Here is a list of things that double up as mirrors-
- Glass doors
- Other things made of glass
- Spoons (note, you may appear upside down)
- Cutlery you don’t know the name of
- Picture frames (if you blur out the picture of your nephew)
- Your phone’s selfie camera
- Other windows
- Really shiny floors
- Really shiny shoes
- Other really shiny things
- Your best friend’s sunglasses
- Other people’s sunglasses
I caught myself shamelessly checking myself out on Stoke Newington Highstreet today (I mean, if you’re gonna do it…… Stokey’s the one), and actually realised that I had purposefully crossed the road to ‘feel my oats’ (gay slang for ‘appreciate one’s self’, honestly breaders, keep up) in the mirrored shop windows near the police station (I mean if you’re gonna do it……)(police station, classy). What sort of a creep have I become? (No one ACTUALLY answer that).
As I type this blog, I am sitting at my dressing room table backstage in front of a very showbiz mirror with lights on either side, every time I stop typing to think/fart/pick my nose/call my guru I am met with the sight of myself. My gym sweat ravaged hair, unshaven face (I can grow decent sexy daddy stubble if you give me, ooooohhhh I don’t know…… a month!!!!), my sun kissed skin (by kissed I mean raped my Costa Del Sunbed), my 18 chest hairs that should have been veeted weeks ago and my disco damaged face with it’s shingle scars and crooked nose. These are all things that other people would never perhaps notice about me but things that I see immediately when I look at this man/sexy bastard/functioning alcoholic staring back at me.
Being a chubby/fat/clinically obese/verging on the ‘type 2 side of things’ teenager and ugly ducklingly™ growing up into a broad shouldered, slightly Arabic looking (probably still a little chubby) man has clearly had it’s impact. I believe we decide our ‘currency’ at puberty, I decided being the fat-popular-funny-smart-gay-boy (back door brag) at school that my currency would be my personality. I was charming and could get away with murder (I actually did, twice), teachers for the most part liked me (aside from a pig in a wig called Miss Mercx. Named AND shamed) and I was popular with boys (I still love you Dan) and girls (not sexually, ewwwww gross) aside from the odd homophobe (I have nearly 800 Twitter followers,, whos laughing now dickheads) my personality was a hit. Older boys that ever took the time to sit with me in the pub (I am now aware they were trying to butter me up to get close to my two older very popular sisters, you live, you learn) would tell me thing like”You’re really funny for a queer” (flattery gets you everywhere) and “You’re alright for a bender” (another classic from 2003). But I was tough, quick witted and thick skinned so unharmed by these (probably now trapped with 7 kids and some slag wife that shagged their best man) idiots.
The problems really begun when I started dance school. The London Studio Centre, then in Kings Cross saw The Hackney Gay shed his puppy fat, hit the gym and develop a jaw line. An actual jaw line, only one chin and everything. Currency change time. I no longer had to charm people with my wit and beguile them with my funny anecdotes. I could just stand around in bars (mainly in Soho) and just be hot* (*I probably wasn’t THAT hot**)(**I WAS that hot, it’s MY blog). So like all skills, use them or lose them- and I actually think I did lose them a little, I found myself unable to talk my way out of sticky situations and actually found that I got way less sex. Yes the quality improved but the quantity DIPPED. A real life lesson.
I have since tried to claim back some of that charm (mainly through violence and mind games, as all the boys in my dressing room will attest to). Now getting older (29 is 106 in gay years) and meeting younger more attractive way more charming gay men is the new norm. I still check myself in almost every available reflection, I find it hard to concentrate on a conversation if there is a mirror behind the person I’m talking to, my crippling body weight issues are………. wait, bad example. But I’m enjoying this new found dual currency of looks and personality. I’m an expert. Ask anyone. And maybe one day I’ll give up one or even both of my gym memberships and buy a t shirt that actually fits me. But that day is not yet. And there are still medium vests to stretch over my large size frame.
So for now, I’m going to join the boys in my dressing room (it’s now the interval) for a game of ‘Show Me The Hottest Boys On Instagram’. No one wins but by christ it’s fun.
Smize ya later,