This month, Alex Johnson crushes on G-Dragon.
Right now, my life consists of one problem and one problem only: I am not a member of a Korean boy band. To be specific, I am not G-Dragon, the leader of Korean idol group, Big Bang. The chances of me becoming him at any point in the future are also fairly slim.
This is not for want of trying on my part. I’ve overhauled my wardrobe by introducing ridiculous neon jackets, (faux) fur and things with straps I haven’t entirely worked out yet. I bleached my naturally dark hair white. Go ahead, ask me how much that hurt. Blisters for days. There are spikes and studs on everything I own (also painful, but for entirely different reasons). Give me another couple of months and I’ll probably start learning the choreography. None of this, of course, counteracts the fact that I am woefully musically untalented and, perhaps most problematically, not a tiny, attractive, 25-year-old Korean man.
As I was trying to explain my current fixation to a friend of mine she interrupted to ask the all-important question, “Wait… do you want to sleep with G-Dragon or do you want to be G-Dragon?” Good question. The answer is both. Obviously. Neither inclination runs stronger than the other.
Make no mistake: given the opportunity I would bang all 58kg of G-Dragon like he was a timpani. But there is every chance I would do it while dressed as him.
This is nothing new. Anyone who has known me for longer than a week has probably seen me in drag. Every time one of my celebrity crushes gets a little out of hand, my entire physical appearance gets a makeover in the style of whoever has taken my fancy. There was an unfortunate time in high school where I was dressed as Davey Havok from AFI, complete with 40cm emo fringe and eyeliner but minus the vegan lifestyle. Thanks to a recent fascination with certain British actors I have a relatively large collection of well-tailored suits, in which I think I look rather fetching.
Some would argue that my desire to look like a male celebrity probably outweighs my desire to sleep with one, given that the sudden androgynous conversion would most likely destroy any chances I had of jumping their bones. I would argue that it totally plays into the ego of the male in question. There is nothing male celebrities love more than their own face, right? So, theoretically, if I became their doppelgänger, my chances of winding up in bed with one of these fabulous creatures increases.
At least that’s how I’m looking at it. In the meantime I get to swan around looking fabulous with some really good (although kind of hard to maintain) hair and a fine collection of suits.