Details magazine, that closeted little glossy, reports on a new breed of power, cash and ego-swinging male: the Alpha Gay.
"Make way for the A-gays. Moneyed, successful, educated, and comfortable in their own skin, they're fast becoming the new archetype of cosmopolitan masculinity. The urban man's man. They don't own yappy miniature dogs or time-shares in Fort Lauderdale; they own Labradors and four-bedroom summer homes in Sag Harbor."
So, who's an A-gay? Tom Ford. Who's not? Carson Kressley. And who's at the bottom of the pecking order of power-fags? The Corky St. Claire's of the world.
You know the type: A bleached-tipped-dandy with a fold-out soap box who, when not "advocating" for some gay issue (take your pic here: gay marriage, AIDS, whatever - it's really an excuse to talk to mostly disinterested people about his life, workout habits, issues with food and his circle of bottom-rung 'mos) is usually on the arm of some overweight chica who knows not what an A-gay really is and so puts the trainwreck, C-list gay, on a pedestal.
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Were it not for the fact that I don't have Tom Ford money, I'd slap you with a leather glove and toss a martini in your face to remind you that I'm an Alpha-gay.
But - as a fellow young Alpha astutely observed - among twenty-something gays, trajectory matters more than personal finances. If a young gay is going places - making friends with the boss, cutting c-gays off at the pass with intellect and panache - he's on his way to Alpha status. Throw in a smart, successful boyfriend (check) and I might be throwing drinks in your face after all.
That's 'cuz A-gays don't do nice.
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