June 21, 2023: It's Not For You -

When my daughter was little, we’d sometimes leaf through clothing catalogs together, comparing style opinions: Yes, No, NEVER. One time, we finished a catalog, something like Forever 21, and I said, “Wow, I didn’t like one single thing.” She gave me The Look and said, “Mom, it’s not FOR you.”

This still slays me.

I’ve been not-the-target audience at two events recently: the Radical Faerie Arts Fest, and the 11 pm showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Clinton Street Theater.

I went to the RadFaF opening because a friend had his paintings there, and because the timing was so easy. I had to be downtown anyway, an hour later, for a dinner meeting, dress code: Business Casual. So I had on a dress, and my white jacket, and my pearls – I looked the very opposite of Radical or Faerie-like, not that I generally look all that close.

There were two greeters on the door, both bedecked in tie-dye and jewels and feathers, and they weren’t sure about me, for which I don’t blame them one bit. “Hi?” said one uncertainly. “Are you here for the … art show?”   

“As a matter of fact, I AM,” I said, and he pointed me up the stairs and to the elevator.

This exchange was perfectly fine. I knew I looked like someone who might not be an ally. When I got to the show (on the third floor), most of the people were sumptuously dressed, the vibe was festive, and the art was fun, good, and/or provocative. I’m still thinking about some of it.

On the way out, I was coming down the stairs, and I saw the welcome team open the door to two men, both wearing khaki pants and polo shirts. My point here is: the guys looked no more radical, or faerie-like than I did, but they were greeted with, “Hello, you two FABULOUS creatures!”

I whined, “You didn’t greet ME that way!” I was mostly teasing. I assumed the greeter knew the two guys in plain-clothes-drag and was hailing them like the old friends they were.

But he took my protest hard. He so wanted to be inclusive and welcoming. He looked stricken, and then he dug deep and said gallantly, “Goodbye, you … lovely thing!”  And I said, “Thank you so much!” and gave him a cheery wave. I think we all came out feeling chipper.

The 11 pm Rocky Horror was, I am informed, exactly like all such shows everywhere – audience members dressed up and shouted at the screen, and some of them got up on stage and mimicked the actors, and there was a big pre-show, with “virgins” (those of us who had not attended before) called up on stage and given challenges, etc.

I went with a young friend who was the absolutely perfect companion. We dressed up, she worked on my makeup, and we made a pact that we could leave if the enjoyment began to pale. We lasted about an hour and a half, and then mutually agreed it was fun but weird and cultish, and we bailed. Ta-daaa! Checked one off the Must Do This Sometime list.

Anyway, even though this time I wore the right get-up, including tacky fishnets and glitter makeup, I was STILL Not the Target Audience, by virtue of my advanced years. I believe I embarrassed the MC (no mean feat) by rising to the challenge posed for my group. (We had to fake orgasms. Most contestants let out one short mini-yelp along the lines of “eep.” Cowards.  I got second place. First place went to the final contestant, a mom in her forties who had brought her sixteen year old daughter to the show. The mom’s fake orgasm went on forever, and had all the classic “Yes, Yes, Yes, No, NO, Don’t Stop” talky bits, whereas mine featured a variety of high-quality wordless moans. I don’t know if the sixteen year old daughter survived.)

We are so weird about age, right? Maybe not you, but the rest of us are. You’ve seen the birthday cards.

Anyway, the next night, I got a fortune in my fortune cookie:

I have studied this sentence, and I believe it implies that my prime is yet to arrive. Don’t you think? Otherwise it wouldn’t say “Be on the alert,” but rather something like, “Unfortunately, you missed it….”  So I’m going with that, for now. And I’m on the alert.