In my day, there were leather guys, uniform guys, jocks and cowboys. They personified the explosion of gay culture in the post-Stonewall free-for-all of repressed sexual expression unchained (although, ironically, sometimes bound). I recall one of my gay Marquette University professors mentioning a chance midnight encounter with his neighbor who was leaving for a night out in full leather array. “I don’t think I was supposed to see that,” he said. But, however tentatively, as subcultures within the LGBTQ subculture, fetish characters were being increasingly seen and heard.
Motorcycle clubs like Dykes on Bikes (or, locally, the Argonauts and Castaways)—both with and without motorcycles—flourished, in part inspired by Marlon Brando’s bad boy in The Wild One and, perhaps, by the heaps of the jaunty Army Air Corps A2 leather flight jackets available in any military surplus shop. And Hollywood’s output of gladiator movies, subliminally gay TV relationships, Emma Peel in her leather onesie and the Marlboro Man provided heartthrobs for budding gay boys and girls. Then (for better or worse), plays and films like The Boys in the Band, Midnight Cowboy and Cruising explored gay life and its fetishes for broader consumption. Meanwhile, Tom of Finland and photographer Robert Mapplethorpe elevated fetish to unabashed art.
In its highest form, BDSM (bondage, domination and sadomasochism) required training by a master (usually German) that involved more do’s and don’ts than a Japanese tea ceremony. Gay Mecca San Francisco became the pulsing heart of Folsom Street. Chicago hosted International Mr. Leather (which takes place next week, May 23-27). There’s also Chicago’s Leather Archive and Museum, which once collaborated with the Milwaukee Gay Arts Center for a fetish-focused exhibit. Among Cream City leather memorabilia, it featured a wall hanging of intricately interwoven jock straps forming a 10-foot-tall athletic supporter—a gay macramé homage of sorts. Another installation displayed a private collection of athletic cups with numerous German (of course) versions in metal.
But, as fetish went mainstream, it was sometimes maligned and lampooned. One cartoon depicted a pair of classic, middle-aged, gay San Francisco clones with receding hairlines and moustaches. As they model their new leather jackets adorned with the obligatory silver c-rings, one asks, “Now what?” Inevitably, over the decades, the scene became flaccid. A friend complained that Milwaukee’s leather lifestyle had lost its edge with dedicated locales—like Wreck Room and Boot Camp—long gone, and the others neutered. “Nobody goes out in gear anymore,” went his lament. But that’s not entirely true.
Leave it to the kids today to bear the fetish torch—or the sword or wand—as the case may be. Raised on the subliminal eroticism of Marvel’s chiseled-ab Avengers, muscly Disney genies and lipstick heroines, Harry Potter and Pokémon, their costume play (Cosplay) represents an evolution of that obsession, transferring traditional leather icons to contemporary lycra-spandex-clad superheroes, shibaried Hello Kitties and lithe Aladdins in billowy Harem pants. I once had a younger buddy insistently ask me if I envisioned him as a Power Ranger or as Captain America. To his delight, I confessed, “definitely a Power Ranger.” And, as much as nerd-dom is wont to be, the scene is fully diverse and inclusive.
Milwaukee’s 2019 PrideFest includes the 20th Anniversary Leather and Gear Show. I hope there’s a Cosplay show as well. There should be.
