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Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots?: Flaming Challenges to Masculinity, Objectification, and the Desire to Conform
Gay culture has become a nightmare of consumerism, whether it's an endless quest for Absolut vodka, Diesel jeans, rainbow Hummers, pec implants, or Pottery Barn. Whatever happened to sexual flamboyance and gender liberation, an end to marriage, the military, and the nuclear family? As backrooms are shut down to make way for wedding vows, and gay sexual culture morphs into “straight-acting dudes hangin’ out,” what are the possibilities for a defiant faggotry that challenges the assimilationist norms of a corporate-cozy lifestyle?
Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots? challenges not just the violence of straight homophobia but the hypocrisy of mainstream gay norms that say the only way to stay safe is to act straight: get married, join the military, adopt kids! Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore reinvokes the anger, flamboyance, and subversion once thriving in gay subcultures in order to create something dangerous and lovely: an exploration of the perils of assimilation; a call for accountability; a vision for change. A sassy and splintering emergency intervention!
Called "startlingly bold and provocative" by Howard Zinn, and described as "a cross between Tinkerbell and a honky Malcolm X with a queer agenda" by The Austin Chronicle, Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore is undoubtedly one of America's most outspoken queer critics. She is the author of two novels, including, most recently, So Many Ways to Sleep Badly, and is the editor of four nonfiction anthologies, including Nobody Passes: Rejecting the Rules of Gender and Conformity and That’s Revolting! Queer Strategies for Resisting Assimilation.
Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots? challenges not just the violence of straight homophobia but the hypocrisy of mainstream gay norms that say the only way to stay safe is to act straight: get married, join the military, adopt kids! Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore reinvokes the anger, flamboyance, and subversion once thriving in gay subcultures in order to create something dangerous and lovely: an exploration of the perils of assimilation; a call for accountability; a vision for change. A sassy and splintering emergency intervention!
Called "startlingly bold and provocative" by Howard Zinn, and described as "a cross between Tinkerbell and a honky Malcolm X with a queer agenda" by The Austin Chronicle, Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore is undoubtedly one of America's most outspoken queer critics. She is the author of two novels, including, most recently, So Many Ways to Sleep Badly, and is the editor of four nonfiction anthologies, including Nobody Passes: Rejecting the Rules of Gender and Conformity and That’s Revolting! Queer Strategies for Resisting Assimilation.
212 pages, Paperback
First published January 31, 2012
89 people are currently reading
2075 people want to read
About the author
Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore
20 books429 followersMattilda Bernstein Sycamore is the award-winning author of The Freezer Door, a New York Times Editors’ Choice, one of Oprah Magazine’s Best LGBTQ Books of 2020, and a finalist for the PEN/Jean Stein Book Award. Winner of a Lambda Literary Award and an American Library Association Stonewall Honor Book, she’s the author of three novels and three nonfiction titles, and the editor of six nonfiction anthologies, most recently Between Certain Death and a Possible Future: Queer Writing on Growing Up with the AIDS Crisis. Sycamore lives in Seattle, and her new book, Touching the Art, will be released on November 7, 2023.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 102 reviews
October 28, 2014
Some of the essays were great. Many were thought-provoking. Some of them, as with Sycamore's other book ("That's Revolting!"), were filled with a misguided nostalgia for "the good old days" - you know, when gay bars were run by the mafia, queer people faced more serious repression, etc.
There's also - and I'm writing as a gay man who works to fight economic injustice with poor mothers - a very disconcerting anti-child stance that permeates a few of the essays.
And can we admit that just like there's a problem with objectification in gay culture, there's also a problem with drugs and drinking? I get what Sycamore and her fellow authors are trying to do, I really do, and I support the general thrust of it — but we can have a revolutionary gay politic that doesn't revolve around lifestyle choices (particularly unhealthy or exploitative ones - and don't clutch your cock rings, I'm not talking about sex).
There's also - and I'm writing as a gay man who works to fight economic injustice with poor mothers - a very disconcerting anti-child stance that permeates a few of the essays.
And can we admit that just like there's a problem with objectification in gay culture, there's also a problem with drugs and drinking? I get what Sycamore and her fellow authors are trying to do, I really do, and I support the general thrust of it — but we can have a revolutionary gay politic that doesn't revolve around lifestyle choices (particularly unhealthy or exploitative ones - and don't clutch your cock rings, I'm not talking about sex).
June 27, 2022
Giving this a 3 because there are most certainly voices worth hearing in this collection. Otherwise though, this is such a mess. Uneven mix of personal, political and cultural essays. They make sense in terms of their subject matter, but the presentation and depth don't sync much. Most are anecdotal and speak in a reactive manner, like just expressing emotion and not going much deeper. There's a place for that, most definitely, but this book wants to sell itself as more than outbursts of feeling and that's just not the case for the majority of the collection.
I also just didn't see that much range! I expected to read about things like polyamory in everyday life, nuanced and pointed takedowns of conservative white gay men, the privilege of being able to "pass" as straight. Unfortunately though for the most part we just hearing about kinky sex and why being in the queer underground in the latter 20th century was so great. Weird how the book is meant to revolt against mainstream conservative white queerdom but mostly focuses on appearance and PARTYING. Recognition of the AIDS epidemic and some nods to how this period was particularly brutal for POC are present, but not enough.
The sex essays in this book are kind of incomprehensible. I guess they're essentially there to promote visibility buuuut they're too conversational for erotica and too simple for cultural analysis. They're just there, not adding much beyond "this one time sex happened."
I also just didn't see that much range! I expected to read about things like polyamory in everyday life, nuanced and pointed takedowns of conservative white gay men, the privilege of being able to "pass" as straight. Unfortunately though for the most part we just hearing about kinky sex and why being in the queer underground in the latter 20th century was so great. Weird how the book is meant to revolt against mainstream conservative white queerdom but mostly focuses on appearance and PARTYING. Recognition of the AIDS epidemic and some nods to how this period was particularly brutal for POC are present, but not enough.
The sex essays in this book are kind of incomprehensible. I guess they're essentially there to promote visibility buuuut they're too conversational for erotica and too simple for cultural analysis. They're just there, not adding much beyond "this one time sex happened."
September 26, 2015
Disappointing. I like to think that the disappointment I feel with this anthology is sourced in the authors' disappointment with the successes of gentrification and assimilation. Whereas the first two (That's Revolting! and Nobody Passes, respectively) were, albeit sometimes average collections, a pretty good reflection on history, advocacy, opportunity, and the complexity of identity - this one instead seems to give up while desperately kicking and screaming for a better world, the one they wanted in their hypersexual youth.
It is as though the reflection has become raunch-as-rebellion (frustrations channelled in violent, HIV-spreading sexuality), the opportunity clouded by the connection with meth (and other drugs). At no point in this book is there talk of the complexity of navigating a safe and responsible sexual relationship with someone who is HIV-positive, while still respecting them as humans and just as worthy of human rights and dignity as anyone else. Instead, these writers tend to talk of unsafe sex as transgressive, as if not wanting to be infected means wanting to get married and be normative. What the hell, I say. They say, "That's it, gentrizilla has won. So, fuck it. Fuck it bareback."
Your shock value is not radical -or- interesting.
Is this truly what gender radicalism became in less than a decade? Is our choice here truly confined within the dichotomy of either white-skin white picket fence, fencing in our fun; or hyperfeminine blatant nonconsent and objectification, *masquarading* as the radical alternative to the hypermasculine sexuality of blatant nonconsent and objectification?
Darling, please. We can do better than this.
[To note, the best essay overall was 'Slow Boil' by Eric A. Stanley. Worth reading on its own. The final one, 'Something Resembling Power' by Kristen Stoeckeler is quite good, too, but there is use of the t-word a few times.]
It is as though the reflection has become raunch-as-rebellion (frustrations channelled in violent, HIV-spreading sexuality), the opportunity clouded by the connection with meth (and other drugs). At no point in this book is there talk of the complexity of navigating a safe and responsible sexual relationship with someone who is HIV-positive, while still respecting them as humans and just as worthy of human rights and dignity as anyone else. Instead, these writers tend to talk of unsafe sex as transgressive, as if not wanting to be infected means wanting to get married and be normative. What the hell, I say. They say, "That's it, gentrizilla has won. So, fuck it. Fuck it bareback."
Your shock value is not radical -or- interesting.
Is this truly what gender radicalism became in less than a decade? Is our choice here truly confined within the dichotomy of either white-skin white picket fence, fencing in our fun; or hyperfeminine blatant nonconsent and objectification, *masquarading* as the radical alternative to the hypermasculine sexuality of blatant nonconsent and objectification?
Darling, please. We can do better than this.
[To note, the best essay overall was 'Slow Boil' by Eric A. Stanley. Worth reading on its own. The final one, 'Something Resembling Power' by Kristen Stoeckeler is quite good, too, but there is use of the t-word a few times.]
May 28, 2018
A disjointed collection of stories and essays. From the title, I was expecting essays relating to gay assimilation vs. cultivating a separate culture. Instead, this is mostly short personal memoirs, often in an academic style. I was disappointed and just skimmed the stories for a while. But I got caught up in some of the stories and am ultimately glad I read the collection.
June 21, 2012
The essays in this book are some of the most visceral, intense pieces of writing I've ever read. The dogmatism and self-analysis that cluttered MBS' previous anthologies are minimized, if not gone. Instead, the book pushes you headlong into the subjective reality of everything that's wrong with our current consumerist macho queer culture--into being closeted in prison, fucking bareback while HIV positive, and a thousand other fucked up experiences. And these vignettes are a better argument against an LGBTQ community content with repealing DADT and getting married than any polemic. When I first picked up the book, I wondered how she had gotten such gay luminaries as Edmund White and *Samuel R Delaney* to rave about her book. Now I *know*.
December 21, 2019
Sycamore does exactly what Sycamore tells the Society has done to the gays: use offensive language to cajole, to make them fit into an expected shape.
January 12, 2023
When I started to read Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore’s newest collection, Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots? (AK Press), I had an idea of what to expect. There are plenty of examples in the trans/queer blogosphere and Twittersphere of queer, trans, and/or non-binary individuals critiquing femme erasure and femme invisibility. Usually these individuals are young, white, college-educated, and politically radical. They (we) critique a mainstream gay culture that attacks or erases femme expressions of gender, is bothered or even disgusted by trans queers, and deifies masculinity.
Some of the contributions in this volume come from this group, but the collection as a whole takes on a different tenor, one that is sorely needed in our communities. Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots? focuses on brown bodies, on AIDS, on colonialism and nationalism, and on the intersections between these themes. These essays are about love and fear–the potential of queer creativity and the impact of a faggot-coded epidemic.
This volume asks us to question our fears–not only of femininity but of brown bodies, trans bodies, poverty, drugs, open sexuality, terrorism, and AIDS. The essays engage explicitly with sex, linking queer desire to ideas of nationality, safety, and acceptability. The authors ask us to build a political discourse around sex and desire and to see the potential in brown, femme, and/or diseased bodies that the collective mainstream gay imagination fears and has forgotten because of the terrifying possibility of death.
Some of the most controversial essays challenge the idea of “safe sex” and ask us to consider barebacking as a sexual practice. How do we pose bodies and sex as dirty or clean? The public health discourse around AIDS jibes well with a national rhetoric of individual responsibility–you are either safe/clean or you are not, you are a citizen or a terrorist, you are with us or against us–and if you cross the line, it is your fault.
“The ‘risk reduction’ we practiced often meant avoiding intimacy with the very people we needed in order to overcome generations of internalized shame; we ended up limiting the types of connections that had historically led to personal health and community well-being.” –Chris Bartlett, “Levity and Gravity”
Some of the authors in this volume suggest solutions to the status quo that are wrapped up in sex, desire, cruising culture, creativity, and femininity. These solutions also challenge the white, middle class, masculine gay norm. Ali Abbas, for example, tells the story of a white colleague accusing him of “playing into” his own Middle Eastern culture while simultaneously ignoring the queerness of some Middle Eastern cultures. Masculinity here is linked to nationalism and citizenship, which in turn is linked to the mainstream gay American culture’s focus on marriage (a right linked to citizenship) rather than human rights, immigration, sexuality, or poverty.
Several essays challenge the assumption of norms, usually presented in a “good vs. bad” binary, around desireability and sexuality. CA Conrad wants to know why fat men are assumed to be undesireable, while Philip Patston asks the same thing about disabled bodies. Patston’s story of going to his therapist and initially assuming, when told that things would be different for him because of his disability, that gay men would see him as a rare and desireable potential partner, challenges the assumption that normal desire focuses on able bodies–or on white ones, thin ones, cis ones, or masculine ones. Discussions of creativity in the early AIDS movement and of the good things about HIV-positive sex challenge readers to consider whether even an “infected body” is necessary less desireable. The gay community is used to the idea of collective trauma (ie, AIDS) vs. collective Pride, but why does Pride have to be found principally in middle class white bodies? Why not in a community of “Others”–brown, trans, pos, disabled, queer faggots?
I agree, at least in part, with the criticisms of the mainstream public health response to AIDS. There are no “good gays” and “bad gays.” The community, such as it is, would be a better place if we consciously engaged with disease, with sex, and with the creative potential of our fringes. I agree with Patrick “Pato” Hebert that our power lies in sex and storytelling, and that these things are linked. “We make ourselves through storytelling. We reproduce the queer power of ourselves through our sex.”
The narratives in this collection are a first step in looking at ourselves as sexual, positive, worthy wholes and as a powerful potential community of activists and artists. As Nick Clarkson explains in his story about a gay cis man who is unwilling to go home with him because of his trans body, we are not solely defined by our histories. It is important to recognize queer people both collectively and individually as a whole–through our histories, our identities, our bodies, and our stories.
Some of the contributions in this volume come from this group, but the collection as a whole takes on a different tenor, one that is sorely needed in our communities. Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots? focuses on brown bodies, on AIDS, on colonialism and nationalism, and on the intersections between these themes. These essays are about love and fear–the potential of queer creativity and the impact of a faggot-coded epidemic.
This volume asks us to question our fears–not only of femininity but of brown bodies, trans bodies, poverty, drugs, open sexuality, terrorism, and AIDS. The essays engage explicitly with sex, linking queer desire to ideas of nationality, safety, and acceptability. The authors ask us to build a political discourse around sex and desire and to see the potential in brown, femme, and/or diseased bodies that the collective mainstream gay imagination fears and has forgotten because of the terrifying possibility of death.
Some of the most controversial essays challenge the idea of “safe sex” and ask us to consider barebacking as a sexual practice. How do we pose bodies and sex as dirty or clean? The public health discourse around AIDS jibes well with a national rhetoric of individual responsibility–you are either safe/clean or you are not, you are a citizen or a terrorist, you are with us or against us–and if you cross the line, it is your fault.
“The ‘risk reduction’ we practiced often meant avoiding intimacy with the very people we needed in order to overcome generations of internalized shame; we ended up limiting the types of connections that had historically led to personal health and community well-being.” –Chris Bartlett, “Levity and Gravity”
Some of the authors in this volume suggest solutions to the status quo that are wrapped up in sex, desire, cruising culture, creativity, and femininity. These solutions also challenge the white, middle class, masculine gay norm. Ali Abbas, for example, tells the story of a white colleague accusing him of “playing into” his own Middle Eastern culture while simultaneously ignoring the queerness of some Middle Eastern cultures. Masculinity here is linked to nationalism and citizenship, which in turn is linked to the mainstream gay American culture’s focus on marriage (a right linked to citizenship) rather than human rights, immigration, sexuality, or poverty.
Several essays challenge the assumption of norms, usually presented in a “good vs. bad” binary, around desireability and sexuality. CA Conrad wants to know why fat men are assumed to be undesireable, while Philip Patston asks the same thing about disabled bodies. Patston’s story of going to his therapist and initially assuming, when told that things would be different for him because of his disability, that gay men would see him as a rare and desireable potential partner, challenges the assumption that normal desire focuses on able bodies–or on white ones, thin ones, cis ones, or masculine ones. Discussions of creativity in the early AIDS movement and of the good things about HIV-positive sex challenge readers to consider whether even an “infected body” is necessary less desireable. The gay community is used to the idea of collective trauma (ie, AIDS) vs. collective Pride, but why does Pride have to be found principally in middle class white bodies? Why not in a community of “Others”–brown, trans, pos, disabled, queer faggots?
I agree, at least in part, with the criticisms of the mainstream public health response to AIDS. There are no “good gays” and “bad gays.” The community, such as it is, would be a better place if we consciously engaged with disease, with sex, and with the creative potential of our fringes. I agree with Patrick “Pato” Hebert that our power lies in sex and storytelling, and that these things are linked. “We make ourselves through storytelling. We reproduce the queer power of ourselves through our sex.”
The narratives in this collection are a first step in looking at ourselves as sexual, positive, worthy wholes and as a powerful potential community of activists and artists. As Nick Clarkson explains in his story about a gay cis man who is unwilling to go home with him because of his trans body, we are not solely defined by our histories. It is important to recognize queer people both collectively and individually as a whole–through our histories, our identities, our bodies, and our stories.
March 18, 2017
5 gold stars! This was fantastic. Every gay person should read this. It is a collection of essays about gay issues that are current and relevant and aggravating. I actually learned a bit from a few of these perspectives.
September 26, 2019
These essays span the horizons of gender, race, class, occupation, and even sexuality. I was amazed at the level of diversity in this book-- though I suppose that’s the point, it was still amazing to read in an anthology multiple essays by people of color, not just one that is the “token brown person” so everyone knows your anthology isn’t racist. Even the methodology of writing was diverse: some were straight narrative, some were prosey introspection, some were critical analysis, and so forth. Though the title screams “shock factor” just a little, it fits. That’s the point. Why is society so afraid of femininity, and especially so feminine men? Why are feminine men afraid of each other? Each person included in this anthology gave a different answer and yet they all felt some of the same things. Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots? hits close to home. It’s weird, it’s warm, it’s full of heart and defiance and deviance. It’s most likely what Walt Whitman wanted us to sing-- ourselves.
Perhaps a few of the essays came out underdeveloped, but even those still had the raw feeling that is necessary when we speak of ourselves with honesty and bravery. This anthology is not for the faint of heart. It is not for your white-washed, watered-down, consumerist Pride parade. It is, at the very core, stunningly real. It tells the shitty stories. The HIV+ stories. The rape stories. The abuse, suicide, addiction stories. The stories that people are living, no longer alone. But it comes out hopeful.
If you’re interested in queer theory, read this. If you are queer, read this. If you want to read brutally honest accounts of real people going through real shit, read this.
Read this.
Perhaps a few of the essays came out underdeveloped, but even those still had the raw feeling that is necessary when we speak of ourselves with honesty and bravery. This anthology is not for the faint of heart. It is not for your white-washed, watered-down, consumerist Pride parade. It is, at the very core, stunningly real. It tells the shitty stories. The HIV+ stories. The rape stories. The abuse, suicide, addiction stories. The stories that people are living, no longer alone. But it comes out hopeful.
If you’re interested in queer theory, read this. If you are queer, read this. If you want to read brutally honest accounts of real people going through real shit, read this.
Read this.
June 8, 2017
This anthology showcases the blood, sweat and tears of the proudly deviant, where being queer is sensual and filthy, and homonormativity and whitewashing can take a seat.
With the neo-liberal hyper masculine social circles that now dominate every aspect of gay life its made for a little literary oasis for this punk ass queer femme.
Some standouts for me are Jones' The Unlikely Barebacker, Fagan's My fear, The Forces Beneath; and Clarkson's Penis is Important for That. But it was Ezra RedEagle Whitman's Straightening the Shawl that resonated with my own life and which has left me with a perfect description for my life goals: SLUTTY VISION SEEKER.
All of the stories are short but lacking sweet (a plus in my book) and it is easy enough to skip one if it's not your cup of tea though I would suggest stomaching through it because you may just gain a little perspective. I think this should be on every young faggots bookshelf.
With the neo-liberal hyper masculine social circles that now dominate every aspect of gay life its made for a little literary oasis for this punk ass queer femme.
Some standouts for me are Jones' The Unlikely Barebacker, Fagan's My fear, The Forces Beneath; and Clarkson's Penis is Important for That. But it was Ezra RedEagle Whitman's Straightening the Shawl that resonated with my own life and which has left me with a perfect description for my life goals: SLUTTY VISION SEEKER.
All of the stories are short but lacking sweet (a plus in my book) and it is easy enough to skip one if it's not your cup of tea though I would suggest stomaching through it because you may just gain a little perspective. I think this should be on every young faggots bookshelf.
September 24, 2018
A few solid essays, but mostly disappointing - almost nothing directly grapples with toxic masculinity/misogyny in gay male communities, and some don't even address it indirectly, and most essays have some cis guy praising the "good looks" of some white thin able-bodied cis guy. Also a weird story from a prison security guards POV that is supposed to be sympathetic bc she says she doesnt hate gay men? Disappointing.
March 7, 2014
I disliked a lot of this book. I liked a lot of it also. Most of all, I found myself wanting to talk about the subjects raised with everyone all the time, in an attempt to figure out how I felt about all of things it churned up, and also just because there were interesting ideas to discuss.
April 17, 2017
This was very, very interesting. Lot to digest here. Longer review when I have time.
December 11, 2022
Some great essays, and some alright. An interesting collection nonetheless.
My favorites :
• Going From Zero to Sexy on High-Caloric Overdrive
• Levity and Gravity
• Death by Masculinity
• Without A Face
• Difficult Conversations
• Rehab for the Unrepentant
• It Gets Better?
• Generations
• Prisons and Closets
• A Rock and a Bird
• Excelsior
• Cell Block 6
• Rich Man’s War, Poor (Gay) Man’s Fight
• Dancing with White Boys
My favorites :
• Going From Zero to Sexy on High-Caloric Overdrive
• Levity and Gravity
• Death by Masculinity
• Without A Face
• Difficult Conversations
• Rehab for the Unrepentant
• It Gets Better?
• Generations
• Prisons and Closets
• A Rock and a Bird
• Excelsior
• Cell Block 6
• Rich Man’s War, Poor (Gay) Man’s Fight
• Dancing with White Boys
June 6, 2022
um uhhh cuz f*ggot 8 9?? idk I didn’t read the book
(just kidding I read it, being gay is cool and I’m on prep now thanks!!)
(just kidding I read it, being gay is cool and I’m on prep now thanks!!)
July 20, 2023
While over a decade old, this book is still mostly relevant with evergreen topics of queerness.
June 22, 2021
disgusting. and so much fun!
May 6, 2023
Would highly recommend, I liked the range of stories and range of authors. Refreshing to read such personal experiences of being queer
August 22, 2024
some of the pieces were really good but overall it was only vaguely cohesive imo. not what i expected/wanted and some of the pieces were really just like. meh
January 21, 2014
I got this book for Christmas. Every year I peruse the Lambda Literary Awards and this was nominated in the LGBT Anthology section. As a progressive queer activist in college I’ve read some of the other works edited by Mattilda including That’s Revolting! Queer Strategies for Resisting Assimilation. This is a collection along the same lines as others in that there are 30 short entries with most about 4-5 pages each as the book ends at 208 pages.
I was interested in reading this because as a somewhat effeminate gay man I’ve seen all too well the emphasis on masculinity in the gay community. I remember once I was talking to a guy online and he asked if I was masculine. I replied “I can pretend convincingly”. That ended that interaction. Also, as a progressive person I’m interested in the wide experiences of queer people and their voices which might not be heard in the mainstream queer publications.
I will admit this got off to a slow start and none of the first few ones impressed me. I actually set this down for a while and wasn’t particularly excited to pick it back up again. Some of the pieces took a too broad approach to their entire lives and how they didn’t fit in the gay community or their original community. The writing wasn’t strong enough for a published book, and I worried that all of the stories would be variations on the same thing….an onslaught of humorless Queer Theory 101 papers.
However, after finishing the book I can say that most of these entries were good and some were excellent. Although some took that unfocused approach, others were pointed on specific circumstances and instances. “Penis is Important for That” by Nick Carlson describes the experience of a transman hitting on his hot daddy hairdresser and the implications of his rejection. ”I’ll Tell You What I Want, What I Really Want: Homolove and Accountability” by Harris Kornstein examines the childhood friendships among the author and his two queer friends, and the homophobia that split them apart. Both of these were highlights of the collection for me. I’ve often been attracted to transmen but worried about going further with that due to my ‘gold-star’ status, and it was fascinating hearing him react to those reservations from another standpoint. When I was growing up I had a couple friends that I’m sure ended up queer some way, and Kornstein deftly portrays the tribulations that entails.
The other selections that I most enjoyed were those that shared stories without an obvious agenda that often stirred up my emotions. ”It Gets Better” by Matthew Blanchard demonstrates a life of ostracism, sex-work, and drug use with tragic circumstances for the author, but without the regretful tone or admonishment you would hear from an advocacy organization. In her own entry, “Generations”, Mattilda commemorates a friend from the scene in San Francisco with admiration. There were also several haunting reflections of sexual harassment and abuse such “A Rock and a Bird” by Booh Edouardo and “My Fear, the Forces Beneath” by Willow Aerin Fagan.
Initially, I thought this book would be a overwrought testimonial of every possible outsider from the straight-acting, white, cisgendered, able-bodied, male, middle-class gay mainstream. Indeed if you’ve ever felt like an outsider for some reason you will identify with one of the voices from this book. I wish some of the authors approached their point more creatively, but overall this was a good read that I would recommend to even those seasoned with queer identity politics.
I was interested in reading this because as a somewhat effeminate gay man I’ve seen all too well the emphasis on masculinity in the gay community. I remember once I was talking to a guy online and he asked if I was masculine. I replied “I can pretend convincingly”. That ended that interaction. Also, as a progressive person I’m interested in the wide experiences of queer people and their voices which might not be heard in the mainstream queer publications.
I will admit this got off to a slow start and none of the first few ones impressed me. I actually set this down for a while and wasn’t particularly excited to pick it back up again. Some of the pieces took a too broad approach to their entire lives and how they didn’t fit in the gay community or their original community. The writing wasn’t strong enough for a published book, and I worried that all of the stories would be variations on the same thing….an onslaught of humorless Queer Theory 101 papers.
However, after finishing the book I can say that most of these entries were good and some were excellent. Although some took that unfocused approach, others were pointed on specific circumstances and instances. “Penis is Important for That” by Nick Carlson describes the experience of a transman hitting on his hot daddy hairdresser and the implications of his rejection. ”I’ll Tell You What I Want, What I Really Want: Homolove and Accountability” by Harris Kornstein examines the childhood friendships among the author and his two queer friends, and the homophobia that split them apart. Both of these were highlights of the collection for me. I’ve often been attracted to transmen but worried about going further with that due to my ‘gold-star’ status, and it was fascinating hearing him react to those reservations from another standpoint. When I was growing up I had a couple friends that I’m sure ended up queer some way, and Kornstein deftly portrays the tribulations that entails.
The other selections that I most enjoyed were those that shared stories without an obvious agenda that often stirred up my emotions. ”It Gets Better” by Matthew Blanchard demonstrates a life of ostracism, sex-work, and drug use with tragic circumstances for the author, but without the regretful tone or admonishment you would hear from an advocacy organization. In her own entry, “Generations”, Mattilda commemorates a friend from the scene in San Francisco with admiration. There were also several haunting reflections of sexual harassment and abuse such “A Rock and a Bird” by Booh Edouardo and “My Fear, the Forces Beneath” by Willow Aerin Fagan.
Initially, I thought this book would be a overwrought testimonial of every possible outsider from the straight-acting, white, cisgendered, able-bodied, male, middle-class gay mainstream. Indeed if you’ve ever felt like an outsider for some reason you will identify with one of the voices from this book. I wish some of the authors approached their point more creatively, but overall this was a good read that I would recommend to even those seasoned with queer identity politics.
December 5, 2017
Started in Summer '16 (shortly before Pulse), abandoned in Fall '16 as I got wrapped up in stress. Finished in Oct '17 in a much different climate for the queer person, especially the one challenging "assigned" masculinity. Disparate (especially as you move towards the end of the collection where the essays become much more spread-out in subject matter), but worth at least checking out the CAConrad, Michael J. Faris/ML Sugie, and especially the Eric A. Stanley and Horehound Stillpoint ones.
May 8, 2018
3 1/2 out of 5, I think.
I really wanted to love this book -- I wanted this to be the best book I had ever read in gender and sexuality studies, a book that I could use in a syllabus should I ever start teaching. And in parts of this, it delivered just that: a bold critique of masculinity, internalized homophobia, patriarchy, and transphobia in the gay community. Queers from their early 20s to their 60s and 70s give firsthand accounts of their personal struggles with objectification throughout the decades. In these parts, it is amazing, worthy of being studied intently by anyone seeking to dismantle the capitalist, oppressive structure that is patriarchy and racism.
On the other hand, it veers off into just personal anecdotes that read like diary pages that offer little to no substance [at least to me]. At times it crosses into just plain inappropriate, with some writers detailing sexual encounters they had as children, and there are many topics in this book that should require some kind of content warning because, regardless of how bold one tries to be, one must be sensitive to the Achilles Heel of others, should it be a wide-scale Achilles Heel (rape, murder, violence against queer/trans people, etc.). Basically, some of these essays are just personal blurbs that don't really present a "challenge" to masculinity, objectification, or conformity -- those parts are immensely discombobulated and even more frustrating, they are at the very end.
Overall, I did really enjoy this book -- Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore is a phenomental writer and editor and I have yet to dislike any of her books, but also, admittedly -- perhaps I hyped this one up to myself a bit too much. I definitely still prefer "That's Revolting!" over this. But this is still good.
I really wanted to love this book -- I wanted this to be the best book I had ever read in gender and sexuality studies, a book that I could use in a syllabus should I ever start teaching. And in parts of this, it delivered just that: a bold critique of masculinity, internalized homophobia, patriarchy, and transphobia in the gay community. Queers from their early 20s to their 60s and 70s give firsthand accounts of their personal struggles with objectification throughout the decades. In these parts, it is amazing, worthy of being studied intently by anyone seeking to dismantle the capitalist, oppressive structure that is patriarchy and racism.
On the other hand, it veers off into just personal anecdotes that read like diary pages that offer little to no substance [at least to me]. At times it crosses into just plain inappropriate, with some writers detailing sexual encounters they had as children, and there are many topics in this book that should require some kind of content warning because, regardless of how bold one tries to be, one must be sensitive to the Achilles Heel of others, should it be a wide-scale Achilles Heel (rape, murder, violence against queer/trans people, etc.). Basically, some of these essays are just personal blurbs that don't really present a "challenge" to masculinity, objectification, or conformity -- those parts are immensely discombobulated and even more frustrating, they are at the very end.
Overall, I did really enjoy this book -- Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore is a phenomental writer and editor and I have yet to dislike any of her books, but also, admittedly -- perhaps I hyped this one up to myself a bit too much. I definitely still prefer "That's Revolting!" over this. But this is still good.
February 14, 2012
I needed a dose of liberation when I received this book in the mail from a friend. Consumerist forces and the need to fit a certain body type to feel attractive have plagued gay male subcultures in the United States for a long time. This book mostly filled the need for a dialogue on some of these issues by offering up a sobering number of perspectives in the form of essays. That being said, I can't help but expect more from a book that claims to challenge rather than reaffirm problematic subcultural norms. For example, in an essay on being fat and loving it, the author challenges pretty boys to recognize his largesse as desirable providing only examples of how he's after the chasers rather than the chased. If he actually intended to subvert the structure would he not be writing about his desire for men of size like himself? Not all essays fall into this trap, essays on being a brown femme in a new culture and a transgender boy lusting for other boys begin to break some new ground.
I guess I'm just post-modern enough to know that being critical of a paradigm often functions as a way to delineate and define it. That's what this book does: it delineates and defines problems with assimilation and equality as the only goals of a gay movement or a gay life. Unfortunately I can't help but think that these are the same problems that have confronted this movement and many others for years and I'm not left with any flaming tools or ideas to help me oppose it.
I guess I'm just post-modern enough to know that being critical of a paradigm often functions as a way to delineate and define it. That's what this book does: it delineates and defines problems with assimilation and equality as the only goals of a gay movement or a gay life. Unfortunately I can't help but think that these are the same problems that have confronted this movement and many others for years and I'm not left with any flaming tools or ideas to help me oppose it.
July 15, 2014
This book has to be the most powerful collection of essays I've read in my life, especially relating to queer identify and gender performance. I'm grateful for the good fortune I had to stumble upon this text. Each essay is brilliantly written and boldly attacks common prescriptions of how we should think of gender and sexuality. Some of these essays made me uncomfortable, exposing my AIDS-phobia as the oppressive monster it is, others made me cry, narrating agonies with which I am intimately acquainted. Reading this text for me was no less than an act of compassion and self-love, while it sharpened my critical gaze for quotidian acts of hate, violence and oppression.
September 30, 2013
Whether gut-wrenching, wistful, poignant, or raunchy, the pieces in this anthology make a two things clear: everybody wants to be whole and loved in whatever way they define and our culture of masculinity and patriarchy so often prevent the achievement of those two things. The breadth of experience and themes covered here is large, but those two opposing forces cut through much of the book.
June 29, 2019
Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots, edited by Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore
I hesitated a long time before reading this book. It’s been on my shelf for about a year. I have never been a deliberately provocative queer. Femmeness has never felt comfortable on my body. I have never liked the term “faggot,” laden with schoolboy hatred often preserved by homophobic masculinity far past boyhood. Still, the bright pink, the glitter, the obvious queerness of the cover dripping out of urine receptacles designed to preserve the standing height of masculine men, called to me.
Plucking up courage, I explored this remarkable essay collection. Predominantly first-person narrative, the essays range from professionally styled to being riddled with a fledgling rawness, both inescapably human and necessary in the performance which is queer writing. Sycamore has curated a book which does not just interrogate gay male experiences, as so many supposedly queer writings do exclusively, but truly queers our understanding of femme/masc binaries through the performativity of gender/sex, sexuality and sex acts, homelessness, disability, club culture, HIV/AIDS, activism and advocacy, and much more. Though each essay offers its own point, Sycamore uses these essays deftly as an intertextual argument for the word “faggot” as a political rallying cry not unlike “queer” in decades past (and present).
In some places, the writing was distractingly rough and I struggled to find meaning in the ordering of the essays. I also found myself wishing for at least a couple more structured, critical essays to replace some of the narratives. However, what this book lacked in style it makes up for in impact. I think it is going to sit with me for a long time while I question my own gender performance, wondering if there is a more provocative, femme queer worth exploring in my body which has never felt comfortable in any way.
I hesitated a long time before reading this book. It’s been on my shelf for about a year. I have never been a deliberately provocative queer. Femmeness has never felt comfortable on my body. I have never liked the term “faggot,” laden with schoolboy hatred often preserved by homophobic masculinity far past boyhood. Still, the bright pink, the glitter, the obvious queerness of the cover dripping out of urine receptacles designed to preserve the standing height of masculine men, called to me.
Plucking up courage, I explored this remarkable essay collection. Predominantly first-person narrative, the essays range from professionally styled to being riddled with a fledgling rawness, both inescapably human and necessary in the performance which is queer writing. Sycamore has curated a book which does not just interrogate gay male experiences, as so many supposedly queer writings do exclusively, but truly queers our understanding of femme/masc binaries through the performativity of gender/sex, sexuality and sex acts, homelessness, disability, club culture, HIV/AIDS, activism and advocacy, and much more. Though each essay offers its own point, Sycamore uses these essays deftly as an intertextual argument for the word “faggot” as a political rallying cry not unlike “queer” in decades past (and present).
In some places, the writing was distractingly rough and I struggled to find meaning in the ordering of the essays. I also found myself wishing for at least a couple more structured, critical essays to replace some of the narratives. However, what this book lacked in style it makes up for in impact. I think it is going to sit with me for a long time while I question my own gender performance, wondering if there is a more provocative, femme queer worth exploring in my body which has never felt comfortable in any way.
January 7, 2017
This book is offensive, disgusting, tragic, painful, and beautiful in all the right ways. It promises to present "flaming challenges to masculinity, objectification, and the desire to conform," and it does. In spades. The book is a collection of essays, many of which are chapter-length snapshot memoirs into the lives of the authors. As with almost any collection of works, the essays are not very cohesive and range in quality; however, unlike most collections, the essays in this volume range from pretty good to excellent.
The collection of authors challenge ideas based around marriage equality, masculinity and passing, race, the repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell, ability, gender, the HIV/AIDS "industry's" top-down approach to treatment, and so much more. It is a radical book for radical queers, and for me, it was a breath of fresh air. Mattilda Bernsetein Sycamore's introduction sets the stage. Judging from the amount of highlights in my copy, my three favorite essays were "Death by Masculinity" by Ali Abbas, examining masculinity and racial and anti-Islamic stereotypes; a conversation between Michael J. Faris and ML Sugie titled "Fucking with Fucking Online: Advocating for Indiscriminate Promiscuity" describing the rise of dating apps and websites and the prejudices that are written off as "preferences" bring; and "Penis Is Important for That" by Nick Clarkson, which follows Nick as he bears some of the emotional labor for a potential date over the fact that Nick is a transman and does not have a penis. There are so many other amazing essays and stories in this volume beyond the three I mentioned.
The collection of authors challenge ideas based around marriage equality, masculinity and passing, race, the repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell, ability, gender, the HIV/AIDS "industry's" top-down approach to treatment, and so much more. It is a radical book for radical queers, and for me, it was a breath of fresh air. Mattilda Bernsetein Sycamore's introduction sets the stage. Judging from the amount of highlights in my copy, my three favorite essays were "Death by Masculinity" by Ali Abbas, examining masculinity and racial and anti-Islamic stereotypes; a conversation between Michael J. Faris and ML Sugie titled "Fucking with Fucking Online: Advocating for Indiscriminate Promiscuity" describing the rise of dating apps and websites and the prejudices that are written off as "preferences" bring; and "Penis Is Important for That" by Nick Clarkson, which follows Nick as he bears some of the emotional labor for a potential date over the fact that Nick is a transman and does not have a penis. There are so many other amazing essays and stories in this volume beyond the three I mentioned.
March 4, 2021
tl;dr - it's a banger.
There's an itch that I find difficult to scratch in writing which is to do with finding writing by / about men which does emotions and vulnerability without being sickly or smug. This is that. It's a book of anecdotes, stories, confessions.
The title is a brilliant provocation - kind of like a sassy rhetorical stamp. Ultimately the question is answered obliquely - this a book about anxieties and frustrations and utterly drenched in wit and care. It's like a manual, maybe, on the things men go through. And it's largely centred on queer men but I'd say it's useful for men in general. As in set text.
Covers a massive territory - big themes like race, gender, sex, and big queer themes like lust and barebacking and sex work. And being gay and native American. And drop-down menus on gay sites. And people who are arseholes about men who don't have dicks. And, like, loads of stuff.
I wouldn't say there's a specific theme except to say that the editor's coralled everyone into some beautiful, touching honesty. It's an absolutely gorgeous collection. It's got all the hilarity of catty drag queens and kings, all the terrors of queerphobia, stories of the astonishing depredations of AIDS, 80s to present... It's often absolutely brutal but the sumeffect is that of just a lovely set of warm, generous, intelligent men being (ahem) as fabulous as can be. Or not, to fit.
Very immediately one of those books I'll excitedly buy for someone's birthday.
There's an itch that I find difficult to scratch in writing which is to do with finding writing by / about men which does emotions and vulnerability without being sickly or smug. This is that. It's a book of anecdotes, stories, confessions.
The title is a brilliant provocation - kind of like a sassy rhetorical stamp. Ultimately the question is answered obliquely - this a book about anxieties and frustrations and utterly drenched in wit and care. It's like a manual, maybe, on the things men go through. And it's largely centred on queer men but I'd say it's useful for men in general. As in set text.
Covers a massive territory - big themes like race, gender, sex, and big queer themes like lust and barebacking and sex work. And being gay and native American. And drop-down menus on gay sites. And people who are arseholes about men who don't have dicks. And, like, loads of stuff.
I wouldn't say there's a specific theme except to say that the editor's coralled everyone into some beautiful, touching honesty. It's an absolutely gorgeous collection. It's got all the hilarity of catty drag queens and kings, all the terrors of queerphobia, stories of the astonishing depredations of AIDS, 80s to present... It's often absolutely brutal but the sumeffect is that of just a lovely set of warm, generous, intelligent men being (ahem) as fabulous as can be. Or not, to fit.
Very immediately one of those books I'll excitedly buy for someone's birthday.
June 5, 2023
it’s an anthology so there’s bound to be standouts, forgettable entries, poignant scenes and losers in the group. but this was an anthology that was less than the sum of its parts.
for a book titled ‘why are faggots so afraid of faggots’ i guess i was foolishly thinking that each essay was going to be attempting to address that central question of why there is internal policing, why republican gays are so willing to turn their backs, why the political message of queers made a shift from true liberation to conformity. and some of the entries do that! but so many of the entries are half coherent ramblings without a message that would have it fit in this book.
i’d be interested in seeing what prompt was given to contributors, if any! or what the selection and editing process looked like, if the goal of cutting down submissions even even happened. overall it’s fine. there were some essays that i devoured and was genuinely moved by. there were other essays that i slogged through and felt little other than annoyed. i think everyone was invited to the table and that didn’t read right for this book
for a book titled ‘why are faggots so afraid of faggots’ i guess i was foolishly thinking that each essay was going to be attempting to address that central question of why there is internal policing, why republican gays are so willing to turn their backs, why the political message of queers made a shift from true liberation to conformity. and some of the entries do that! but so many of the entries are half coherent ramblings without a message that would have it fit in this book.
i’d be interested in seeing what prompt was given to contributors, if any! or what the selection and editing process looked like, if the goal of cutting down submissions even even happened. overall it’s fine. there were some essays that i devoured and was genuinely moved by. there were other essays that i slogged through and felt little other than annoyed. i think everyone was invited to the table and that didn’t read right for this book
July 11, 2017
Incredible contributions demonstrating the diverse and transient queer narrative. Intersectional at times, argumentative, disgruntled, seeking peace and security, while trying to fit in, learning how to pass, and asserting self to take up space. Defining oneself on ones terms. There are some contributions that don't seem to fit in, and enough grammar and spelling errors to make my writing style fit in, but at times it feels sloppy. And while their are distinct pieces of diversity, the general tone and voice often feels ~generally~ the same sort of queer gonzo diary journalism. But I guess that's life, and that's apart of the book. Fuck the norm, assimilate to comfort, learn to chose battles, be messy, be clean, be reckless, be careful... it is refreshingly personable. The writers passionately demand to be taken seriously as humans who deserve respect and queer liberation
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