Laugh-a-minute at Project Runway Philippines

THERE'S a new comedy show in town and it's name is Project Runway Philippines! Comedy because the ghey designers in this show are just hilarious, as only Pinoy gheys can be. So one minute they're sobbing their poor little mascaraed eyes out, then the next minute they're catty and downright beyoootches...just my kind of programming! Ma-drama itong mga lolah na ito, I don't think they were scripted at all, unlike their American counterparts. They are so transparent so pag im sila, or just being tupperware to their colleagues, ay it shows mga sisters!

I just found the show on Channel 16 of SkyCable although I've always been an avid fan of the U.S. version (I have a ghey crush on Tim Gunn!). But I didn't think the local version was airing already. One thing though, those subtitles are soooo distracting! Anovayan? Wilson Tieng didn't invest in a good sound system and engineer? Tsk, tsk, tsk, sayang and technology. (Wilson Tieng is the producer of the show and if I'm not mistaken, owns Solar Channel.)

Oh and another thing, why is the host Teresa Herrera trying to forcibly channel Heidi Klum? Gasp! Kalowkah! Buti pa si Jojie Lloren, he doesn't try to be like Tim Gunn, although the former should try to be more articulate in his critiques. Like if I were the designer, I'd be like, "OK Jojie, what are you trying to tell me?" (My fab fashion writer ghey friend tells me the original choice as host was actually Tweetie de Leon, except that some people thought she was kinda jurassic na. And I go, have you seen the closeups of Teresa Herrera?)



I'm not being a beyootch here (okay, so I am, so what?), but I think Apples Sadhawi would have been a better choice as host. She sounds articulate, and her face is still fresh-looking after all these years (sige na nga, it must be the Pond's). Maybe next season, the producers would rethink the script and the major characters in the show. Like they should consider maybe switching Rajo and Jojie's roles. Although Rajo is younger, parang he has more to say when it comes to critiquing the clothes or giving helpful hints to the designers (although honestly, I don't think he's the greatest designer in the country). But you know what they say, those who can't do, teach.

For it's first season, I think Project Runway Philippines is watchable enough, as long as these ghey designers keep shooting off their mouths. Kapluk!
* * * *
A word about the fake child singing sensation at the Beijing Olympics opening ceremonies: Made in China ang production, what did you guys expect? Bumibili ba kayo ng tunay na LV bag sa Greenhills? Hello.

A love story

I FIRST saw Carlos out of the corner of my eye, meekly following his boss who had come to bring some goodies for me and my staff at the office. I don’t remember now if his boss brought any press releases with her for my consideration, but nevertheless she took the opportunity to introduce her new assistant. Carlos turned out to be a quiet sort, very reserved and respectful. But right off the bat, we knew he was gay, even if he himself didn’t know it, or didn’t want to acknowledge it. As most people nowadays say it crudely, “Naamoy namin ang matris n’ya,” which really has no direct translation to English other than “we sniffed him out.”

More than a decade after that first meeting, Carlos tells me that during those days he really wasn’t yet that forthcoming to other people about his homosexuality. In fact, I distinctly remember that it was I who behaved “gay-ly” around him. Known as a fag hag and a babaeng bakla, I sometimes spoke to Carlos in the colorful language gays often use, and kidded around with him about so and so guy being yummy and all… until he would laugh and agree with me.

Perhaps that is what made our working relationship turn into a friendship. There didn’t have to be any long explanations. I just knew it, and he accepted that I knew it. So gradually, Carlos started confiding in me and talking to me about his relationships with other men.

Then, in the course of one rather lengthy conversation a few years ago, Carlos floored me by saying that he had just had dinner with his ex-girlfriend. I was like, WTF! A girlfriend?!?! He couldn’t help but giggle at my outrage but admitted that, yes, for about eight years he was in a relationship with a woman. RX was his first girlfriend, whom he had met in college, and he, in turn, was her first boyfriend.

Until Carlos, all my gay friends had already come out of the closet earlier on in their lives. But here was little Miss Reserved, in a long-term relationship with a woman lasting more than probably most marriages these days. I was totally stunned. “If I just had the money then, I would have probably married her,” he said.

The relationship began, he recalled, quite by accident. RX invited him to a dance that the association at her parents’ condo was holding. After that, they became a couple. There were no “I love yous” or any lengthy courtship. Carlos and RX just became an item right after that dance.

And they had sex. My stomach turned as Carlos opened up. When I try to joke around with my other gay friends about being with a woman, they all scrunch up their faces and say: Ewww! or Kadiri! But for Carlos: “Truly, sis, I actually got excited when I was with her. I really enjoyed kissing her, too.” He added that they would secretly do the nasty whenever they got the chance, especially when her parents weren’t at home. Which made me hysterical enough to retort that, probably, he was still a man and could still do “it” with another woman. Or that he probably swings both ways? The idea now revolts Carlos, though. “Tama na ’yan, sis. Tapos na ’yan.”

Despite being in that relationship with RX, Carlos confided that he did see other men on the side. Sometimes he would be approached while waiting for a ride, or in some theater watching a play. “But I never gave out my real name or my contact number to any of them. To me, it was just lust. I had to release my passion, and then I would feel guilty after being with a man. Kasi nga, I had a girlfriend,” he said.

Unlike my other gay friends who knew they were “different” than other boys as early as six to 10 years old, Carlos was pretty much a late bloomer. He started feeling attracted toward other boys when he was already in high school. “Even then, I still had crushes on girls.” He was confused, and I couldn’t blame him. There was Carlos, a Boy Scout, in a tent with another boy giving the latter head or getting one. But in school, he would be in a “love team” with a female classmate. This behavior went on even as he and RX dated.

But then one day, RX and Carlos went out to dinner. By then they were already working and well into their careers. At dinner, “she just told me that it was over,” Carlos recalled. He didn’t quite remember her exact words, except that they were eating vegetarian spaghetti and they were both crying. (Funny how we remember the food we ate at crucial moments in our lives, but never the exact details of the event itself.)

Just like that, they broke up. RX told him there was someone else—though they were not yet an item, the guy was pursuing her. Carlos mused that perhaps she also had gotten tired of waiting for him as he kept putting off their wedding plans. On hindsight, he said that while his financial situation was what kept him from marrying RX, it also could have been on account of his not being “ready to commit to such a relationship” given his attraction to other men.

In a way, that breakup turned out to be a blessing in disguise for both Carlos and RX. She eventually married the same guy who was courting her. And Carlos, after a year mourning his loss of RX, finally turned that corner into official gay-dom. “Talagang sunud-sunod na ang lalaki ko after that,” he joked.

Three years after their breakup, RX and Carlos finally had that dinner that had so taken me by surprise. By then RX was already married, and Carlos was already in a real relationship with his first boyfriend. Carlos said he finally came clean that night and told RX what had happened to him.

“She was surprised,” Carlos confided. She had no idea that he was playing for her team, although some of her friends would tease her mercilessly about her beau being probably gay, this largely on account of his apparent lack of interest to get married and start a family. “Of course, they had no proof because no one ever saw me with another man,” Carlos told me.

Last Christmas, he invited RX and her husband to the house for a get-together with old college friends. The couple now have a son who was born, coincidentally, on his birthday. “That’s why she will never forget me, sis!” he now says with apparent glee.

Carlos only has warm feelings for RX. “We’re both happy, sis,” he says. She with her family, and he with his latest love. “I am home,” referring to his relationship with his current love. “I am settled. And so is she.”

A blind date

GRACE was, as usual, suspicious of the plan.

Her sister Cynthia was setting her up for the first time on a blind date. According to Cynthia, the guy was 36, single and owned his own construction business. And they – meaning she at 35, who was at the peak of her own advertising career, and the guy with his rather impeccable background (as Cynthia claimed) – would probably hit it off.

Grace knew better than to ask whether the guy was cute, or at least presentable to her friends, the final arbiters in most of her relationships. Besides, she knew well enough that most handsome men are gay, or in love with themselves more than they could ever be with their women. Okay, that’s what her gay friends told her anyway.

The guy, Martin, was apparently a close friend of the husband of Cynthia and Grace’s cousin. Of course, Grace was supposed to accept this connection as some honorable endorsement of the guy’s supposed respectability, and genuine and sincere personality. He could not be some psycho mass murderer recently escaped from the basement of Makati Med.

Then again, as Grace anxiously waited for Martin’s call to set the date, she did recall watching a recent episode of one of those real-life investigative shows on Fox TV where a family just accepted a stranger, supposedly a victim of an airline crash who had lost his entire family, to move in with them. As she pored over the storyboards before her at work, the scenes from the TV program continued replaying in her head. The stranger helped around the house and the farm, and actually appeared to be a decent, well-meaning person. He had gotten along with the family, especially with the kids—until the family patriarch suddenly realized that his wife had fallen in love with the stranger. The husband began to feel uneasy about going home, threatened he was by the stranger’s presence. Eventually, the stranger was discovered to be on the FBI’s watch list because he had killed his own wife in another state just a few years before.

So maybe this guy Martin killed off his own wife as well and was wanted somewhere in the hinterlands of Polomolok. Okay, Grace’s imagination was running wild again. Something like that could only happen in the US.

When Martin finally called, her heart actually skipped a beat. “He sounds okay,” Grace told herself, while listening to him make small chitchat before sealing the date. They finally agree to meet on Friday at her favorite Spanish restaurant. In her mind, she had already picked out a nice flowy dress to wear for the big day.

Later at the bar, Grace met up with her buddies for drinks and eagerly told them about the forthcoming date. While Trixie was positively ecstatic and asked her what she would wear for the event, the rest of the gang—including her majesty’s gayness, Dean—wondered why Martin would still be single at 36? Such supportive friends, Grace thought, although the idea of Martin being gay did cross her mind.


Nevertheless she tried to shake off the negativity of her friends and Dean’s continuing jest of letting him date Martin instead, and asserted that she was actually looking forward to Friday. It would be fun, she said, to try seeing someone alone, at dinner, with some wine, perhaps some good polite conversation for a change, instead of being together with her forever drunk, ridiculous and raving mad friends. Talk about candidates for the psycho ward!

On D-Day, Grace couldn’t believe how nervous she was. Even as she sat through her three meetings with clients, account executives and her copywriters, she found her mind trailing off. Did she look okay today? Maybe she shouldn’t have eaten that last piece of chicharon at last night’s dinner? She felt so fat and hoped the dress she had chosen to wear for the occasion would fit. Ooof! She hoped she remembered to pack some condoms in her purse...just in case. Slut! She should take it slow this time. Just have a good time and enjoy the guy’s company, no expectations. What was his name again?

Sitting in her office, Grace could no longer contain her agitated state. She couldn’t concentrate on the documents she was supposed to read. She texted Trixie for moral support. Trixie texted back that she would be fine. Besides, if the date didn’t go through smoothly, at least Grace would get to enjoy her favorite paella, so it would still be a win-win right? “K, tnx,” Grace texted back, as she hurriedly changed into her dress. She looked in the mirror, slapped on some makeup, and headed out the door, trying to sing “Walkin’ in Rhythm” by the Blackbyrds in her head to calm her.

She instinctively knew who Martin was as she glanced through the restaurant window while parking her car. There were already other diners there, some of them alone as well, also waiting for their dates perhaps, and another table with some family. A birthday dinner maybe. Martin was dressed in a light-blue long-sleeved shirt and a necktie. His shoulders were slightly hunched over. He looked defeated. Grace wondered why.

As she met Martin at the table and handed her hand over for him to shake, she suddenly knew why he looked crushed. He was a gentleman the entire night, and flashed her his whitest Close-up smile...but the gay vibe couldn’t be mistaken. It was positively reeking through every pore in Martin’s body, even as he talked about his activities at his church. He just didn’t want to fess up to his real feelings. Grace was intrigued by the thought of a grown gay man who still didn’t want to come out of the closet. And he belonged to some fundamentalist Christian sect. How could it get any better than that?!

Admittedly, the date wasn’t half-bad. The conversation was all right, except for the religious turn it took at one point. But the rest of the discussion was actually intelligent, not even half-boring as some of her past dates turned out to be. They had even actually dissected a recent ad campaign her company had launched for a new client. But then Grace had always had a great connection with gay men. And the red wine was even better. She would need the buzz to get her through the rest of the night. But as Martin prattled on about the kind of girl he wanted to marry, she did want to scream at him a few times: “Hoy, magpakatotoo ka, sister!”

In the rest room, she checked on her cell-phone messages and found texts from her buddies with words of encouragement, and concern about how the date was going. Even bitchy Dean texted her to “just be your gorgeous self”...the queen could be sweet when he wanted to. She didn’t have time to text back all of them, lest Martin think she had been flushed down the toilet.

But as she stepped out of the rest room and made her way back to the table where a fluffy yummy canonigo and Martin’s pale smile-a-crooked face were waiting, she felt excited again. Grace couldn’t wait to get home to YM the girls and tell them about the date. Ah, yes, another anecdote to get the group rolling down the aisle with laughter. Mental note to self: Save Martin’s number for Dean.

(My column, Something Like Life, is published every Friday in the Life section of the BusinessMirror. Photo from BM)

Bato, bato sa langit...

I was finally able to stop reading that new vicious blog which has kept everyone glued to their computers for the past two days. Nakakalokah na sya! It's so freakin' addicting! Every few hours there was a new entry from the blogger, then an avalanche of comments, and even more rumors/allegations brought up/stirred up about several pasosyal subjects of the blog...it was tough reading all of 'em. Hay! Nothing like good 'ol chismis about the so-called high society to make the weekend interesting.

I still can't make up my mind whether the allegations on Brian's blog are true or not, or if it's simply a case of an "away bakla." No offense to all the gay people out there, but you know what I mean. It could just be a lover's spat gone awfully haywire.

But if true, nakakaawa naman 'yung Australian na 'yun. Sayang gwapo pa naman sya. Ahem. What I really meant to say was, it really gives us Pinoys a bad name. That one of our own, albeit a socialite wanna-be, allegedly screwed this poor Aussie farmboy out of $70,000 of his life savings?! Shame, shame, shame.

I knew the subject of Brian's blog many years ago when he was just starting his restaurant and bar in Malate...back then when the district was still cool in its bohemian way. He seemed nice, intelligent, and well-mannered. I think back then he was still not surrounded by these ja-fake sosyals. I could be wrong though. Baka na ja-fake nya rin ako. Hahaha! But I have to admit, I liked the food in his restaurant and enjoyed his seriously fabulous bar. He actually has talent in that line of business.

Last time I saw the blog subject was in Boracay in Mandala Spa with a writer (from Metro Society I think) sometime last year. We exchanged a few words of greeting, small chica about how it was great to be in Mandala again — our favorite spa on the island — and how our treatments felt sooo good, etc. etc. Honestly, in the brief chats we've had since I met him, I have never felt any negative or ill vibes from him. And I'm not one to cut down people I know unless I've been on the receiving end of their nasty behavior.

So it's quite surprising to read all the allegations about this guy from his Aussie ex-. Of course the guy is no saint, what with the company he kept, but a thief?! Good Lord! Sayang naman itong batang to kung totoo. Brian's blog makes interesting read, no doubt. Highly entertaining. And definitely more exciting than the ZTE-NBN gossip that have been going around of late. (Madam Presidentita, pls. fire your lousy scriptwriters!)

Will Brian get his money back? Abangan...

Something Like Life, April 20, 2006

HE’S the hottest guy you’ve seen in this bar in the longest time. Your girlfriends think he’s perfect for you and are egging you to ask him out. But you’re a bit embarrassed. After all, you were brought up by strict Belgian nuns who forced you to adhere to, uhmm, Victorian codes of morality, which firstly requires you to be prim, proper and chaste in all manner or behavior.

But c’mon, we’re six years into the new millennium and being too modest for your own good may just make you lose one great opportunity to meet an interesting guy. Besides, what’s the big deal in asking a guy out? For sure, he will feel flattered. The worst thing that can happen is for him to say no to you, right? Sure, you’ll smart a bit from the rejection, but at least you know you’re not wasting your time on some idiot. But for all you know, he will say, yes. So dang those Belgian nuns! They don’t know what they’re missing!

If you’ve finally made up your mind about asking Mr. Hottie out, how do you exactly ask him to go on a date with you?

Of course, the easiest way is to find a common friend to introduce you two to each other. This town is so small, the six degrees of relativity principle will work more than the usual in your favor. So take the next few days to find out who knows him. (Necessarily, you must find out his name first! Get your friendly waitstaff at the bar to get his name for you.) After you’ve done your bit of investigation, you can ask your network to set you up on a date. These friends will be able to determine if he, first of all, is interested in dating—or is but is also gay. (Then again if you think about it, your best dates were all with gay men, no?)

The most relaxing and least tense way to meet is to set up a group date. Have your common friends work out a meet-and-greet for you and your best girlfriend with him and his friend. This sets the tone for casual friendly conversation while having lunch (if you want to be appear cool and detached about the date), or dinner (if you want to send the message that you are that interested in him). There is safety in numbers and in the event that Mr. Hottie bores the hell out of you, at least you have your best friend by your side to amuse you. Or when things actually get sticky (like he could be a disgusting slob and burps his way through an entire meal, ick!), you have someone to console you after you make your French leave. (Okay, be polite. No French leaves. Just pay the bill and get the hell outta there!)

You can also opt to ask for Mr. Hottie’s phone number and call him yourself for a solo date. Scary? Well, I’ve always believed in being direct in one’s approach to getting a date, whether you’re a man or woman. Only women actually appreciate the subtleties of foreplay, verbal or otherwise. Men would rather get direct to the point, if you know what I mean. So I think he will appreciate you getting in touch with him yourself to set up a meeting.

If you’re not ready for an actual phone call, then text first. Introduce yourself and give a brief background about the circumstances you’re in and why you’re getting in touch with him. Sample: “Hi, Hottie [use his real name of course]. My name is Suzy and I’m the friend of [give the name of your common friends.] I saw you in the bar the other night and would like to meet you. Maybe we can have coffee sometime?” If he responds favorably, hurrah for you.

If he doesn’t text back within a reasonable time within the day, then scratch him off your list and move on. By reasonable, I mean maybe before 10 pm? For all you know, he was loaded with work and meetings the entire day that he couldn’t respond immediately. So don’t obsess and text him three or four times, making sure if he got your message, just because he doesn’t respond in an hour. And for all you know, he’s thinking of the right response to your invite. Give him time. Men are not the smartest creatures, you know?

If he says yes to coffee, then give him a real call to set the date and time of the meet, pronto. Besides, it is a bit tedious to be texting back and forth when and where you can meet or have coffee. You’re no longer teenagers so it’s not really cute to be setting up an “eyeball” this way. Mahiya naman kayo sa balat nyo! Allow him some measure of control by letting him decide what branch of Seattle’s Best or Starbucks he wants to meet. If he wants you to decide where, then be sure you have a place already thought of, bearing in mind that it should be accessible to him. If he’s working in Makati, girl, don’t ask him to meet you all the way in Tomas Morato, even if you are working in the area. Wait until the fifth date until you make an unreasonable demand such as that.

(Why the fifth date? After the first four intial dates where both of you assess whether you still want to see more of each other, you should’ve already been able to reel him in and struck him dumb with your wonderful personality. He, in turn, should’ve been able to gauge by then whether you’re a worthwhile investment, enough for him to travel to Quezon City to have dinner with you.)

Anyway, thank God for Seattle’s Best and Starbucks! These cafés have provided us with cool safe havens to meet. Talking over coffee gives you and Mr. Hottie the chance for a casual and relaxed look-see. After all, you don’t want to be overeager to get it on with this guy, right? (Now if all you want is his body, then dang the coffee and go straight to dessert!) Seriously, he will want to give you the once-over as well. One thing you should remember, if he likes and hears what he sees, he will call you for a real date. Stop making stupid excuses why he hasn’t called. If he’s not interested, it’s his loss, not yours. So move on.

Now, what to wear to the date? Keep it casual, even if you are having dinner with him. For someone you’re going out with for the first time, you don’t have to buy the entire spring collection at Zara. Exagg! But you know what I mean. A nice pair of jeans and a chic top will do for now. Or if you’re coming from work, your business suit will be apropos as well, with maybe a flirty top underneath? Just make sure you have a fresh clean face and the lip gloss on.

So he’s walking into the café coming straight at your table. Now what? Let’s save that for the next column.

(My column Something Like Life is published every Friday in the Life section of the Business Mirror. Photo from BusinessMirror)

Vanity, thy name is woman?

SOMETHING LIKE LIFE
Feb. 9, 2006

ACTUALLY, this is an inaccurate quote widely attributed to William Shakespeare. What he actually wrote was: “Frailty, thy name is woman” — which a dismayed Hamlet uttered following the marriage of his mother, Queen Gertrude, to her husband’s brother Claudius only a month after the King had passed away. Nevertheless, the quote has morphed over the years to its present “vanity” form. Maybe it was probably created by some editor trying to think of a good title, a pun really, for his piece on why women are obsessed with looking young.

While it is true that we women spend years scraping the bottoms of hundreds of jars in search of the perfect anti-wrinkle cream or moisturizer, and spend thousands of pesos in weekly visits to our dermatologists for facials, men are no longer far behind in the vanity department. And I’m not just talking about the so-called metrosexual revolution.

As I sit patiently waiting for my regular turn at the dermatologist’s clinic, I have come to notice how there seems to be more and more men sitting alongside me. During a recent visit, wrapped in my white hospital gown and resting on my back, I asked my therapist how many male patients she’s handled over the few years she’s been there. She told me that while she can’t remember the exact number, she believes that she has an equivalent number of male and female patients. In fact, she added, “Naku, ma’am, minsan mas maarte pa sila sa mga babae!” — which, of course, amused me no end.

I asked her if most of the men she had treated were of the, ahem, female persuasion, and she said that while a few of them definitely were, there were also quite a number of straight men who are regular visitors. Of course, there are the usual teenagers with severe acne problems brought in by their concerned mothers, but most of the males my therapist has treated are young and mid-career executive types as well as several artistas. All of them just go to her for facials alone. Some usually come with their girlfriends, while the others just walk in alone. She agreed with my observation that there is an increasing number of men now concerned about protecting and even pampering their skin.

Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I mean what woman would want to smooch with a man whose face could rival Texas in the number of oil deposits? After all, there was a time that the only concern of men were getting clean-shaven faces. Seeing an opportunity, manufacturers started peddling shaving lotions and after-shave colognes, promising that women would fall at their feet when they smelled the unguents on their men’s smooth faces.

Of course in the Old Spice days, there were already some men who got manicures while getting their hair cut at their friendly neighborhood barbershop. After their nails were clipped and the cuticles nipped and pushed back, clear polish would be swept on the nails of their pudgy fingers. When I was growing up and I’d see one of these men come out of their barbershops, I would let out a silent “Eeew!” in my head. I noticed that most of the men I saw with manicures were mostly old, with toupees and white shoes. Now that I’m older and supposedly more mature, seeing straight men with manicured nails still make me go “Ick!”

These days, men are buying complete sets of skincare and facial treatments. They have their own body lotions, bath soaps, colognes and perfumes, scrubs and body polishes; they even have their own spa, put moisturizers on their face, and—gads!—even makeup! (Now this reminds me of a former senator and ex-cabinet secretary whom my friend and I bumped into while eating at a restaurant. He got down from his van and upon seeing us, he said, “Hindi ako nagme-makeup ha! Galing lang ako sa TV show!” The comment left us briefly speechless because that was the last thing we ever expected to hear from this politician. All we could manage was a weak “Oh-kay!”, afterwhich my friend and I looked at each other, stunned. Whatever happened to “Hello… Kumusta kayo” or “Iboto nyo ako sa sunod na halalan”? Geez.)

So I have a fiftysomething male cousin, very much married and whom we always kid as being so popular among the females in the city he resides in, he could win the mayorship hands down. At the wake of my brother a couple of years back, my mother noticed that my cousin had such smooth skin for someone his age, considering that he spends a lot of time under the sun because of his job. My Dick Tracy of a mother asked him in front of other relatives if he followed any skin care regimen. My cousin was only happy to oblige us with his “beauty secret.” (Pay attention now.) He proudly said that before going to bed, every night he washes his face with placenta soap and leaves the lather on overnight. This is why his skin is taut and tight, he said. He boasted that even his wife has adopted that same nightly skin care regimen, with the same results apparently.

We couldn’t help but laugh our asses off at the thought of our Cousin, a stud by reputation, being so vain about his face! And this is someone who lives in the province where the pace is oh-so-slow, people have dinner at 6 pm and are asleep by 9 pm! Apart from this, my cousin isn’t given to any other vanities and is quite comfortable with his pot belly (the girls still love him after all!) and wearing plain tees with jeans and sneakers, unlike the so-called metrosexuals of this generation who are passionate about dapper clothes and fabulous home interiors.

In the US alone, the men’s skin care industry has been estimated at $150-$200 million alone. A lot of research and development has gone into studying men’s personal hygiene habits. Thanks in part to the “himbo” syndrome and marketing geniuses, growing numbers of men are now conditioned to think that taking that extra step in protecting their complexion isn’t so gay after all. It’s just part of good grooming. Undoubtedly, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy has been a real influence as well. (“Real men exfoliate!” screamed a Boston Globe headline a few years back.) We will probably delude ourselves thinking they’re doing all this upkeep for us. Not on your life. They’re doing this all for themselves. If Shakespeare was living today, I wonder what he’d say about that.

(My column, Something Like Life, is published every Friday in the Life section of the BusinessMirror. Photos borrowed from the web.)

Imelda Marcos in Vanity Fair...hilarious!

(Who would've thought former First Lady Imelda Marcos's kookiness would eventually land her in the pages of the much respected Vanity Fair, in an interview with celebrity journalist George Wayne no less! Aba, talo pa nya si GMA!)

* * *
Vanities
The First Lady Treatment

Imelda Marcos talks about her new fashion line, remembers her New York trial, and learns that she's a drag-queen icon.

Q&A by George Wayne February 2007

Former Filipina First Lady Imelda Marcos, 77, is known as much for her shoe collection and family controversies—the Marcoses were accused of looting as much as $10 billion in assets from the Philippines before her husband's regime was toppled, in 1986—as she is for her philanthropic heart. As Marcos releases her new fashion line, the Imelda Collection, our correspondent learns that there's a little bit of Imelda in all of us.

George Wayne: Imelda, darling, I hope you are ready to get your freak on.
Imelda Marcos: Oh, well, it is a pleasure, because the Imelda Collection was my grandson Borgy's idea. He is a huge Philippine idol here, on television, in magazines and movies.

Is he the ruling playboy of Manila now?
He is the crush of the nation.

So here you are at 77 years old, Queen Imelda deciding that it is time to take up fashion.
I know, the nerve of this woman, Mrs. Marcos. When I was First Lady, for 20 years I was always trying to get the best—in paintings, clothes, jewelry, whatever.

(Read on at Vanity Fair. Hysterical stuff! Illustration by Risko from VF.)

Gay and loving it

WHEN YOU HAVE GAY FRIENDS WHO ARE A DELIGHT TO BE WITH – THE PERFECT SHOPPING COMPANION, RELATIONSHIP BRIDGE, CHISMIS BUDDIES – AND YOU REVEL IN THEIR AMUSING ANECDOTES, IT IS EASY TO FORGET THAT A NUMBER OF THEM HAVE LED VERY DIFFICULT LIVES.

Something Like Life
Jan. 19, 2007

WHAT do you do when you feel like you've been living a lie all these years? Or that you've been leading two different lives...a public persona for everyone to enjoy or for the sake of good relations with your family and friends whom you think will not understand you; and a private one which you personally delight in, making you breathe easier, but at the same time leaves you looking over your shoulder, scared of being found out by people you care about?

For many of my gay friends, "coming out" was not the proverbial walk in the park. In fact, a few of them still struggle to this day to actually reveal themselves, afraid of the social repercussions of their homosexuality. They are anxious that other people will think they are less intelligent, less sincere, even, dare I say it? "abnormal" because they are gay. They fear that people, even those who don't really matter to their existence, will not comprehend why they "chose" that way of life. As if being gay was really a matter of choice. It just isn't a lifestyle one can select, like slipping on a glittering pair of stiletto boots, or be discarded like a filthy old jersey sweatshirt.

My gay friends have always told me that they knew, one as early as three years old, that they were "different". As young boys they loved playing dress up in their mom's clothes, one liked cutting the hair of his sister's dollies. Another was so enamored with his mother's dancing, she being a divine ballerina in her heyday.

I've had friends who were army brats, and one was frequently beaten up by his dad, an army captain, whenever he was found out doing "female" things, like wearing a dress. This friend told me that he would just quietly cry in his room ("ala Nora Aunor in Sidhi") after the beatings. His mom did not even try to get between him and his dad to stop her husband�s violence. Neither did she try to comfort him in his tears.

And if it was bad at home, sometimes it was worse at school. Some of them studied in exclusive Catholic schools for men, where being gay in their day was almost equivalent to a public hanging. If not beaten up by bullies, there were frequent teasing and taunts. As I size up my gay buddies who grew up in such an oppressive environment, either of two things happened. Either they withdrew, some hitting the books like mad, and are now a delight to converse with on most subjects; or they adopted outrageous personalities, became outgoing and hysterically funny perhaps, to entertain their classmates as a way to escape their fists.

I have a friend who has gay brothers, and I know one famous gay personality whose father was also gay. (I don't know if he ever knew that his dad was gay, though his dad's sexual proclivities were quite known among his colleagues in their day.) This, of course, strongly suggests, and as some scientific studies may have already shown, that one can be genetically predisposed to homosexuality, as opposed to some psychologists' continuing belief that one is a product of one's environment. (For example: you grow up with a ballerina mom and her gay dancer friends, you will probably end up being gay yourself.)

While genetic scientists are still trying to find the "homosexual gene", they have already narrowed it down to a certain region or genetic sequence in the X chromosome. (The studies are focused on male homosexuality so far.) Some of the studies also support the theory that the gene markers are almost always passed on by mothers. Good grief! I can just hear mothers everywhere groan, "And yet another thing we're going to be blamed for!" Hang that, witch!

When you have gay friends who are a delight to be with – the perfect shopping companion, relationship bridge, chismis buddies – and you revel in their amusing anecdotes, it is easy to forget that a number of them have led very difficult lives. Some of them may have been scorned by their fathers and brothers, a handful perhaps doted on by their mothers and understanding siblings. In fact, I only have one gay friend whose father accepted him unconditionally, leaving him free to be his own person. It is a love my friend is only too willing to reciprocate, taking good care of his folks in their retirement now that he is financially well-off.

At an opposite end, one whose father and brothers have shunned him became engaged in destructive behavior, sinking into a drug-filled lifestyle, with a string of lovers maintained by a crack addiction. It is a pity that at his age, he is hard-pressed to keep a good job, and has a severe lack of confidence despite his intelligence, wit and a college degree.

OK, this isn't a time to blame mothers or fathers; however, family acceptance really does play a key role in the formation of an upright gay citizen. It is bad enough to feel different or unusual, but to have people you care about and look up to treating you like a freak, it can be devastating. While gays are now well accepted by most of society, some still want to keep their sexuality a secret from their families. Or if they have told their families the truth, the latter just can't deal with it.

A number of my gay friends have managed to shake off such feelings of abandonment, rising above their tragedies, and becoming successes in their fields. In their minds, they feel lucky as they know they are surrounded by friends who love them and understand them. Yet in their hearts, they still fervently pray to be accepted completely by their folks. No matter how successful one becomes, family approval is still a prize all of us, gay or straight, try to secure. But as one gay friend told me, he can't wait forever for his father to finally come around. And sometimes the best thing for one's psyche is to learn to just let go, and move on.

(My column, Something Like Life, is published every Friday in the Life section of the BusinessMirror.)