So outta nowhere, Anette bought me three nice new shirts. (Well, maybe she was responding to my awesome Mothers' Day present to her, but...) Normally, this would be all Good. But one of them has caused a bit of a furor here at the Euro Like Me editorial headquarters. Here it is:
This may finally be too much for me. Note the tight fit, the plunging neckline, and, well, the hue. Because, as an American male heterosexualist, I can only go so far over the thin pink line.
Once upon a time, I got a few kicks by provoking micro-bursts of homophobia, gender confusion and bizarre color prejudices simply by wearing a pink shirt. Even the most seemingly progressive people, particularly Americans, go Neanderthal when they see a man in pink. "Oooh, Pat, are you trying to tell us something?"
European men, even straight ones, seem much more comfortable rocking the rosa. But I just don't know if my transformation into a full-on, stinky cheese-eating, high tax paying, color-care-free Euro-dude is complete yet. It seems that the pink chickens may have come home to roost. Or maybe it's perfectly normal for a guy to occasionally ask, 'Do I look gay in this?'
And would it matter if I did? Some of my best girlfriends have been fag hags. (It's a very sneaky maneuver: at first, they think, 'He's gay-I'm safe.' Then you pounce.) And it's not like I haven't ever been mistaken for a lesbian. It feels a little funny the first time, but then you move on.
Is it really so important that strangers on the U-Bahn know which team I'm playing for? Apparently so.