Gabriel Arana talks about conservative gays’ search for a diva icon of their own.
But it takes more than songs about rainbows and avant-garde fashion sense to call yourself a gay icon. My own childhood obsession with Whitney Houston wasn’t just rooted in the pathos of “One Moment in Time,” which hinted at possibilities beyond the banality of life in a small town; I wanted to be Whitney — until it became abundantly clear I couldn’t sing at all. (I settled for being a writer instead.) Escapism and aspiration are central to the diva phenomenon, and most gay icons overcame some degree of adversity. Movie producers put Judy Garland on diet pills and made her bind her breasts; both she and Marilyn Monroe struggled with drug addiction. When an old boyfriend told Lady Gaga that she would never succeed — and that he hoped she wouldn’t — she reportedly snapped back, “Someday when we’re not together, you won’t be able to order a cup of coffee at the fucking deli without hearing or seeing me!” For an ostracized group that’s been handed a long list of you cannots from the get-go, these biographies offer a ray of hope: If Gaga or Whitney or Marilyn can fly over the rainbow, why, oh why can’t I?
