One sees them everywhere, and I am reminded of precisely how old I am. It was only a few years ago that I finally realized my ancientness, because when one ventures out into what we fondly imagine is the real world, one is inevitably besieged by the latest trends, which are often frightening in their strangeness. I remember long ago when ‘turn-around caps’ appeared — there was one summer when everyone starting turning their caps around — not just tough guys and baby dykes — it was simply the thing to do. So how exactly did that happen? Is that what Facebook is for — rattling out the latest fashion headline? Well I embarked on a trip to The Eagle last night. Now this is something I only occasionally do, and of course I don’t go to the darkroom, I’m just there for the fabulous dance music. (Do you like that lie? Hopefully better ones are forthcoming!) Well to my surprise, chagrin — well disgust actually — countless fellows out for a ‘night-on-the-town’ were supporting man-purses. If you don’t know what a man-purse is — well they come in many forms — and each says a lot about the mantot who totes it. (By the way, the man-purse is necessarily carried over one shoulder — though sometimes it evidently protrudes from the back like a hump, and at other times hides discreetly tucked under the arm or near it…) SO man-purses can look like small gym bags, that is like little black sacs (to mention a loaded phrase, at least for me) or they can resemble — or indeed are — sparkly girl purses that signal ‘femme-fatale.’ The style of the man-purse is directly related to what the man who wears the purse wants to project. Most wish to be discreet, but there are some who go the 'sparkly, girly' route — which is actually the key to the man-purse phenomenon. Now the elephant in the room is this — of course — what is actually in them? I would love to say poppers, but I fear this is not the case, as I have never seen poppers come out of one. I asked my-friend- Pat-who-works-at-The-Eagle what she thought these manly men might be carrying in their man-purses and she said: ‘I have absolutely no idea, honey,’ subtly indicating that the question had given her, too, some sleepless nights. Well I have the answer. Well, these men are certainly not carrying anything in their man-purse that they might not easily carry anywhere else. Perhaps they don’t want ‘pocket bulge’? But this would be an excuse for something much harder to admit — that is, that the man-purse carries their femininity. For a purse is a girly thing. It, in fact, means ‘girl,’ and during the Early Modern period (which is what pretentious scholars call The Renaissance these days) a ’purse’ was a euphemism for a ‘cunt’ (Moll Cutpurse — based on a real woman, Mary Frith — was the heroine of an infamous Elizabethan play of the same name, about a woman who dressed as a man). So it would be more accurate to say that it is not merely their femininity that these men carry in their purses, but their own portable cunts. Why? Because carrying around a dick (which all of them do, much to their horror) has become a sign of toxic masculinity in our culture. Now, although dick has not been completely outlawed yet, and yes people were always afraid of it (except in those cultures that erected shrines to erections, although sadly western culture has no such shrines, though of course it could easily be argued that we lived, for many years in a phallocentric culture, the only problem with this being of course, female breasts are everywhere and yes I will admit, I get tired of them being thrust in our faces all the time, as if we were all lecherous heterosexuals or lesbians) balls — there I said the word — you knew I would at some point, I’ve already said ‘cunt’ — are not to be seen or touched or discussed in polite company, and you can’t have a dick without balls, or at least you shouldn’t. (Unless you are a castrato. But let’s not get into that now.) How do I know that the dick — which was often heard of, but never seen, in our culture, is now essentially being erased to such a degree that men are instead walking around advertising that they have cunts? Well I went to the Sex, Desire and Data immersive exhibition at the Phi Centre in Montreal and there was not a dick in sight. There was however a giant vagina (or asshole I’m not sure) that you could explore with one hand (it was not wet; which was a disappointment) but tragically no dick to caress — force to ejaculate — or sit upon (sigh!). In fact from the moment I entered and was ordered to go digital and pick up people online, I found I was flirting with women, and there was no opportunity to make it clear to The Phi Centre that I am a homosexual and ergo not the least bit interested in boobs or cunts or any gently curved surface but (alas) I do long for a plump protruding ass, or more often the straight (as in hard) -- and not narrow -- but aspirationally thick, male member. Alas, again, dicks are out, cunts are in. And some of you might say -- ‘it’s about time.’ Yes, perhaps my longing for the 'days of the dick’ — which I look upon nostalgically I admit — is sick, or toxic, or just plain sad. But it’s me. But you have to put up with it. At least until this end of this blog.
Which is finally here.
Thank Christ.
