Chris crocker really dating his brother
Since it was uploaded to You Tube two months ago, it's been viewed nearly 300,000 times; on My Space, where it's been since December, the number of views is well over 850,000.
In the video, Chris, wearing a soft white cotton warm-up jacket over a gray T-shirt, his wide eyes and flared nostrils close to the camera, goes through "the many variations of 'bitch, please'"—offering increasingly angry versions of the phrase, complete with hair flips, bared teeth, and hand gestures—because, as he says at the close of the video in a gentle, instructive voice, the variations "come in handy in many areas of life." On paper, the segment sounds like just another gay white boy trying to "talk black." But there is something so unselfconscious and nakedly furious about Chris's presentation that it holds you.
On You Tube, people of different ages and races have posted response videos in which they gamely try to do Chris's monologue themselves—the ultimate web compliment.
A number of these imitators are black, creating an odd, post-race, parallel You Tube universe in which black imitates gay-white imitating black.
Across the street is a Kmart and, near that Kmart, the beauty-supply store where Chris buys his mascara (Max Factor Lash Protection) and eyeliner (Palladio).
Later he will demonstrate for me, on the inside of his wrist, how Palladio goes on like a juicy pen and doesn't smudge.
" He'd turned around, that day at the mall, to see a gang of boys chasing him down, coming at him over the beige tiles. He knew that was only a fantasy, perhaps suitable for a web video but not for real life. Chris and I are sitting at Shoney's, where the silverware comes wrapped in a plastic sleeve, airplane-style.Which reminds, even though it's becoming increasingly hard to imagine: There was a time, not so long ago, when even Chris Crocker could not have been Chris Crocker—could not have sat in the Bible Belt and downloaded news of the wider, gay-tolerant world and, in response, uploaded his singularly bizarre and angry take on gay life and his intolerant town.In that time before You Tube and My Space and internet connections in rural America, this, too, could not have happened: I could not have become one of Chris Crocker's My Space friends, which I did shortly after watching .I could not, the next day, have sent Chris a My Space message in an attempt to figure out who the heck he was.
And I could not have learned, heartbreakingly, that Chris is not some art student in Manhattan, as I'd initially guessed—and, I suppose, on some level, hoped—but rather a 19-year-old trapped in a stifling Southern town that he hates, and which seems to hate him.At first, I'd figured this level of border crossing and taboo tweaking had to be emanating from an urban area, from a source steeped in cultural collision and promoting some sort of high-concept agenda.