Gay and the city
I know a lot of people (who) assume that if you are gay and living in London your life is like a dream come true filled with studded Christian Louboutin shoes, Prada clutch bags, Burberry coats and of course surrounded by the best looking guys. In other words most of them believe that you are a gay version of Carrie Bradshaw looking for the two L’s but just in London.
I, on the other hand, somebody who’s gay and living in London, can only prove the opposite. Even though many of you could argue how exciting London is for the gay people as there’s soho where the number of gay clubs is probably equivalent to the number of casinos in Las Vegas and the amount of retailers merchandising and indirectly targeting to this specific homosexual men’s audience exceeds anyone’s expectations. When I moved here, or even before when I used to pop down to London whilst studying in a college, I always thought that this place is the heaven on Earth. And I still do from time to time just much more rarely now.
It’s strange because it feels like I used to see London with its exciting and glamorous mask on and now the real face underneath it has been revealed almost explicitly showing the unknown and before unseen gay men’s casualties. To me it looks like London is a place where gay men lose their dignity, run away from the word “relationship” or “strings” and are looking for nothing else than just pure, mostly dirty, sex. Bitching about other people, partying till dawn and taking drugs whilst in the queue for the toilet in such places like Low Profile becomes their daily agenda.
And I want my exciting glamorous London back. Sometimes it just looks to me like I may be too innocent for this even though I really doubt it.