What Not To Wear

It’s true – all gay men like fashion in some realm or another, nay I say, love fashion. Whether it be a makeover show like What Not To Wear, or the fashion challenges of Project Runway – where one day your in, the next day your out; Auf Wiedersehen, kiss, kiss -- all gay men can be roped in like Sarah Palin to an NRA meeting. When I lived stateside, one of my favorite ways to pass a Saturday or Sunday was lying on my couch and watching marathons of What Not To Wear with Stacy London and Clinton Kelly. Let me be the first to say that they are ruthless, caddy, superficial, and down right mean. In short, I think the three of us would have a great time together – so long as I’m wearing my Christian Dior and not my Crocs.

During my beach time alone on Koh Samet, I quickly realized that I had my own personal episode of What Not To Wear unfolding before my very eyes. I soon discovered that the beaches of Thailand were a veritable force of over-confidence mixed with a lack of personal shame and humility. It was during this time alone that I took it upon myself to snap some candid shots of my fellow beach-goers. Move over Stacie & Clinton because have I got a show for you!

I’d like to begin with beach etiquette. When traveling to another country, it is important to always take into consideration the culture into which you are trying to assimilate. Some people believe that the beaches of Thailand are simply an extension of the French Riviera or Greek Isles, where only the prudes don’t get nude. However, it is seen as quite a slap in the face when you go topless at a beach in Thailand – much like this woman.
Her only saving grace was the fact that her chest was still above her waistline, which is much more than I could say for most of other women who were going topless. I hope she applied her SPF – wouldn’t want those things getting aged by the sun like an old catcher’s mitt.

Another important aspect of beaching and beach etiquette is being considerate of those around you. This includes playing loud music, smoking, enjoying fun activities in the sand, children, and my personal favorite; the mobile phone. This woman was either Russian or Polish, and I kid you not when I say she was on the phone every 15 minutes. However, instead of sitting in her chair with the rest of her beach companions, she took it upon herself to pace a 25 foot span of beach while talking incredibly loud on her phone. Apparently she didn’t want to disturb her friends by talking on the phone near them. Instead, she was kind enough to share her conversation with the rest of us, who were sitting near the water’s edge, trying to enjoy our holiday. By about the fifth time she did this I wanted to walk up to her, throw her mobile phone in the ocean, and remind her that it’s difficult to hear someone when waves are crashing at your feet, and that screaming into the phone does not enhance the conversation for the person on the other end – please have a seat and stop disturbing the peace! I might have been more apt to dismiss her behavior, had she been speaking a pretty language like French, Italian, or British English. Listening to Polish & Russian is akin to spending a day at an assisted-living facility during cold & flu season – all that hacking and gurgling in the back of the throat – it’s enough to make you clear your own throat.

Next, I’d like to bring us to the swimsuit competition. This, contrary to popular belief, is also another aspect of beach etiquette. I understand that some people are very secure in their bodies, and don’t care what anyone else thinks, and for that I applaud them. However, your choice in swimsuit attire is not only a decision you have to live with, it’s also a decision my eyes have to live with – including whatever searing images you permanently impress upon my memory. So, unless you can be plucked from the white sandy beaches and stand-in for a Calvin Klein Underwear Advert, let’s be considerate with our swimwear choices.
I am not criticizing the choice in bikini – though that would not have been my first choice. What I am questioning is – why cheetah? Didn’t her girlfriends tell her that animal print makes everything look bigger?!? The only way this could have been worse is if it was a Brazilian thong – but at least there would be one more cheetah in the world.

I’ve never been one for matchy-match – that is, someone who loves to pull on their denim jeans, with their denim jacket, with a denim cowboy hat, with some denim boats – all in the same rinse of course. Or, that friend – we all have one – who insists that their shoes must match their shirt, or specifically coordinate weird items of their outfit to match. Though I despise matchy-match, I truly detest matchy-match couples. I thought I had seen it all when it came to matchy-match couples – the his and her Mickey & Minnie Mouse sweatshirts, the sports team apparel when not at a sporting event; but I was truly disgusted to see matchy-match swimwear.I’m secure in my masculinity, and I’m fine with wearing pink – pink polo, pink bandana, pink woven, pink tie, and even pink paisley (never all together). I would even entertain the idea of a pink swimming costume, but to match with my girlfriend?!? I am going to leave this woman with one word of advice – if this was his idea, you’re only one step away from him asking for a threesome with you, him and another guy, which is really only one step away from you becoming his Matron of Honor at the commitment ceremony; thus leaving you alone with your cat and having Cathy comics taped to your refrigerator for the rest of your life. Do you get what I’m saying?

Women are not the only ones who need to be considerate with their swimsuit choices – some men are beginning to toe a fine-line in the sand with their choices of swimwear. I’m gay, so I it’s in my genetics to embrace brands like Speedo, Aussie Bum, Calvin Klein, Ginch Gonch & 2xist when it comes to choosing a swimsuit. And again, I understand that we cannot all have the body of Michael Phelps (God bless him) when we put on our Speedos for a day at the beach, nor can we all look like the Australian Crew Team (God bless them, too) when we put on our Aussie Bums – however, they make different sizes, different styles, different colors, different cuts, and even different brands. In short, these companies have finally given men the same options that women have had for decades, allowing men to compliment their figure and body type. However, this does not negate common decency.
There is a point when I will realize that my Aussie Bums are no longer appropriate for my beach-going days, and I will hang them up for something more appropriate for my deteriorating figure – like a burlap sack, or floor-length tunic. Though given my love for the sun, I have a feeling skin cancer will pull me off the beach long before I need to consider what not to wear.

What? ... WHAT?

Koh Lanta

My brother arrives in Thailand after traveling for nearly a day. He’s exhausted, looks like death warmed up, and smells absolutely foul – the same way I would image the hotel room smells after that infamous wrestling scene in Borat. It’s after 01:00AM in Bangkok, and I’m half asleep; painstakingly trying to make a dent in Anna Kerenina as I wait for him in the lobby of the Holiday Inn on Silom Road. I too have had my fair share of traveling – nearly 10 and a half hours on a train in Thailand. Exhausted, but I’m thrilled to start my holiday!

Though I’m elated to see my brother, I can’t muster anything more than a hug and a few grunts to acknowledge the journey he’s gone through to meet me here. Nearly comatose, we drop our bags off in the hotel room and he picks up his second or third wind –
“Wanna go out? Get a drink?”
My facial expression must have done all the talking for me because he quickly amends that comment with details of going to the bar in the hotel lobby. Wanting to spend as much waking time with my brother as possible, I reluctantly agree and we head down to the lobby for what I will come to know as his evening nightcap – 3 Henekeins.

As we enter the bar in the lobby, we are met by an empty room and 4 Thai staff sitting at the bar. They approach us and proceed to tell us that the bar is closed for the evening, but that we can order drinks or food from the restaurant. I turn and head toward the lobby restaurant and my brother, still standing there, asks the woman to repeat what she has just said. She repeats it for him, and we head out to the restaurant. At the table, the waitress asks us what we would like to order.
“What?” Asks my brother.
I chalk his lack of comprehension to the fact that he was still severely jet lagged from his recent journey.

We have the entire next day to spend in Bangkok, as our flight to Krabi wasn’t until the following day. We decide to venture into the city and do some sight-seeing and exploring. After a few hours, my brother begins to complain about the heat – like an old Jewish woman complaining about the neighbors. We were both in nearly the exact same outfit – flip-flops, jeans, and white t-shirts. It’s like we were the Hardy Boys on some mission to find the missing Buddah. He’s sweating, complaining about the heat –
“Aren’t you hot?!? I’m sweating – this is ridiculous! How are you not hot?!? You’re kidding, right?!? Tell me you’re not hot”
Apparently I’ve been in Thailand longer than I thought because the heat has no effect on me. We stop for lunch, at which point I order an Americano Ron (hot). I swear, my brother looked at me like I had 4 heads.
“You’re ordering hot coffee? Are you serious?”
I simply shrug – I figure it would baffle him if I try to explain that warm liquids on the inside cool me on the outside. I sip my hot Americano, avoiding the eyes of judgment and disbelief that are shooting at me from behind his face that is wet with sweat.

The next day, we board our ridiculously early flight to Krabi –08:00AM departure time. I’m not sure if it’s the change in cabin pressure, the food at the airport, or the in-flight boxed meal of processed pastries and orange juice, but no more than half-way through our hou-long flight I knew something very un-lady-like was going to happen in the Krabi International Airport. Being as it’s only my brother and I sitting in the exit row on the airplane, I share this thought with him. Apparently my brother though I spoke louder than I should have because the flight attendant in the jump seat across from us gave me a smile and half-laugh.
“You know, she probably speaks better English than both of us, and understood what you just said” says my brother after my dysentery disclosure.
I simply shrug.

Upon landing in Krabi, our first order of business is to get our rental car. Let me rephrase that – my brother’s first order of business was to get our rental car. Me, I had more pressing issues to attend to.
“Can’t you just hold it? I need your help speaking with the lady at the counter,” begs my brother.
I look at him in bewilderment. The lady at the Avis counter speaks English!
“I know, but I can’t understand her – just stay for another minute,” my brother pleaded.
I knew that if I didn’t get to where I needed to go in the next minute, we were going to have a murder on the dance floor, or planters peanuts moment real quick – POP!

I return to the counter just as my brother and the Avis representative are finishing up the paperwork.
“Please, sign X,” says the kind Thai woman behind the counter.
“WHAT?” exclaims my brother in complete bewilderment.
I look at him before the woman can respond –
“She needs you to sign at the X for the rental agreement.”
My brother glanced over at me like I had the knowledge and skills of a UN Interpreter and we were at peace talks with the Iranians. It was at this point that I realized – my brother wasn’t accustomed to listening to “English” with a Thai accent. He would compensate by asking “What … WHAT?” As though getting LOUDER would help the Thai woman better understand him.

After the Avis representative left to retrieve our automobile, I tried to explain the intricacies of traveling in a land where they are speaking your language, but it is not their mother tongue. In my town, I’m accustomed to listening to broken English with a Thai accent. It’s akin to listening to someone from the inner-city, deep south, or Scottland. They’re speaking the same language, but it just requires some patience to understand. In my few months of living here, I’ve learned to boil everything down to the basics and keep it slow.
I want water please.
Where is the toilet?
Can I have Nueng (one in Thai)?
My brother wasn’t keeping it slow – instead, he simply got louder and louder and louder with the person he was speaking with. In the same way I would communicate with my fellow towns people in Lampang, I slowly explained in the most rudimentary words, how talking louder does not help when speaking with foreigners.
Frustrated, my brother proclaimed, “Well, maybe next time you’ll be able to hold your shit until after the paperwork is complete!”
I simply replied, “What … WHAT?!?”