Every Friday and Saturday, gay and straight New Yorkers flock to downtown clubs like the Tunnel, Twilo, and the Roxy, not only to dance, cruise, and party, but also to check out the fashion. What is one to do, however, when one can't make it to Manhattan to express one's more alternative instincts in dressing? Few options present themselves in New Haven-the private party, Tuesday night at Bar, and, of course, the monthly Co-op Dance. I decided to take an investigative approach this week to the fashion of that ever-stylish Yale soiree, the LGBT BGLAD Dance.
Upon entering, it becomes clear that we're certainly not in Kansas anymore. I can't even recognize some of the usual suspects, because they've all changed their hair since I last saw them. One fashion-conscious individual (complete with Gucci belt and John Fluevog shoes) tells me why he recently shaved his head: "My hair was too processed," he explains. His reasoning makes sense-there's enough peroxide in the room to drown a dozen lab rats.
I begin my research and am bombarded with a host of finger-snapping label whores. One young man is wearing black pants by Katharine Hamnett ("Get it right, or don't get it at all!" he snaps) with a Yale t-shirt, while another wears white Anna Sui pants and a shirt by Laundry Industry. In short, the usual Chelsea boy fare.
There is, of course, the regular cavalcade of pride triangles, rainbow necklaces, and fatigue/tank top combos, which I find equally boring. What I want to know is, where are the drag queens? Where are the trannies? Where is the cutting-edge, out-there, in-your-face fashion? My rantings are rewarded when I come across a boy wearing baggy, clown-like pants-made of 70 strips of multi-colored fabric-over two-inch platforms. "I'm actually wearing my lowest platforms," he tells me apologetically, as he shows me his green Keroppi (the frog counterpart to Hello Kitty) lunch box that he bought in San Francisco. This is what I like to see-and he made the pants himself!
I do note several boys in '70s iron-on transfer T-shirts (Donald Duck, Star Wars), a style which I enjoy-very East Village club kid. I also notice an attractive young man dancing alone, wearing sunglasses, all black, and a baggy Soel vinyl jacket from Raggs on Chapel. "I love your shoes!" I yell at him as he trots away in his three-inch platforms, but I think I've scared him away.
Another notable ensemble is worn by a young man on Rollerblades. Though I normally don't believe in this hybrid form of transportation, his outfit is literally running circles around this crowd as he does pirouettes in a plaid skirt (with safety pin) by the Gap, knee-high socks, a black top, leather jacket, and sunglasses. "He's doing that whole University of Edinburgh look," a friend tells me. "Very early-1990s pro-Scottish independence." When I ask him about his inspirations, however, he dismisses such studious speculation. "It's half drag," he explains. "It's not Scottish. It's not ethnic. Its only ethnicity is queer!"
What about the women? What about the diesel dykes, the lipstick lesbians, the glamour queens? They all abound at the Co-op dance, in fishnets and heels, shiny satin blouses, and bras just barely concealed by jackets. There is a cute young woman in a bra top and black satin shirt dancing with a girl in a tank top and overalls. I'm going nuts looking for my photographer (she is nowhere to be found) when I see a girl in a stretchy leopard-spot dress standing in the corner with her silver-heeled girlfriend. Another young woman wears a pink angora skirt with matching sweater and shoes. I ask a cute girl in a lime sweater and rubberized pants where she bought her ensemble. "Oh, I'm so embarrassed," she says. "Urban Outfitters and Antique Boutique-it was my big New York shopping trip!"
"In the beginning of the year, people were doing really crazy stuff at the dances, raiding the Salvation Army and so on," one of the Co-op coordinators tells me. "There was also more drag. It was bad drag, but it was drag!" Are queers more stylish? I ask, though I think I know the answer. "People feel that if they're queer, they might as well just go for it in the way they dress!" he says.
Theorists would contend that the outsider status of gays and lesbians can account for an outrageous sense of style, a need to define "otherness" through dress. What we saw last Friday night, however, was simply more fun than your average run-of-the-mill dance fashion. It was a bunch of students-including myself-of all orientations figuring out their stylistic identities. The next evening, I hit Twilo in Manhattan for a comparative look at queer style; unfortunately, it was mostly buff Chelsea boys with their shirts off. Over that, I'll take a Co-op dance and its stylistic experimentation any night.
Copyright 1996, The Yale Herald, Inc. All rights reserved.
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