Fridae

"Hold your crown up high,
Hold your crown up high,
Raise it to the sky,
Hold your crown up high."

- William Shatner, Miss United States
(Soundtrack of Miss Congeniality)

A gay culture without beauty pageants is just about as conceivable as a Tammy Faye without her trademark false eyelashes.

The undisputed domain of gay men (and aspiring starlets waiting for that big break), beauty pageants have been a staple of gay life since time immemorial. While engaging in strenuous sexercises with one's ideal cocksman remains the most sought after homo-fantasy, being crowned queen of the night must surely come in a close second.

In fact, the more imaginative ones amongst us have even perfected (through hours of practice) that moment of winning triumph: gliding up and down the stage with a glazed-over look etched on a mascara-streaked face, tiara perched precariously and sash slung across casually, scepter in one hand while the other waves and blows kisses to an adoring public. Sigh...

As a true blue pageant aficionado, I was hence understandably ecstatic when I received complimentary invites to SGBoy Bash 2002.

Organised by Singapore gay website SGBOY.COM as part of its third anniversary bash, the event was held on the open fields of Fort Canning Green on 22 February 2002 and promised to be an enchanting evening filled with boys-in-thongs cat-clawing their way to the title of Mr SGBOY 2002.

No artless ing�nue to the art of fine dressing, I donned my most fetching Bob Mackie outfit (the dresser to the stars as far as I'm concerned), did the quintessential twirl in front of my full-length mirror, and was about to step out of my apartment when I was unceremoniously dragged back in by my partner (whom I had unwittingly invited along).

Thrusting the invites to my PH-balanced face and pointing out that the event would be an al fresco affair, he insisted that I change into something more casual (read: far less expensive and definitely less glamorous).

Fuming under my breath, I did as I was told (it's either that or I walk to the venue myself) and ended up looking like a butch Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2 rather than my preferred look of a true-blue queen a la Patrick Swayze in To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything: Julie Newmar.

To the organiser's credit, the Fort Canning grounds were indeed transformed into a party site with booming music and flashing lights. To reach the central stage, one had to walk through a forested path lined with torches reminiscent of the counsel scenes in Survivor and then clamber up a grassy slope.

Unfortunately, due to the downpour earlier in the evening, what could have been a memorable evening of pomp and pageantry under the stars became the local version of the Muddy Gras.

---

Balancing precariously on the slippery slope in my Kenneth Coles while clutching a plastic cup of alcohol (how nouveau!), I perused the crowd of mainly pubescent homo-bodies - the sort who cut out photographs of Ricky Martin to stick on their school files and sing along religiously to M2M or Atomic Kittens, and even espied a group of gay men throwing a tupperware party with the requisite Laura Ashley spread and picket basket (how charmingly country!).

As this writer languished like a fragile stalk of tulip in the humidity, the evening's entertainment finally kicked off with an opening song-and-dance routine.

Thankfully, in spite of the torrid dance steps that Solid Gold would have rejected even in its dying throes, the two effervescent drag hosts who came on were a scream.

With their manly timbre, profane jokes, bitchy asides and diva-esque attitudes, both hosts did a wonderful job of revving up the crowd.

And when the much-awaited contestants finally took to the stage, the crowd lapped them up as heat-stroked desert camels would at a pool of sparkling water.

Not surprisingly, the predominantly gay crowd proved to be about as entertaining as the activities onstage with their outrageous catcalls, venomous critiques and cellulite spotting during the swimwear segment (okay, okay, only my partner and I were guilty of the latter).

According to some of the audience (i.e. the two cute twinkies with whom I struck up a conversation at the tent hawking drinks), the standard of lamb chops on display did pale in comparison to last year's offering.

However, there were still a number of contestants who were capable of inducing libidinous thoughts in my usually chaste and unsullied mind (proof: reading a Jackie Collins novel never fails to turn my face scarlet with shame).

Like many young homos that night, I was utterly besotted by stud-muffin Derrick Lee (all of 20 yrs old) whose boyband looks drew gasps of desire from this writer's wanton throat (much to the chagrin of my partner).

Clad in a pair of under-sized glossy red trunks that I blush even to think of now, the student from Ngee Ann Polytechnic proceeded to saunter away with the Best Look title for the night.

Former freelance model, Derek Chiang (again 20 years of age), was another fine specimen worth arm-wrestling with Xena over.

The boyish looking Temasek Polytechnic student oozed stage presence and caused a minor fracas offstage when he stomped down the stage in white trunks (i.e. when this writer had to be viciously slapped out of his libidinous swoon by my by-now-patience-wearing-thin partner).

---

Another hot favourite with the crowd was national serviceman Remy Mitchell Low (23 years old).

Combining masculinity with a well-sculpted body, his downfall came during the Question & Answer Segment - the segment that has long been regarded as the hurdle would make or break many a beauty contestant - when he uttered his first words at a pitch that many would have mistaken for Julie Andrews on helium.

Two other contestants who also deserved mention were American Chinese charmer Nick Pho (22 years old) who was awarded Best Personality and towering Indonesian Nelson Pinontoan (26 years old) who was awarded Best Physique respectively.

But alas, what's a beauty pageant without contestants who fell from grace?

One dim-witted contestant (who must have been kicked in the head by a stubborn cow) threw his chances out the window when he mentioned that his girlfriend was amongst the audience (which begs the question of what he was doing in a GAY pageant in the first place).

Another contestant practically committed pageant suicide when he took to the runway and executed sharp turns that would surely threaten Naomi Campbell's runway supremacy.

Then again, there was this macho contestant who impressed many with his "butch" persona onstage, but was later caught backstage fanning himself like Bette Davis by yours truly (I kid you not).

Having said that, all the contestants should be praised for having the guts to parade down the runway in the briefest of trunks and formal attire of the basement bargain kind, and then subjecting themselves to a panel of judges who would eventually pass judgment on them based on their looks, physiques and personalities (as if the latter could be assessed based on a blink-and-you'll-miss-it Q & A Segment but I digress).

During the interlude while the results were being tabulated, the audience was already thinning out faster than Bruce Willis' coiffure.

However, when the winner was finally announced, one could still hear the gasp of disbelief amongst what's left of the audience.

Of a most pedestrian appeal, Derrick Ng (22 years old) was the overall surprise winner for the pageant. "Visibly" stunned to be crowned SGBoy 2002, credit must still be given to the winner who exercised remarkable restraint in not jumping up and down like many a newly crowned Queen and flapping his wrists like a hummingbird as one suspects he would in a less public setting.

Thankfully, there were no obligatory exclamations of the "I can't believe it!" sorts from the winner. For at that moment, neither can most of the shell-shocked audience.