Seventy-thousand lesbians flirting (or not)

You’d think my chances of hooking up, stealing a kiss, or meeting my soul mate would be quadrupled by being around 70 000 lesbians for an entire weekend….

I went to my second Brighton Pride last weekend (I only recovered now, sorry this took so long) and it was a fucking blast. However—and forgive me for sounding like a horny teenager – what’s the point of being around so many lesbians (70 000 fannies, 140 000 breasts and index fingers and who knows how many piercings and tattoos) if I can’t score. I mean that is the reason I go to Prides. Sure, I go to be a part of something bigger and Prides make me feel like there’s still hope for the world. But queer-unity rapture aside, I go for the ladies. And I never get any. Probably because I’m looking for it like a horny teenager.

We (Me and my sidekick J) arrived on Friday at lunchtime and by Friday afternoon I already had a headache. Not because I was drinking vodka and red bull the whole day but because my eyes were darting about (behind sunglasses of course: then you can perv incognito haha!) trying to see and mentally undress every single woman that walked passed me. Eventually, my head was ready to explode. I sound like a guy objectifying women. It’s disgusting, I’m sorry. But in my defence, I’m a lesbian objectifying lesbians so back off and stop reading this if you don’t like it. But I know you like it because you wouldn’t have read this far if you didn’t understand what it’s like being surrounded by thousands of dykes.

The parade was incredible and the whole Saturday goes down as one of the best days I’ve had all year even if my eyes nearly popped out of my head from strain. I’ve never seen so many lesbians in one place before. I am almost sure there were more dykes in the womyn-only tent than there are in any one small country. Well, definitely more than in Tanzania without a doubt. I’ve never been to Tanzania but I’m sure there are hardly any lesbians. 

Statistically, I should have come right but I didn’t and I’m not complaining about it because I did have a good time and I’m not making excuses because I didn’t really try. And staring incognito is not the same as flirting (I will learn this one day).

But I am going to theorise. I noticed something interesting in this gigantic collection of women. I’ve noticed it before at clubs but it was so much more noticeable when there are 70 000 lesbians packed together.

We don’t flirt with each other. We don’t even try.

You’ll see a hot, gorgeous woman standing on the other side of the bar. You’ll literally be salivating and when she returns your gaze, but you quickly look away at the glass of sliced lemons in front of you. And this will happen twenty times. And you’ll never have the balls to hold her gaze and crack a smile and tell her with your eyes that you want her or think she’s sexy. And she’ll never approach you because she’s not sure what’s going on because she’s uncertain whether you keep looking at her - or not - because the mili-second she catches you, your head is turned and you’re laughing with your mate. The end.

This is not our fault. The fact that lesbians take twenty weeks to talk to that girl they always see around is not our fault. Which brings me to the second part of my theory – stop me if I’m boring you.

I read an article in Diva recently, about how to pass as a man for a whole day. It was an interview with this famous drag king who gives workshops on how to dress drag properly. One of the things she pointed out about men was that they are unapologetic in their actions and territorial when they stand or sit or do anything.

She said that, when a man walks into a room, he looks around at what and who is in it. When he gets on the bus next to you he doesn’t care that his fat knee lies against your leg. You must squish against the window for him. When a guy stands at the bar, he unabashedly assesses every woman that walks near him.

Women are brought up to do the opposite. We don’t glare at the people around us, we don’t sit with our legs spread on public transport (because this of course would make men glare even more). We are apologetic by nature.

So, put a whole bunch of gay men together and they will all be staring at each other and going for it. They don’t apologise, they return each others gazes and smile and tell each other they’re sexy and that they want it.

Back to the lesbian tent and you’ve got a million groups of friends. You’ve got laughing, you’ve got drinking, you’ve got so much talking that I wonder what it would sound like without the music - and you’ve got girls trying to stand out, whether it’s by screaming, dancing or posing. What you don’t got is flirting. They’re talking. Oh yes. To their mate. Or their ex. Or their ex’s ex. Or their little group. Are they talking to the hot, gorgeous saliva-producing girl at the bar? No.

We have an inability to stare and tell a woman we want her because were never taught how to do it. Only how to receive it. We know how to attract attention, but we don’t know how to give it.

I’m thinking of going to this drag king workshop. Not because I want to pass myself off as a man (though the thought is thrilling) but because I want to learn how to be unapologetic, how to unashamedly tell a woman she’s gorgeous. I even apologized earlier for objectifying women through sunglasses! I never thought I’d say this, but maybe men do have a thing or two to teach us about flirting. And then we’ll just do it better.

Please note: If you are an American lesbian, this entire column does not apply to you. You lot do know how to be forward. If flirting was an aircraft, you girls would be fighter jets or concords. Were you brought up differently or something?

I did want to talk about Brighton more (Like there was a girl that was interested in me. She was wearing bunny ears and was rushing on e, which freaked me out so I decided to go for a lo-oong smoke outside and never saw her again). But I got sidetracked. Sorry. Damn it! I’m not sorry.

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