In an effort to dispel the doom and gloom surrounding the subject in today’s media, Dylan Jones takes a less negative stance on the relationship between drugs and gay men
Debates about chem-seshes, chillouts and gay men’s attitude towards drugs are certainly the topic du-jour in the media right now. Everyone from Dazed to the BBC have covered it, with viewpoints varying from the cautiously understanding and reasonably informed to the unashamedly judgemental and woefully misinformed.
There’s no shortage of angles either: gay men take drugs because they hate themselves; gay men take drugs because they’re an inferior subspecies, have no imagination, and it’s the only way they can have fun; gay men take drugs because of an inherent propensity towards hedonism; gay men take drugs because of Madonna (that one might be partly true to be fair, I mean Confessions, WHAT a poppers o’ clock album).
The dialogue on it has become RELENTLESS to the point of saturation. Everyone’s talked about it so much that it has actually started to resemble one of those conversations you end up having on drugs at a chillout: rambling, repetitive and with no ultimate conclusion, until the next thing you know you’re on the overground on the way home at 4pm the next day thinking “what the fuck was I ON about?”
Anyway, the general consensus is that they’re BAD. Bad, bad, bad. Naughty. Sit on the naughty step. Or perhaps the snorty step. The upshot of that is that people are starting to feel ashamed, and trying to hide their illicit late night/early morning escapades. Which of course carries a whole new host of implications and dangers. Not to mention PARANOIA. Don’t pretend you’ve never had a paranoid Tuesday where you’re on the tube or at work and suddenly EVERYONE KNOWS. THEY KNOW.
Well it’s high time (so to speak) that we dispelled some of the clouds of gloom settling over London on the subject. Well, not all of London; there’s a big one over Shoreditch and Dalston, and a whispy one over Vauxhall. People are getting scared, or angry, or both and nobody really seems to know what they think of it anymore. It’s time we got up off the sofa, switched off Grindr, threw open the curtains, went onto the balcony for a cigarette, and had a good long chat about the nicer aspects of it all.
I, for one, have made some brilliant friends at chillouts and after-parties. They have a knack of bringing together a wonderfully unlikely social kaleidoscope of people together, from various cultures, classes and professions that you’d otherwise NEVER see in one place. Lawyers spilling the tea with drag queens, lesbian fashion designers discussing theology with Nandos employees, an escort sharing a banana with a supply teacher. You can encounter unexpected idols sometimes too. I once had a lovely chat about psychology with a guy I recognised from one of my favourite music videos. NOT NAMING ANY NAMES.
“It’s a welcome, unique respite from the stressful lives we ALL live”
I’ve actually done some valuable career networking at after-parties. Every time I’ve found myself in the company of at least one model, writer, recording artist or photographer. Which, as you can imagine, is rather useful if you’re a journalist. Of course it might all be lies, but fishing out the truth is part of the fun!
But that’s the other thing. It doesn’t always have to be about sex, by any stretch. Some of the aforementioned badly informed, judgemental media on gay after-parties has painted an image of naked writhing bodies, sweat, used condoms strewn over soft furnishings. And that DOES happen, obvs. But a huge part of it isn’t about that. A friend coined the phrase ‘chum sesh’, for a platonic after-party with your mates. Well, not totally platonic; if you happen to fancy someone there and happen to indulge in a bit of heavy petting in the bathroom, then so be it, but it’s certainly not the cum-splattered sex fest people make it out to be.
Seán Faye recently wrote a piece for Dazed & Confused on the subject of chemsex and the shifting behaviour and attitudes gay men have towards the issue.
“The problem with most of the mainstream media coverage of ‘chemsex’ is that people hear ‘group sex’ and ‘drugs’ and imagine some kind of wild Dionysian orgy,” he says. “In fact, when I’ve spoken to men about their experiences – a lot of them focus more on the social than the sexual aspects. Speak to any man about what actually happens at a chill outs and you’ll hear there is a lot of waiting-around time because no one can get it up.”
“A media conversation about chemsex is good, but the social side is so much more interesting than the sex itself. “
Seán touches on another interesting variable; gatherings that start off as sex parties but ultimately rather than sliding into each other, people slowly slide into being sociable.
“Guys have debates about popstars while high, for example,” Seán continues. “I think some men go to just meet new people as much as they do to have sex. A media conversation about chemsex is good, but the social side is so much more interesting than the sex itself. One of the most interesting regrets I’ve heard men who go to chillouts every single weekend express is losing touch with their female friends, for example. There are certainly some who become dependent on drugs or go because of feelings of shame and self-hatred. But to impose that storyline on everyone is just hand-wringing that groups all gay/bi men together and frustrates a proper discussion.”
Often you just end up having a chat. You chat absolute shit a lot of the time, but that’s fine. And every so often you touch on a great topic, about politics, or social issues or religion, and it really, genuinely, can be an interesting and rewarding experience. You learn a lot about people you thought you knew already, some of it bad, some it good. Either way it opens the mind, cements relationships and gives you an insight into both your closest friends and complete strangers, that you never thought you’d have.
Another thing that’s fun is THE DRESSING UP. There is always dressing up! If there’s a wig lying around, someone will put it on, and once that happens it’s a free-for-all. Holey tights worn as tube tops. Old curtains worn as frocks. Especially if you’ve got a sewing machine, or if there’s a drag queen present, the possibilities are endless.
Part of the joy of it all is just having a license to be absolutely ridiculous. It’s a welcome, unique respite from the stressful lives we ALL live, in a world of Crossrail and luxury flats and topping up your Oyster. A lot of people accuse it of being escapism, and it is. So is going to the cinema and watching Jurassic World. So is binging on Netflix. So is gorging yourself on salt and vinegar Pringles. But it’s certainly not because we hate ourselves. If anything it’s because we LOVE ourselves. Hashtag gay pride. Hashtag born this way.
