 When will our community get over its Kylie
fixation? Jody Horowitz wants to know.
The only thing sadder than watching the
ageing and criminally self-obsessed Kylie Minogue these days, is witnessing the
pathetic and undying reverence the gay community has extended to her for so
many years, with so little reward back.
If you imagine she holds us in the same reverent regard as we do her, just
count the interviews she delivers to the embarrassingly adoring gay press and
the number of creative excuses she always fabricates to explain away her lack
of attendance at Sydney’s
Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras (the most recent delivered to a fawning Larry
Emdur).
That wonderfully practiced smile, fake accent and manufactured personality
return only when a new album, video or concert tour is being promoted.
You would have to be seriously drug-addled, or slightly brain dead, not to
notice the carefully staged interview she recently delivered on Sunrise; in her sparkling
metallic dress, with her cosmetically enhanced face. Even a deaf man could hear
that not one genuine moment was shared once she opened her mouth.
She exhibited all the artificial warmth of a sunlamp.
How stupid are we allowing ourselves to become? It’s like that ridiculous old
excuse you always hear on The Jerry
Springer Show when yet another abused guest is asked, ‘But why do you allow
your boyfriend to beat you up and lock you in the house?’
The answer is always the same: ‘But I love him!’
Ask Tina Turner what love has to do with it. She’s weathered her share of angry
fists.
I filed for a quick Mexican divorce from Ms Minogue the day I heard her
drumming up business on Foxtel’s Max music
channel.
“Sometimes I’ll be walking down the street, just to pick up something at a
store, and even I forget who I am,” she bleated.
The attempt at false modesty nearly made me sick.
Yes, Kylie, you might be considered a priceless gay icon to many, but you
haven’t reached sainthood yet. (Although her legion of fans is probably
petitioning the Pope right now. And burning my effigy, too.)
Why does the gay community offer its hard-earned money and feverish devotion to
people who couldn’t care less about us – until they have a new CD or DVD to
flog? Isn’t it a bit like having sex with a straight man and making believe he
really loves us, and not his wife?
Why don’t we more diligently support our own struggling gay artists instead of
wasting our metaphoric chocolates and flowers on unrequited lovers? We’ve let
irreplaceable talents like Janis Ian, to name but one, slip into obscurity in
favour of someone with a cute arse and a snappy hairdo.
Why are we more interested in Madonna and Kylie than Rufus Wainwright and kd
lang? What did Garland, Minnelli, Davis or Ross ever do for
us?
Isn’t time we rubbed the glitter from our eyes, washed the gel from our hair,
and found out who are friends really are?
 |
Opinion 
Subscribe to this comment's feed