Attack of the Red-Carpet-Munchers! Hollywood Finally Gushes Over Dykes

030507 article doonan Attack of the Red Carpet Munchers!  Hollywood Finally Gushes Over DykesIt’s the biggest milestone in lesbian her-story since the closing of the Cubby Hole! The ladies of Lesbos have finally done it—something that Gertie Stein and Alice B. Toklas could never have imagined! On the evening of Feb. 25, the dykes invaded Hollywood. Shock and awe! Next stop: the World.

There were more lesbians rocking the house at the 79th Academy Awards than at the Dinah Shore Open. And, trust me, they were not there just to rig lights and provide security. These gals were hosting, vamping, performing songs, being nominated for awards—and winning!—and they were positively chewing up that red carpet with their non-stop glamour. After initially seeming like a crazy fiction—something marginal produced merely for the delectation of straight men—The L-Word has now become a reality.

For whatever reason, the lesbian has become, virtually overnight, a culturally central symbol of power, glamour and success. This has huge implications for politics, and for Hillary Clinton in particular. Hil! Come out of the closet—right now! Or at least pretend to. As a grumpy hetero woman, your chances were always slim; as a power dyke, you could be a Hollywood-funded shoo-in. Just take a good hard look at what went down (pardon the expression) on Sunday night.

There were Oscar-winning glamour dykes in blue chiffon (Jodie Foster in Vera Wang) and siren dykes in backless, booty-cupping satin (Portia de Rossi in Zac Posen).

There were drop-dead femme dykes in red bustiered, beaded numbers—costume-designer nominee Patricia Field in her own creation—and Oscar-winning butches performing in Johnny Cash suits: Melissa Etheridge in Domenico Vacca. (Hillary! This would be a great inauguration look for you, luv!)

And then there was our magnificent hostess, Ellen DeGeneres, who kicked off the proceedings in a claret velvet Gucci Sammy Davis Jr.–style suit. Confident, casual and hilariously throwaway, Ellen made me feel as if a wacky and amusing lesbian neighbor had popped in unexpectedly for a coffee and a quick kibitz. As I watched her effortlessly work the Kodak Theater crowd, I kept asking myself: “How did we go from mocking gay women for their lack of humor–the shortest book in the world used to be The Lesbian Book of Jokes–to rocking with laughter at their bon mots?” Mocking to rocking?

And where, pray, were the gay men? André Leon Talley and Bill Condon were the only homosexualists with any profile. While out lesbian couples mingled with the Wills and Jadas and vied for awards with their heterosexual peers, we poofters were relegated to our traditional behind-the-scenes nelly roles of frock-making, hair-teasing and frothy-commentary-providing. (See this column.)

It’s our own fault. We totally had it coming. We gay men deserve this particular thin end of this particular wedge haircut. For years, we have promoted and leveraged our own stylishness and savoir-faire by contrasting it with lesbian frumpery. This nasty tactic has come back to bite us in the ass. Tired of being characterized by us as gargoyles and grotesques, the gals have taken back the night. We are now their employees. This is our punishment for decades of piss-taking.

Once a yardstick for excessive earnestness and anti-glamour, out lesbians are now synonymous with the shimmering world of entertainment. So tinged with Sapphic vibrations were Sunday night’s proceedings that even confirmed heterosexuals appeared to be wavering. Oscar winner Helen Mirren conjured up all kinds of wild lezzy scenarios by telling Barbara Walters that, during the course of filming The Queen, she had “fallen completely in love with Her Majesty.”

And if Best Actor nominee Leonardo DiCaprio isn’t a dead ringer for The L-Word’s Max, the F.-to-M. formerly known as Moira, then I’ll be a monkey’s F.-to-M. uncle.

Back to Mrs. Clinton: So, Hillary darling, back in the 1990’s, when Ellen’s career was spiraling down after she came out in front of 46 million people, lesbianism left a nasty taste in America’s collective mouth. During this period, you were often accused of being too strident and unfeminine. A decade has passed, during which time Ellen has gone from vilification to deification. Something shifted. The time is right. Seize the moment. Go for it. And don’t get sidetracked by whether or not you really are a lesbian. You need to fake it to make it. It’s no different from Dubya pretending to be a good ol’ boy. Hire Pat Field to pull your look together. Get newly self-outed financial guru Suze Orman to be your campaign manager. A fund-raiser on an Olivia Cruise—why not? An L-Word cameo? Totally!

PS, Hilary, something to ponder: I know it didn’t win anything, but please check out Notes on a Scandal. I think it will seem eerily familiar to you. The tortured relationship between the Judi Dench and Cate Blanchett characters is intriguingly reminiscent of an unsavory coupling that occurred during your time in the White House. Yes, I mean Linda Tripp and Monica Lewinsky.

Dyke Power!

Comments

  1. very true says:

    these women are just good to carpet munch,  since they cannot make it with a man.