Christian Tokes - The Dinah in Color Blog

Back in the old days, when gas was under $2 bucks a gallon, there was a famous clothing store in L.A. called Frederick’s of Hollywood. It specialized in items like edible panties, push-up bras and plunging necklines trimmed in fake fur. “Ho clothes” would probably be an appropriate description. Frederick’s was a favorite among Black and Latina lesbians who often added thigh high boots, enough makeup for a circus troupe and for added effect licked their lips a lot. A many a dull party was transformed into an evening of visual and sensual delight by the arrival of the Hoochie Mamas.

However, as lesbians became more radical and politically sensitive to the images of women “ho clothes” were returned to the “hos,” who consider them business wear like Brook Brother suits, and Fredericks of Hollywood shut it doors. Lesbian fashion opted for the upscale and “power” look over the more sexy “suck this” look. Dull parties lost their sexy saviors and for awhile the only Hoochies around were the real ones who expected to be paid for any lip licking.

But those who missed the good ole days of short skirts with no under pants can breathe a sigh of relief because the Hoochies are back and in full force. Screw Annie Hall. Hello Superhead. The music video has brought back the scantily clad, rump thumping, squatting Hoochie in all her glory. Lesbians, who have not been immune to this influence, have embraced the “ho” look with enthusiasm not seen among Black dikes since they read “The Color Purple.”

Every weekend in every big city there are lesbian parties that feature Hoochies as entertainment. They have gone from merely lip licking to doing this thing with their butt that makes one side go up while the other side goes down. It is truly amazing. The only downside is that all that eye flickering can give you a headache.

The audience, other lesbians in wife beater shirts, and in some instances, phony penises stick money is stickable places to show their appreciation. The professional Hoochies make considerably more money than the professional “ho’s” who have to work a lot harder than just doing butt jumps for money.

I think there should be a reality series or at least a movie called “Hoochies and the Women who Love them.” With Fellini gone my first choice of directors would be John Waters. It could be bigger than Hair Spray. For those with more risqué taste there could be the video at the beach called ‘Hoochies with sand in their Coochies.” The financial opportunities are endless.

I don’t know if I fit in the category of a Hoochie lover or not although I do find them fascinating in both dress and attitude and I do love names like Storm and Whisper. However, I’m not sure I get it, though I truly try. Is this a contemporary fashion/lifestyle statement or a political regression?

I keep thinking of those classic film clips of Josephine Baker dancing in Paris wearing only a bunch of bananas. Now there was a Hoochie if I ever saw one. But it was the 1920’s. How did we get back there?

Here are some thoughts, observations and musings designed to increase the blood flow and oxygen to those parts of your body that feel underserved.

(This is a reprint of an article that appeared in the 2008 Dinah In Color Magazine.)



When my daughter, who was getting married for the first time, said she wanted a church wedding Lucy and I did not balk, although I did point out how much more fun we could have in Vegas with an Elvis impersonator at one of those drive through chapels where they hang out the window like at Burger King. However, without much prodding, we decided we would give my daughter a wedding to be remembered and at a price that we will certainly never forget.



The first sign of things to come was at the pre-wedding dinner party. The groom's family and friends are very big on Jesus whose name came up more often than prepositions. At one point one dinner guest told us he was an admirer of the television evangelist Benny Hinn and mentioned that Hinn is the spiritual and moral adviser to former heavy weight boxing champion Evander Holyfield. Since it is rumored that one out of every three children in the state of Georgia was fathered by Holyfield, it was unclear which of these exceptional gentlemen he admired most. It seems the champ may be short of cash these days, but maybe with a little help from Benny he will at least be able to keep his sperm count elevated.



To make sure that the issue of Lucy and I being lesbians did not overshadow our upcoming straight wedding, we decided that only I would walk down the aisle with my daughter and only a few of our friends would be invited. We thought without a large gay contingency on hand we could all stay focused on the merits of heterosexual unions, should there be any.



When we arrived at the church, we found the preacher, whom we had never met, sitting ramrod straight in a pew with his wife sitting behind him. We wondered why they weren't sitting together but figured it probably had to do with some Old Testament story about the woman who was struck dead by God for sitting up front.



I was reminded of those Baptists preachers who always came to my grandparent’s house on Sunday and had the straightest backs and ate the most chicken. I also remembered that they always gave Jesus too many vowels like in Jeeeesus.



Things started off fairly smoothly on the day of the wedding. My daughter looked beautiful and the wedding party was a handsome bunch, like an Ebony Magazine cover of a smiling African-American family with no jail-house tats or outstanding warrants.



However, we were about two minutes into the ceremony when what do we hear but the proclamation that Jeeeeesus loves Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve and this lovely couple is living proof of that. At that very moment Tourette syndrome, which we didn't know ran in the family, seized my body forcing me to yell "screw you," throw my corsage on the floor and stomp out with Lucy close on my heels.



The audience sat in stunned silence. It was unclear if they heard the part about our cancelling the check or kissing my ass. Lucy insisted I go home immediately and reminded me we were lesbians not Crips, so to get a grip. The rest of the story is second hand information from those who stayed to the end.



Lucy told the preacher and his wife not to come to our house because the sight of them would trigger my Tourette's and probably kill me. Our left-wing friends joined ranks and called them pawns of capitalism and lectured them on how the right-wing was diverting their attention from the struggle for equality and economic justice. I heard they got raked over the coals and left with no check and no chicken.



The reception that followed was pretty much devoted to various conversations about the pros and cons of gay marriage. The Benny Hinn crowd stayed near the pool where I suspect they discussed saving me though submersion. The liberals huddled near the bar making snide remarks comparing The Twelve Apostles to Adam and Steve.



At the end of the evening when the caterer was paid and our bank account was substantially reduced, Lucy and I sat down and agreed it had been the worst moment of our entire 20 years together. My daughter said she was sorry for what the preacher said but was glad she was married.



Lucy and I tried to find something to be glad about too. We are still searching. We invested thousands of dollars on a straight wedding that turned into a debate, or perhaps debacle is a better word, about gay marriage. Jeeeeeeesus.





DINAH IN COLOR

APRIL 2-5, 2009

DINAH SHORE WEEKEND

PALM SPRINGS, CA.

THE PREMIERE EVENT FOR WOMEN OF COLOR