LadyBoys

[Martin Hash]

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Thailand is famous for the beauty of its young men dressed as women. I was only mildly curious but the cacophony of women I knew who wanted to go see them was overwhelming. In fact, my wife, Gwynne, snuck up the street while we were having dinner to buy tickets, with the excuse she was going to “find a bathroom.” We took an open-backed motorcycle cab to the theater, which was lavish, and filled with Middle-Aged women and their husbands if the “bathroom” ruse worked. There's no photography: on multiple instances, as soon as my camera got to the head line of the people in front of us, somebody from a balcony shined a green laser at it. One time a guy came down the aisle and physically placed his hand in front of my iPhone. It made sense afterwards when the performers lined up for pictures at $1.50 a head.

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The show was an old-fashioned, over-the-top cabaret, like we see in movies about the 1920s: elaborate costumes, timed choreography, colossal sets. To a person, every woman I was with said, “they didn't have adams apples.” Well, they didn't have boobs either unless you counted the foam sewn into their bodysuits. I was unimpressed: none of the “girls” seemed attractive as more than a normal teenage girl beauty. I was, however, glad I went. “LadyBoys” are one of those Must-See things of the Politically Correct, and I don't want to be making endless defensive arguments against “subconscious homophobia."

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