In the last couple of months so many things have changed in my life. This year, the process of changing jobs, buying a new house and now trying to sell our current home, my now relentless work schedule and numerous other events have left me little time to sit back and reflect. However, today, in the car on my way home, a conversation regarding the way we viewed life when we were in our twenties forced me to sit back and consider my life now that I am in thirties. As I measured how my life has changed since I was 20 and how different it is from what I expected it to be, I came to ask myself a shocking question: Have I become a Stepford Fag?
Stepford Fags are described in the urban dictionary as “a gay couple who are nice, sexless and nonthreatening. Typically they live in the suburbs, have an immaculate house and yard and don’t scare the neighbours while they are in fact just as much a slave to heterosexual establishment as everyone else”.
While in my twenties I would instead have been described as a social butterfly. I partied the night away most of the week, knew all the regulars at all the night clubs by name and as my husband and I started dating shortly before my 21st birthday, they knew us as a couple. We became friends with the elite gay socialites at the time and regular fixtures at all the popular GLBT events.
In between my busy social schedule I managed to finish my studies and started working. However, during this time my social life was my priority and my studies and work were seen simply as time fillers until the next party. I went to class and later to work with very little sleep, sometimes a hangover and the odd glittery souvenir of the previous night’s party stuck in my hair.
In one incident I showed up for work minus an eyebrow. During the previous night’s strip show at the club the flame throwing stripper had scorched it off. My husband and I also thought it funny to wear matching outfits to clubs, which in retrospect was silly; not only because it’s such a clichÃ© thing to do but isn’t it bad enough that we share the same first name? As the years passed our regular appearances on the club circuit became less frequent as work demands and responsibility increased and we reduced our social excursions to weekends.
“What seemed important and satisfactory to me a few years ago no longer had the same appeal…”
Being young, wild, attractive and popular I didn’t give much thought to the future. At that age I thought I would stay young, pretty and thin forever. Never once did I consider getting married as I was of the firm belief that it was something straight people did to make it more difficult for them to split up. Being in a happy relationship and having moved in together I was quite content with the way things were. We didn’t need a contract to ensure our relationship would last! The house with the white picket fence, dogs, cats and children was as frightening to me as a cheesecake to an anorexic. I was happy, thin, in a relationship with the man I loved and surrounded with glitter balls, strobe lights, music, drag queens and friends. What more does a young gay man want?
Then, during my late twenties my metabolism decided it would skip a few years ahead and began to slow down. As the pounds started packing on and my infamous leather pants and tight, skimpy shirts started to take strain to the point of me no longer being able to squeeze into them, I realised that it was time for them to retire.
The late nights at clubs over the weekends also showed signs of taking their toll and became less frequent. Before I knew it my social butterfly days were numbered and my priorities had shifted. The process was so gradual it happened without any distinct detection. What seemed important and satisfactory to me a few years ago no longer had the same appeal. More time was spent focusing on my career. Night clubs were replaced with dinner and movies with friends and quiet evenings at home. My relationship had evolved to a more mature level and friendships deepened beyond superficialities and hedonistic interests.
When gay marriage was legalised my husband and I didn’t give it a second thought and tied the knot literally a few weeks later. My twenty-something view of marriage had transformed: I now understood that marriage was more than just a contract that would cost you half of everything you owned if you wanted to get out of it. The house with the white picket fence now also drew my attention and became a reality. The twenty year old finally grew up.
I transformed from a club-hopping shooter-downing socialite to a career driven married man. Does this now mean I have become a Stepford Fag? As per the definition I would have to say Yes and No.
Yes; we are a nice couple, live in the suburbs, have an immaculate home and yard and we don’t scare the neighbours (on purpose that is). However, we most certainly aren’t sexless (of that we have quite enough) and are not slaves to the heterosexual establishment nor do we want to imitate it. We are who we are; some people might find this threatening and not approve but I say the hell with them. So if I am considered a Stepford Fag, I am very proud to be one and highly recommend it. All fairies have to grow up some time!