Judge I’m guilty as charged. I confess to loving nice things and looking good. It doesn’t stop there; my bathroom routine is nothing short of epic from exfoliating to moisturizing to unnecessary fortnightly trips to the cute barber along Kimathi Street. My colleague Sheila moans that I give her unfair competition when we speak at client presentations.
In the bars of Nairobi closeted gay men stand out like flashing neon signs in their designer jeans, trendy tops and ruggedly chic boots. Working out at the gym is ofcourse the gay man’s other religion. You can even spot the senior queens turned out immaculately in bespoke tailored jackets and shirts, tapping the soles of shoes that whisper sophistication and good taste. In their wake hangs the hazy seduction of signature colognes.
Am I alone in thinking that many gay men come with a higher degree of vanity?