Le Franco Phoney

WARNING: stereotypes a-plenty a-hoy! Please take the following with a giant grain of salt or two. Here we go. French men seem to love being women. Pictured are three of my friends at last night’s ‘Priscilla party’ at Le Salto pub in La Clusaz, who not only dressed brilliantly as drag queens (complete with makeup, gloves, and even a  Chuppa Chup), but played their parts perfectly. Along with the other men dressed as women, they stroked their hair, flirted with each other and men, kissed each other on their cheeks like women and strutting around like pros (in all senses of the word). The place was heaving, with a bar outside and literally twice as many people there than squashed inside. Radiomeuh took up a small corner with the DJs dressed beautifully in women while they bashed out some appropriate tunes.

To say the least, I was impressed. I can’t help but imagine a similar party in my native country, Australia, which, thanks to the Aussie sense of humour, would no doubt involve more stubby holders, thongs (the type that go on your feet) and bikinis, but that’s presuming the Aussie guys can get past dressing as a woman without being considered gay. Sadly, the phrase “Not that I’m gay” is still considered necessary if a man shows any part of his feminine side. Not so in La Clusaz! Hooray!

The night’s theme left us girls a little confused. The drag queen outfit is harder to get away with, and while one of the bar staff had told me previously to come dressed as a hooker (the same one said last night: “You didn’t dress up” which means either I always dress like a hooker or I didn’t do a very good job), and while there were a few other hookers, there were also girls dressed as pimps, lots of super heroes, nurses, drag queens and even a couple of homies. The variety made the night more entertaining. Bonus points to the imaginative guy who dressed as a pregnant woman from Romania.

That’s not a spelling mistake. The other night, I went to a meuhriage. Pictured are the bride and groom. Notice anything odd? Yes, that’s a man dressed up as a bride, with black fishnet stockings on, marrying a man in pink glasses. They’re both actually straight.

So what was this all about? I wish I could give you a satisfactory answer to this question, but I’m at a bit of a loss myself, apart from having a great time on the night. I received an invitation to the event, which required us to dress up for a real marriage, from the lovely people at Radio Meuh — a local radio station that plays funky music and is played in shops in La Clusaz and beyond thanks to the wonders of the internet.

The bride is Tedeo. Ted used to DJ at a local club here before hanging out with the Radio Meuh crew. The groom is Arnauld. I’m not actually sure what Arnauld does. Tedeo’s “dad” for the day, Philippe, is the brainchild behind Radio Meuh (no photo I’m afraid — sorry Philppe). I probably should have asked him what the meuhriage was all about, but he was busy DJing while the bride and groom did their thing.

Without hearing it from the horse’s mouth, I can only presume that the Radio Meuh crew figured this would be a good marketing campaign. It worked: a photo of the happy couple made it into Le Dauphine newspaper the following day. However, it wasn’t a real wedding: there were no embarrassing, long-winded speeches by drunk family members, the bride did not fall over, spill food down the white dress or cry at any point of the day, and the music was far too good despite their attempts to cheese it up with typical wedding numbers.

Okay, okay, so it might offend some people to put a drug-wrecked singer, who has probably hacked off his fellow/ex- band members from both Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver more than most singers, in the same category as someone as creative, innovative and talented as David Bowie. But to be honest, I think Scott Weiland has those same qualities and could be so much greater if he just laid off the drugs. And Bowie certainly has had his fair share in the past anyway. Weiland has sneak-previewed two of tracks from his up-coming second solo album and I just can’t help thinking of David Bowie when I listen to these two songs. I think it’s the combination of melody, chords and production, together with Weiland’s singing style in Paralysis more than in Missing Cleveland, that reminds me of Bowie.

Anyway, I know it’s completely off my usual topics, but it had to be said. Maybe the lovely people at RadioMeuh here in La Clusaz will start playing his stuff…

Small French farming villages — that just happen to be rich ski resorts in winter — are often very closed to outsiders. La Clusaz is no exception, and even the kids who were born here with parents from elsewhere aren’t considered local. Being an ‘etranger’ from Australia, I have no chance of ever being considered local, and that doesn’t bother me: my heritage as a bit of a novelty for the locals, which sometimes works in my favour. Last night, for example, I recorded some jingles for the local radio station, RadioMeuh (that’s French for ‘moo’). I don’t know if they will use many of the nine jingles I recorded, but it was nice to be amongst the Frenchies. I even managed to explain the plot of my novel in French to one girl who was patient enough to listen to my broken sentences and mixed tenses.