As I careen toward 60, I find myself making increasingly desperate attempts to appear young-at-heart and switched-on. Here's my attitude: If I am doomed to become an alta cacca, then at least let me be a trendy and pop-literate alta cacca. You should hear me screeching and hooting along with "Alejandro" on the car radio. I'm totally tuned... MORE >
I am surprised there were no poofs caught in the net of that Russian spy haul last week. The connection between espionage and the "friends of Dorothy" is well documented. Paging Guy Burgess, Anthony Blount and other tweedy... MORE >
"Grow a pair." It's my new favorite sexist expression. When anyone within earshot is exhibiting less-than-assertive behavior, I exhort him/her to "Man up, dude, and grow a... MORE >
You know those bulging, upward-thrusting codpieces that you occasionally encounter in Renaissance portraiture? Well, this was clearly the original source material for Thom Browne's black leather thingy, worn by a model during the fashion show at the AmFar Inspiration Awards at the New York Public Library on Thursday, June 3. Thom's penile missile really wowed the front row, Ricky Martin, Cyndi Lauper, Lance Bass, Kylie Minogue and Jean Paul Gaultier... MORE >
I used to think an icon was somebody who, were he/she to be lowered from a helicopter into a shopping mall in the Midwest, would be instantly recognizable to the hordes of shoppers. (Sorry, but I am constitutionally incapable of viewing the world through anything other than a retail... MORE >
Lynn Redgrave changed my life. I don't care how bananas that sounds. It's true. She was my unwitting guru, a patron saint for me and for intrepid, glamour-obsessed optimists everywhere. She died last week, leaving us, her flock of adoring disciples, feeling sad and unmoored. A certain bizarre phrase keeps looping through our brains. ... "I'm going to Carnaby Street to get a flat and a modeling job, and I'll be back in half... MORE >
I finally figured out what my problem is. After all these years, I now see what I have been doing wrong. Caution: It’s pretty tragic. Simply put, I am just too folksy and available. Yes: folksy and... MORE >
Being a broad has never been tougher. Small wonder that Chas Bono has decided to become a bloke. In this crazy day and age, it’s easier to live with an artificial, inflatable willy than it is to go on living as a... MORE >
We bossy Brits are totally unstoppable. We love nothing more than to invade other people’s countries and then attempt to save the inhabitants from themselves and their nasty habits. It’s just what we... MORE >
Grim is in! Gloom is in bloom! The Hurt Locker and Precious are the new light and fluffy. Bleak misfortune is back in vogue, and I for one could not be more... MORE >
“In fashion, you’re either in or you’re out.” So says Teutonic temptress Heidi Klum at the beginning of every episode of Project Runway, currently unspooling its seventh season on... MORE >
Attending an Alexander McQueen fashion show was like taking a stroll through a fashion Fallujah. There was always this magnificent sense of impending catastrophe. Would the gals get electrocuted as they sloshed through all that water? How will the models, in their Blade Runner–inspired, condom-tight dresses, navigate those treacherous glass... MORE >
I love a good armory, and given the fact that gays are not allowed in the military, I am continually surprised at how much time I spend flaunting myself at various armories. Which armories? Any armories. Ironic, isn’t it? We poofters are not deemed combat-worthy, but we are, for some reason, considered to be... MORE >
I have never really understood why name-dropping is so frowned upon. If you happen to make a connection with a famous person, no matter how glancing it may be, why keep it to yourself? Why hide your Brangelina under a bushel? It seems downright selfish. Sharing the experience, enthusiastically and vivaciously, is the neighborly thing to do. Being all coy about it—“Yes, Snooki from Jersey Shore is now a personal friend, but I just... MORE >
There is a warehouse 20 minutes from the White House. It houses all the holiday decorations from presidential administrations past. To poke through this twinkly archive is to examine U.S. history. Here lie giant spools of Nancy Reagan’s favorite red ribbon, as lush and thick as the shoulder pads on an Adolfo socialite suit. What’s on that crate? Oh look, it’s Pat Nixon’s beautiful balls, beaded and stitched with Faberge-esque anal-retention. Not everything in... MORE >
