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I'm not what you'd call stylish. Any 'queer eye' directed my way would say that guy needs work, lots of it.
When I was a young homo I might've liked to polish my exterior. But it would've been costly and time consuming. I think the idea did cross my mind once or twice. Blowdryers were a bore and given my extremely curly hair tended to militate against enhancing my sex appeal.
Back then living in jeans was still novel and casual was more colorful than simply a t-shirt proclaiming a simpleminded slogan or peddling corporate product. Maybe most importantly you didn't see grandma wearing them at the mall. My favorite shirt was a hippy paisley thing with wooden ties for chest (left open) and wrists. (My second favorite shirt was sewn by my mom and so long that a short boy kept it for a nightshirt.)
In my permutations of cheap cotton, denim, corduroy I probably looked like rough trade, a street hustler (given the offers I turned down this was probably more than whimsy). It worked well enough. Probably even now there's a 'butch' quality to looking like you don't give a damn. The first boy who got me out of those jeans said I looked "threatening." Now I was about as threatening as a melted ice cream cone but snuggled up to a bit of boy fluff who is going to critique their perceptions?
The A&F boy has appeared since then. Even if I had the planar cheekbones and buff body nobody could ever mistake me for one. I've grown comfortable in my sloppiness. To be honest but inaccurate I can't help but think that kempt A&F boy belongs on bottom and should reserve his lips for things other than fashion advice (is this the gay equivalent of sexism?).
(All sorts of personal truths withheld at this time.) Looking like someone just risen from an evening of bargain whoring if not the gutter doesn't evoke the response it once did. But I'm far too set in my slovenly ways to reform.