What do a bunch of overworked musicians do after concerts? Consume more caffeine at the local Starbucks. What do they do on a Saturday night? Hang out with drag queens.
If there's one thing I've always known about the south, it's that to a degree you have to hide who you are. You can't say anything too controversial; that's just not accepted here. People keep talking about "southern hospitality," but in reality, the only difference between southerners and the rest of the country is that we wait until you're gone to talk about you. And when the time comes, even the most awful thing is made right as long as you tack "bless her heart" to the end.
There's really not much by way of southern gay culture. It isn't accepted. It isn't visible. You have to pay close attention or actively seek it out in order to find it. Thus, I have discovered the two types of southern gay escapism: Starbucks Lesbians and the Good Ole Gays.
I don't know what it is about lesbians and coffee shops. Every one I know of has at least one gay female employee, if not multiple ones. All over Georgia and throughout my stay in Greensboro, NC I've noticed this. And they all tend to fall into one stereotype: angsty butch lesbians. You know the type. The ones who glare at every girl who walks in, from the preppy ones to the other obvious lesbians and begrudgingly fix them overpriced coffee, all the while staring, pining away at their twig-like ponytailed coworker. You know the type.
I don't know why, but these seem to be a fixture at every Starbucks across the southeast.
On a different note, I had my first experience at a gay bar last weekend. It was filled to the brim with gay men and their hags...and then all of the EMF students. We got there just in time for the drag show. Now, most of them weren't superior performers...but there was something about the way they looked, dressed as sexy women, lip synching to pop songs. There was a certain twinkle in their eyes that said they felt that this was where they wanted to be. I looked into the crowd of men trying to tuck dollar bills into their slim corsets. They were the type of people you'd see in a rocking chair, at the fair, or going to church. It hit me then that this was a type of escapism for them. It's not like in New York or in this little music world bubble where you're free to be just as gay as you want even though you're in North Carolina. That's real life. That's real life in the south. It's like these men were incognito; Southern Gentlemen by day and their true gay selves by night. It reminded me that you can't judge a book by its cover.
And also that a lot of people do judge by appearance. And that these men have to have that exterior here. That's the place where we live. A place of forced secrecy and false appearances. But in some strange way, it gave me hope. I have a secret here, and other people have it too.
