike Diamond
Realness Is The New Black
by Mike Diamond
Just yesterday, I was chatting on the phone with my good friend Maya Angelou, and she told me ‘when someone shows you who they are, believe them’. So I says to Maya I says, ‘look hon I got a roast in the oven can I call ya back?’ and hung up while she was still talking. Maya can just go on and on; she’s like that. But later on, whilst darning socks and listening to some Yma Sumac on the wireless, I had to a chance to reflect on her words, and realized: humans are fake and plastic to the core. You know how sometimes you’ll go to the dentist and fake intense pain, just for the vicodin? Or you will speak to random waitresses in a bad, fake British accent just to ease the boredom of life? Or you’ll answer horrifying craigslist personal ads using your ex-boyfriends photo and including his cell phone #?
Well apparently that’s so not cool. Realness is the new black. As I launch into this bright and sparkly new year, I vow to be more authentic, more present, and brutally honest. Unless it prevents me from getting laid.
I know that I’m not the only one ‘fronting’, as the kids say. How many of us truly ‘keep it real’ these days? ‘Reality TV’ has nothing to do with reality. Pictures are Photoshopped to death before posted on any social media (such an Orwellian term, ‘social media’; what could be more anti-social?); we ask ‘how are you’? when we don’t care about the answer. Hair dye is a multi billion dollar business. (I do love the macho paranoia of the ‘Just For Men’ line, and simply can’t wait for ‘Just For Trannys’!) People are some fake ass bitches is what I’m saying.
The internet is of course, ground zero for exaggeration, lies and distortion, a cesspool of charlatans and players. God how I love it! Language itself has been expanded to include new, internet borne terms for phony, such as ‘troll’, ‘sock puppet’, and ‘versatile top’. Check out the craigslist personals, Grindr, or any other 21st Century hook up venue; so many ‘bi dudes’ with out of town girlfriends! Men that have been age 39 for the past six years! Guys who aren’t obese, but are actually just ‘beefy’ or have a ‘football build’!
I’m not saying I’m immune to these games; I too am an illusionist. There’s a song from Dreamgirls called ‘Fake Your Way To The Top’; Lately I’ve been living ‘Fake Your Way As a Top’. Supply and demand, baby; I am a top by default. I’ve done extensive research, from Callicoon to Kakaʻako, and yo, faggots just be wanting the beef injection. Don’t get me wrong, it can be a hoot sometimes, but one does tire of feeling like a human dildo. Just once I would like some big stupid meaty man to throw me down and have his sleazy way with me. Instead I’ve entertained a steady stream of pushy power bottoms. And yet I am totally complicit with this charade; it’s just too easy, and makes hooking up a snap!
Drop voice 2 octaves;
Limit vocabulary to monosyllabic grunts;
Assume glazed, dead look in the eyes;
Do not, under any circumstance say anything remotely witty.
As soon as we have completed the filthy act, I am suddenly overwhelmed by several feelings; I am a dishonest fraud; wow, this was a waste of time; I needed a towel, quick, this bitch was greasy. In order to somehow bring order to chaos, I usually attempt to inject (ha!) a little realness as I head for the door (but always after I have put my shoes and clothing back on; one doesn’t want a messy, half naked struggle in the hallway). Reaching the door, I casually let the dude know I am actually a cunty old hag by telling him I am a professional poodle groomer and part time Angela Lansbury impersonator, punctuated with ‘Oh sugarlump, Murder She Wrote was everything!” Swish to the elevator with a nasty smirk on my face, and race home to soak in a tub of hydrogen peroxide and regret.
Alcoholics Anonymous has a saying; “Godammit, I’d kill for a gin and tonic!”. No wait, that’s not it, it’s “What you think of me is none of my business”. Theory of mind. But we do give a damn what other people think, otherwise why would we bother to lie, obfuscate and build these elaborate facades? Why would we go to the gym and spend hours doing crunches? Listen honey, nobody is gonna stand up at your funeral or memorial service and talk about how amazing your abs are. Your cock size perhaps, but not your abs.
People, enough is enough. Check yourself before you wreck yourself! Be true to who you really are. Do the things you enjoy. Own your likes and dislikes. For example, in all of my adult years, all the cities and apartments I have lived in, I have never once had a sofa. A sofa says “hey sit down, stay awhile”, and I just don’t want to send that kind of message.
In the immortal words of A Bitch Called Johanna, in the classic house track ‘I’m a Bitch’: “Lose yourself, free yourself, motherfucker be yourself!”