Honestly, where would we fags be without our hags?
Seriously, after the hype and subsequent come down of Mardi Gras I had a bad case of writers block...
“I have no idea what to write about,” I complained over dinner.
“Why don’t you write about me?” one of my hags suggested?
On the drunken stumble home I thought, “why not?” They’ve always been there for us, quietly (sometime not so quietly) supporting from the shadows while the fags take the spotlight.
So now it’s time to give them a little bit of kudos.
Often, I’ve find that hags kind of slip into the role from a young age. They will be the ones young gays turn to just after they’ve come out, the parents are freaking and the gay needs a place to hang out until the shit storm blows over. The would-be hag is there to nurture, support and convince the gay that everything will be OK (while stroking their perfectly conditioned teenage hair). Come on, we’re born that way – we know good hair takes work from a young age!
From there, they are set on a one-way course to Fag Hag-dom. The gay knows she’s a solid rock and so she accompanies him on all of his homo milestones; they are there for the first gay clubbing experience, they hear about all of the first sexual experiences (all of the gory details which she secretly loves and soon she is fluent in gayenese – top, bottom, douche, etc.) She is also sat next to her fag for every episode of the essential Queer As Folk marathon that every young gay embarks on in order to earn his stripes. The hag experiences every Rite of Passage as if it's her own and at no point does she want to share the glory. She’s like a zookeeper raising a Galapagos turtle till it reaches its sexual peak and then remaining present to steer the horny little bastard on the right path.
A lot of people think that hags only hang out with gays because they can’t get a man of their own. However, in my experience the fact that she can’t get a straight man is a byproduct of the bitch’s bulldog-like loyalty. I guess this is becoming less of an issue now that social boundaries are breaking down and it’s more acceptable for straight dudes to party topless in clubs like ARQ. But that’s where our loyalty kicks in – “Hell no are you going home with that fugly Westie, he’s off his face and I’m not picking you up in the morning. WERQ! Back to the dance floor, betch!”
Now I know I’m evangelising hags, but I know there are many (many!) feral hags who get caught up in the gay lifestyle just as much as their twink and become quite nasty. They take too many drugs, pick fights and are quite often ‘that gurl’ in Smoker’s Alley at ARQ. Laugh her off. She won’t last.
So here’s to the hags; seasoned or up-and-coming, young or old, past or present. Even though we may say we love you all the time, you really don’t know how much you mean to us and how much you’ve done for us. We lover you!