I have tried numerous times to swear off frequenting gay chatrooms. While I have never had problems locating sex partners via such online interaction, meeting men for more intimate relationships (or even friendship) has proved difficult mostly because I seem to be quite different from the kind of men that I end up chatting with. Unfortunately, it is difficult for a thirtysomething gay man living in a conservative mid-sized city (with only a handful of gay bars) to connect with others in his community outside of work, so I keep coming back, hoping that maybe this time will be different.
My approach to gay chatting has recently been to be completely honest. By which I mean: to not outright lie about who I am (for example, my profile lists my age as 33) and what I want (which, at the moment, is not anonymous sex). That being said, I still go out of my way to present the best possible version of myself to potential suitors. I only upload photos that I consider flattering, I do my best to keep my banter light and clever, and I leave out aspects of myself (such as my maniacal obsession with all things Battlestar Galactica, my lack of a car, and the keloid on my left ear, for instance) that I fear may frighten away the fickle too early in our interaction. In short, I recognize and appreciate that online chatting affords me a degree of anonymity which I can (or at least believe I can) bend to my advantage. I don’t see this as being morally questionable in any way, as the only difference between this and the kind of self-censorship that occurs in face-to-face dating is relative ease. Moreover, I am fully cognizant that those with whom I am chatting are doing the same thing. This is part of the online dating game, where meeting in person is not simply the end, but the next step in answering the question: “are you Mister Right?”
This is why I am unsettled by this Salon.com article outlining emerging online practices that seek to impose a degree of “honesty” on chat room users. STOODUP, a newsletter produced by AOL chatter Michael Patterson, works to impose a moral code on gay chat rooms grounded in what he perceives to be unethical bahavior by some of his fellow online denizens. The premise seems to be that users contact Patterson with their tales of fudged ages — for example, “a man who used several different screen names, claiming he ranged in age from 28 to 31 (a big difference, in a demographic where 30 is often considered over-the-hill), had his true age revealed in a recent STOODUP newsletter” — and missed real-world dates and he then, without any fact checking or accountability, brands the names of these men with a scarlet A (for asshole) by publishing them in his newsletter. The article neglects to say whether or not the real names of these users, if known, are published (I somehow doubt it), but that Patterson has over 1,000 subscribers makes such potential slander something that I just can’t get behind.
STOODUP’s popularity raises questions about the most oft-praised quality of online chat: the liberation that comes from assuming multiple identities. STOODUP’s philosophy holds that the fluidity of online identity makes it too easy to escape personal accountability; the newsletter seeks to create an atmosphere in gay men’s chat rooms that makes it harder to separate online ethics from real-world ethics. “Guys send me these e-mails like, ‘I can’t understand what’s happening,’” Patterson says. “I say, ‘Look! The truth isn’t happening.’”
As I see it, there are several problems with this. Even if we leave aside for a moment the notion that “truth” is a simple and straightforward concept (and so I believe it is not only constrictive but completely unrealistic to impose a truth-value to online interactions), there might be some very real reasons why someone would want to hide aspects of himself while frequenting gay chat rooms. The article inadvertently points to one: in matter-of-factly mentioning that an age of 30+ can often disqualify you from consideration in a gay dating world obsessed with youth, online chatting is an opportunity to sidestep this (utterly ridiculous) prejudice and to meet and charm those who might otherwise dismiss you out of hand (although why you would want to waste your time on such flakes is a question for another time). The same can be said of wanting to not have your ethnicity or effeminacy or weight stand in the way of being potential mates. Everyone has something to offer, but the gay community (much like the straight community) encourages the dismissal of all those who fail to white, “straight-acting,” and thin.
Personally, I respect that not everyone in whatever chat I happen to be frequenting is there for the same purposes. Some (like myself, rewind three years ago) are just interested in impersonal sexual encounters. More significantly, though, the anonymity afforded by online interaction can be extremely important for those who feel unable, for whatever reasons, to be open about their sexuality. The above article mentions that Patterson’s mother is one of STOODUP’s biggest fans. I’m happy that his family has been so accepting of his sexual identity. The same can’t be said for the thousands of queer teens who are thrown out of their homes every year by parents who lack such open-mindedness. Or for those many who turn to suicide because they cannot find support or connection with others in their situation. For many of these teens, the relative safety of the internet may very well make it the only place where they can explore their budding sexual identities. In other words, with anonymity comes safety (and I cannot believe that I need to explain that to gay men)!
Further, who I am I to judge what other people do? With the advantages of gay chat rooms come risks. While there are some that ought to be mitigated by rules and regulations (such as the risk of being subject to homophobia and other forms of hate), the risk of encountering assholes is not one.
Besides, who decides what an asshole is? I don’t think that someone who lies about his age (or weight, or build, or complexion, or whatever other irrelevant physical trait) is an asshole. I also don’t think that someone who fails to mention that he still reads comic books and is prone to self-righteous rants on his blog is an asshole. But maybe I am. That being said, a risk I would like to be protected from is STOODUP’s brand of moral policing. In exchange, I’m willing to occasionally deal with rudeness and weirdos and unstated realities. Afterall, maybe Mister Right is an asshole too.
I feel compelled to spread this awesome news before, to paraphrase my friend Robyn, the mainstream press makes it something awful and/or ridiculous. Thomas Beatie’s narrative Labor of Love: Is society ready for this pregnant husband? expresses the complexity, fluidity and ultimate irrelevance of gender in the cyborg age (if you’ll allow me to lay a little Donna Haraway down).
I am transgender, legally male, and legally married to Nancy… Sterilization is not a requirement for sex reassignment, so I decided to have chest reconstruction and testosterone therapy but kept my reproductive rights. Wanting to have a biological child is neither a male nor female desire, but a human desire.
How does it feel to be a pregnant man? Incredible. Despite the fact that my belly is growing with a new life inside me, I am stable and confident being the man that I am. In a technical sense I see myself as my own surrogate, though my gender identity as male is constant.
Although I love the way normative assumptions about sex and gender melt away in the wake of a pregnant man, Beatie’s brave story lays bare the quotidian hypocrisy of a medical system that demands the space to intervene endlessly into the body while using its technological advances to safeguard the normative. In a world where doctors will surgically alter the genitals of infants to make them “more normal” without the consent of parents or where other parents dream of a way to eradicate their potentially gay offspring, this pregnant man demonstrates the greatness that the biological sciences can achieve, perhaps in spite of themselves.
Filed under: Popular Culture | Tags: science fiction, sex, sexuality, television, Torchwood
Yeah, I’m loving Torchwood this season. I will even confess to be being rendered giddy a few times, as much by the far superior writing (compared to the first season) and the guest arc by Martha Jones as by Russell T. Davies‘ penchant for queering the sci fi genre (see below). While I fully expect it to be surplanted in the next couple of weeks once the final season of Battlestar Galactica finally premieres, in the meantime I am very contented sandwiched between Captain Jack and Ianto.