So, it was Bear Bash last weekend here in Manchester. That means there were even more fat, beardy men in town than usual, more otters, more cubs, pandas, daddies and Santas, most of them congregating outside the Rembrandt on Canal St and making their way to Legends and/or The Eagle after dark.
I myself ventured to Legends on Sunday night for the Bear Bash Foam Party. It got messy. Literally. While my eyes were agog as I had never seen so many bears in one place before, for some unknown reason I found the whole thing to be distinctly unsexy. I don't know why that is. Maybe because there is no mystery? Maybe it's the sight of so many hard, butch-looking guys mincing around the dance floor to bad house from 1996? Maybe it's because when we all get together being a "bear" seems not like something to make one unique and different from the herd (what I like about it), but instead it becomes a physical signifier of pure conformity?
It was good to catch up with some bears from Glasgow, though from what I heard the music at the Fur Ball went down like a fart in a spacesuit. Having one room of music so no escape can't have helped, but it was also the choice of DJs that proved unpopular. Guys, I will DJ for you! :-D Apparently the numbers have been dwindling over the last few years, and from speaking to people it seems like it will continue that way unless Manbears (the organising group) do something special to pull it back together.
Whatever, I still had fun, tainted as it was with a slight whiff of Tragedy.
But I'm glad there is only one photo of me from Sunday, taken by Craig Parker. And you can't even see my face!
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