False Idol

I don’t watch American Idol. I’ve never been big on karaoke and I’m even less a fan of manufactured excitement and public humiliation. I am, however, a fan of talent. Adam Lambert is talented. Sure, that Kris guy is talented, too. And he seems awfully nice. But Adam is a star. You can’t quantify what that means, other than to say that once you see him you probably will never forget him. I can’t say the same for that Kris guy. This is, of course, a very long way of saying that the wrong guy won last night. We all know this. It can’t be refuted. But instead of wanting to scream at my TV or throw a shoe or curse into the darkness mad (because, again, I am totally not that invested in this unholy phenomena responsible for the Ryan Seacrestification of the universe), I am just deflated.

You see, we – all of us gays and queers and misfits and weirdos – thought America was finally ready. We were ready for a gay idol. Everyone was calling him the one to beat. He was the one to beat. It was going to happen. We were so close. Then, then that nice unthreatening, boring Kris guy won. And all of us gays and queers and misfits and weirdos sighed and said, “Not again.” But, once again, America dissapoints us. For all the strides we make and the comfort we feel in our homes, offices, places of worship and ultimately own skin, it still means something when the wider world looks at us and says, “Hey, kid, you’re OK.” So, when instead of giving us the pat on the head we get the cold shoulder, it hurts. It frustrates. It mystifies. I’m not saying The Gay is the only reason Adam lost. You can never underestimate a tween’s love for a boring boy. (Zac Efron, anyone?) Still when that Kris guy won, I feel like The Gays (along with anyone with ears, taste and common sense) took it the worst. Because even if Adam isn’t really gay (cough, he is, cough), or doesn’t ultimately call himself gay (cough, he will, cough), he is gay to America. And that’s what matters. The glam, the guyliner, the gayness. It was all just too much for people who like their world (and boys) nice, unthreatening, boring.

So, again, we wait. We wait for the pat, the nod, the thumbs up on everything from marriage to service in the military to who has the right to record some god-awful song. We know, no matter what they say, we’re better than that. And now at least we won’t have to pretend to like “No Boundaries.” Consider yourself a winner, Adam Lambert. Because you are one, you big fabulous homo, you.