Take Me To the Bordello, -ello, -ello

It’s been a gender-plentiful few days.

Exhibit A, my Saturday afternoon visit to the only remaining boy’s club in Amsterdam. This was valuable for a bunch of reasons.

First of all because this project is becoming more and more spatially oriented the longer I spend on it, so it was really interesting to be in what is probably the most formalized space for male sex work in this city. Similarly to the window and working room we visited with the PIC, it was cozy – a tiny bar, a tiny room with (subversive, radical gender and BDSM) books lining the walls, big comfortable leather chairs, flattering lighting. The staircase up to the door is discreet and you have to ring a bell to be let in.

The man I talked to could have been more helpful, but there were a few things standing between us. First, I was sort of testing the waters of my research manner and seeing how much informality would be helpful. Now I know that it’s good to have a list of questions ready in case you get one -word answers. Second, while he spoke excellent English, there was definitely a conceptual barrier between us that prevented him from elaborating very much on my secondary, more complex questions. This is also something I’ve noticed with my professors from time to time. There may be such a thing as a “Western” school of thought, but there’s also a distinctly “American” school of thought that seems to exist just beyond a “European” one that is different enough to cause some misunderstandings when dealing in abstractions. Third, I think he was thrown off by the fact that I’m a young woman who is exploring a subculture and profession dominated by gay men and men of ambiguous sexuality.

So while things didn’t click as much as I would have liked, it was really good to talk to him for the time that we had – he told me some things that reaffirmed my suspicions about the practical difficulties of conducting this study – that the majority of male sex work takes place informally, in the back dark rooms of gay bars, that the men who participate are often difficult to track, categorize, or regulate, that I will be point-blank denied access to many of the more organized spaces in which male sex work occurs because they are men-only bars and parties.

The positive thing is that all of these walls will be valuable to reflect about in and of themselves. And at some point, sitting behind the bar and talking to this bartender with years of experience in the sex industry and the gay scene, I had one of those out-of-body revelation moments – that there I was, timid little me, doing something professional and radical that required many levels of bravery, and being pretty blasé about the whole thing. When I was visiting Andrew in Barcelona we had a conversation and he threw in some comment about “growing into one’s competence.” I think that, more than anything, is what’s been happening to me here at Lightning Speed – academically and personally and logistically, to name a few of the ways. Part of growing into your competence is realizing that pretending to be brave produces bravery. Part of it is realizing that you will inevitably do and say stupid things, and that’s acceptable. I’m a little worried that all this revelation, such a long time coming in any visible material way, will lead to some kind of oppressive personal mediocrity, but that’s just my inner perfectionist. In shoving her aside perhaps I will come closer to the equilibrium I seek.

Exhibit B in ImpromptuGenderWeekend 08 was Saturday night, which was the International Women’s Day celebration at the Paradiso. There was another bike-related fiasco which led me to chain Lupe to the guardrail at a Texaco and tram it to Leidseplein in frustration. And then there was Women in Paradise. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be a woman in the company of other women, to be honest. There was jazzy smoky-voiced playful grrrrrl band after grrrrrl band, there was dress after dress and manner after manner that I wished were mine, there was extensive dancing with more COOL WOMEN than I have ever seen in one place to tunes dropped by She-J’s, there was a keyboard and a mermaid dress, there was jazzitude, there were fake tattoos and long cigarette holders and lots of smiling and laughing. It was so so glam in such a comfortable genderful colorful musical European way. I felt like I was in Weetzie Bat, some kind of modern fairytale. Everything was gezellig and noisy and pink-lit and everyone loved each other. And on the way home we got fries and were accosted at the fry stand by drunk Dutch men who wanted to talk to us about Obama. Europeans think McCain doesn’t have a chance “because he is friends with Mr. Bush” – I am pessimistic, but hope they’re right. Anyway, in sum: WOMEN!

Exhibit C would have been Judith, if rain and logistics and sadly misinformed library employees had not come between us. I don’t want to talk about it.

And Exhibit D, well, Exhibit D was Moving Manhood today – highlights included my T.A.’s observations and ruminations on an XXX All-Men Leather Party that he attended grâce à Drag Queen Bingo, clad in sportswear; my (aging gay hippie) professor’s familiarity with both the boy’s club I visited and the man I spoke to there; and my successful recommendation of Methodology of the Oppressed to lots of people who I think need to read it (including aforesaid professor, TA, and classmates).

All this Gender and Sexuality In Yo’ Face is making me really miss Scott, Christine, my Mac WGSS classes and buddies, and that glorious film of films Shortbus (disclaimer: this is my favorite movie ever, but it is not for the easily shocked).

Apart from these things, there’s not much to comment on over the last few days. As Angie put it when I prompted her to talk to me about Cape Town, “it’s life in a different place.” I have done lots of homework and reading, been grumpy and/or stalwart in the persistent rain and wind, broken a needle in half trying to sew buttons back onto my coat, sat in cafés, and done more bummin’ than I’ve yet allowed myself to do in this fine city. Love to all.