I recognize it immediately.
Even through the pouring rain as I walk down an Upper Lawrenceville alleyway towards my apartment, I know what it is.
Tomorrow is garbage day, so people have already thrown out cans, bags, busted chairs. But ahead of me is a true treasure. Through the slats of an orange Turner’s milk crate, I see two colorful circles in the top left corner of a magazine. Each with a letter in the center. A logo emblazoned in my mind. I sprint forward, my glasses covered in drops of rain. Stacks and stacks of them. Glossy. Near pristine condition. Some still covered in plastic.
XY Magazine.
I thank the heavens for whatever homosexual had a moment of self-hatred and decided to purge their collection. I notice another large plastic bin and open the cover like a greedy, gay raccoon. Even more issues spilling on top of one another like gold doubloons and precious jewels but really it’s just saturated images of boys, flesh, and Y2K fashion shining back onto my smiling face. My eyes dart around the alley. Not a soul. I latch onto the milk crate, stack even more on top, and waddle, soaking wet, two blocks home.
Never in my life had I owned an issue of XY. Now here I was, with almost all 50 issues ever published since 1996 including special editions as well as their offshoots XYfoto, B Mag, and All American Guys. I was spoiled rotten under the guise of a queer archivist.
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The magazine was founded in 1996 by Peter Ian Cummings and released through 2016. Each typically focused on a one word theme- “out”, “america”, “skewl”, “underage”, “scene”. Their website at the time served as a popular gay social network “before Facebook and Grindr, with an estimated 500,000 members.” I kicked my legs up on the bed and opened the cover with the delicacy of an art restorer.
My first introduction to XY Magazine was on Tumblr, the once thriving and now (sadly) largely irrelevant photo blog-style social network. In high school, it was my refuge. 2011-2015 was spent scrolling through high fashion editorials, French New Wave film stills, internet fandoms, gifs of Michelle Pfeiffer’s Catwoman, and gay-centric shoots. Much of the latter were photo spreads from XY Magazine. As I flipped through the pages of my issues, I saw things I fawned over through my computer screen. Guys making out in the locker room just out of sight of a group of changing jocks, a pesky cupid shooting an arrow at unsuspecting men standing side by side at urinals, a salacious “just do it” sneaker ad with shorts pulled around hairy ankles.
It’s funny how something frivolous as a horny, sleazy (yet artfully composed) magazine editorial can mean so much to someone. Tumblr was a secret world for me. You couldn’t just search someone’s name. You had to personally know their blog title to get access into their rich, aesthetic personal realm. Mine was h0tel-shamp00 at the time. A small handful of people in high school followed me. I slowly started posting more and more queer content from freshman through senior year. A key feature of Tumblr was the anonymous ask feature, where people could send you questions. Notoriously, I came out via an ask. The gay question was one I always received and would brush off with humor or deflecting subversion.
Anonymous: hey drew! so we don’t really talk but I really just wanted to express how much of a role model you are in all aspects of life and how much seeing you so quiet yet comfortable with your sexuality has been such an inspiration in my recent life and my own process of accepting my sexuality. you’re a beautiful human being and I just want to make sure you realize that! keeping being you!
My response:
Thank you for sending me this. I really mean that. I have a few guesses but that is irrelevant. High school has been full of self-disappointment. I’ve never really fully said “I’m gay” to the general public and even some of my best friends. I don’t know why, as everyone at CAPA is so accepting, but I grew up in a Catholic household (woooo) and I’ve just held a deep hatred to myself. And I always thought as a kid how great it would be to see a gay senior just be great and confident and that be it. And now I’m a senior and I haven’t stepped up to being the person I always needed when I was younger. So thank you- you sending this means a shit ton. I’ve missed out on so much because of the silly fear of trusting people to know a part of me that I was taught to keep as low key as possible. I’ve missed out on relationships with people I’ve been HEAD OVER HEELS for since freshman year and it sucks because this is my high school experience. Closeted. And that really blows. So thank you. Congratulations. Truly. I never thought I would want to tell me congrats when I came out but it truly is a huge landmark. Take the world by storm. Do this for your younger self, your older self, and your present self. Thank you. I love you. And I love me.
XY Magazine is more than meets the eye. What makes it so compelling is the key moment of culture it chronicled, particularly that in which the internet starts becoming more of our lives and our lives are being pushed into the internet. The issues are constantly tugging and pushing between gay culture flourishing on the internet while also still being immersed in nightlife culture from drag to raves. Beyond that, it gave platforms to gay youth across America to share their stories, heartbreaks, and impact of homophobia or the empowerment of legislation. A tightrope of irreverence and vulnerability. The pages are covered in a joyful chaos, one that feels like it was made by actual people who loved what they were creating and who they were creating it for.
I wished I had known what was inside during high school. Maybe I would’ve sent a letter to the editor or posted a classifieds looking for friendships. Drooled over the glistening photo spreads and got the inside scoop on underground gay culture.
The issues sat in the milk crate. I wasn’t sure what to do with them. Last Halloween, I decided to create homoerotic horror collages using found images from the magazine. With my scissors, I severed bulging biceps, hefty briefs. Glued eyeballs to sticks and nipples to tape. I crafted three portraits of Dracula, Wolfman, and Frankenstein into steamy, spooky stop motion animation. It only felt right to craft art out of the art that inspired me. XY Magazine, a true exquisite corpse.
