Hey, Chirl!

Our new columnist, Twink St. Pine, solves your love conundrums.

I’ve fallen for a guy who’s bisexual, and I’m afraid I’ll lose him if I don’t let him sleep with women. Advice?

Chirl, when it comes to bisexuality I am with Woody Allen: Pick a side! It’s tough enough walking through Valanni worrying about who’s staring at your man, now you’re going to put yourself through it at Parc, too? An “open” relationship is one thing; competing against a dating pool with different plumbing is something else entirely. Hold your ground. If it’s meant to be, he’ll stick with the home team.

I’m a drag queen dating a fantastic guy, but he’s really butch, and I’m afraid if I tell him I do drag he won’t be sexually attracted to me anymore. Should I fess up?

Chirl, are you really going to keep your buttons and boas socked away under the lube for the entire time you date this man? Relationships are built on two things: fabulous brunches and honesty. Like everything else in life, this is no absolute. (For example, if he asks you, “Is my penis small?” the answer is always, always, “Of course not, honey.”) But when it comes to your own identity, shoving half of yourself back into the closet is a bad idea, no matter how many rhinestones are in there to keep you company. Tell him. If he doesn’t love you for you, you’re better off without him.

I’m fat. There, I said it. Why is so much of our community biased against fat guys?

Chirl, for the same reason old rich straight guys with faces like unmade beds date models: Dudes are just hardwired to want the pretty. You have two options: (1) Back off the Ho Hos and get your fat ass to the gym. (2) Become a lesbian.

The eternal gay Catch-22: All the guys I want to date don’t want to date me, and all the guys who want to date me, I don’t want to date. How do I break the cycle?

Chirl, it’s called patience, something in short supply with our demo when it comes to romance. The other night I turned to my 55-year-old partner, Arthur (judge all you want, bitches—I live on Rittenhouse Square, for free!), and asked, “Am I your type?” “You’re 30 years younger,” he replied. “Next question.” The point—other than I married well—is that you may need to expand your potential pool a bit: go older, go younger, give the guy without the washboard abs a look. Pining for the unattainable and dismissing the attainable only gets you Saturday nights dating Netflix.

Got a question? Send an email to twink@phillymag.com.

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