Friday, June 14, 2002

Finders

Last week over dinner, we were talking about the "old days" (for us, meaning a period ranging roughly from the nadir of WHAM! to Madonna's "I'm Breathless" album) and somebody mentioned Boyd Harris. "Good lord," exclaimed The Giant Queen. "I haven't heard from him in years! Whatever happened to Boyd?"

There were a few moments of silence and head scratching and, finally, quiet consensus that we had among us no idea. One of The Twins was pretty sure he'd moved to Denver -- or was it Atlanta? -- at some point in the 90s, but beyond that, not a clue.

I suggested we call International Male and ask where they were delivering his catalogs.

I was only half joking. I mean, I've wondered for quite a while how that company stays in business. I never see anyone actually wearing the clothing featured in their glossy catalogs. Only once, over a decade ago, did I ever order anything from them, a mesh shirt that I promptly returned when it was immediately clear it did not make my chest look like that of the model on page 26.

Even so, I have received the catalog ever since. In fact, I have changed residences six times in the past 15 years, never leaving a forwarding address except on a few postcards sent along to friends and business contacts, and always, without fail, a properly addressed International Male catalog is the first piece of mail I have received upon settling into a new home.

It's uncanny. I have no idea how they find me. But after the third or fourth time this happened, I began to believe that clothing sales was the wrong line of business for International Male. If no one was being duped into buying the $400 creme linen suits or the shirts made out of knotted up dental floss, clearly they needed a new profit model.

Clearly, International Male is ideally suited to function as a gay missing persons bureau.

If you've lost track of an old friend or former trick, or perhaps a male relative with a flair for entertaining and an affection for divas with only one name, you could call up International Male (1-900-PIRATE-SHIRT) and ask for their current address. Easy peasy, and they wouldn't even have to change the name. "International Male," after all, implies that this service works globally.

Of course, they would still have to send out the catalogs, since a means to constantly correct their mailing list would be essential to the new modus operandi, but that's OK by me. Even if I have no need of a crocheted Central Park Knit shirt with a johnny collar and a straight hem -- I swear to God that's an actual item -- the catalog works quite well as soft porn for all us kids who grew up ogling underwear models in the Sears Wishbook, another aptly named mail-order enterprise, since I hated the clothes but always wished for the models.

So International Male can keep flinging ads for faux fur "Millennium Jackets" and "Hermosa Retro" Midcut swim trunks my way, even if they don't decide to become a worldwide homo locator. Any company which sends out catalogs using the line "Check out our featured bottoms!" on the cover with no trace of irony whatsoever is...er, tops in my book, however they choose to make money.