Here’s an online column about tranny culture that I read weeks ago that I whole-heartedly agree with. Though it was written last year, it still holds true now. Simon Doonan doesn’t mince words in telling us how trannies have been an unacknowledged force in the gay movement. More so, they’re not given the proper respect accorded to them.
Though I have never felt the need to chop off my own willie, I take no issue with those who have. On the contrary, the trannies of the world and I have always hit it off. The best thing about living in New York was always the high density of cross-dressers, transgendered persons, drag queens, hermaphrodites and what-have-yous who sprinkled their fairy dust on all and sundry at L’Escualita, the Pyramid Club, the Copa and other unsavory boîtes. Does anyone still remember G.G.’s Barnum Room? Mandy, Candy, Sandy, Ava and Potassa … thanks for the memories! You “girls” were funny, you were crazy, you freaked people out, and you never failed to add a sizzle of Warholian glamour to any occasion. And you had guts: When the chips were down, it was purse-wielding trannies who subdued the police at the Stonewall riots, while the “butch” clones trembled on the sidelines in their Lacoste shirts.
Let me warn you that it’s a long column, but believe me, it’s a fast read. Click here.
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