Can you be white and "on the Down Low"?

Previously published Slate articles made new.
Aug. 29 2007 4:23 PM

Get Out of My Closet

Can you be white and "on the Down Low"?

On Aug. 27, 2007, Roll Call newspaper reported that in June an undercover police officer arrested U.S. Sen. Larry Craig outside a Minneapolis airport bathroom on a misdemeanor charge of disorderly conduct. The officer was investigating complaints of "lewd conduct" in the public bathroom, and the police report says  the Idaho senator gave a series of signals—fidgeting with his hands, tapping his foot in the stall next to the police officer, and ultimately running his hand under the stall divider—that the plainclothes officer interpreted as sexual advances. On Aug. 8, Craig pleaded guilty to the charges. Subsequent discussion of the arrest has involved questions about the closeted gay subculture of anonymous sexual encounters in public locations. In August 2006, Benoit Denizet-Lewis wrote in Slate about "down low," the expression black men use to describe their underground homosexual activities, and closeted white men's growing appropriation of that phrase. The article is reproduced below.

Illustration by Rob Donnelly. Click image to expand.

Three years ago, I wrote a story about black men who have sex with men but don't identify as gay—or even, in many cases, as bisexual. Instead, they adopted the label Down Low and formed a vibrant but secretive subculture of DL parties, DL Internet chat rooms (Thugs4Thugs, DLBrothas), and DL sex cruising areas (parks, bathhouses). Some of the Down Low guys I met were married but had covert sex with men, while others who claimed the label only had sex with men but considered themselves much too masculine to be gay. Most equated gayness with effeminacy—and, to a lesser extent, whiteness. From their perspective, to be an effeminate black man (a "punk," a "faggot") is to not really be a black man at all.

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The Down Low was a relatively new response to a very old behavior. Men of all races have long had secret sexual and romantic male relationships, complete with the usual accessories of a double life: lies, deception, and shame. But the Down Low was a uniquely African-American creation. If the closet is a stifling, lonely place for white guys who realize they're gay but aren't ready to admit it publicly, the Down Low is a VIP party for "masculine" black men who will never admit to being homosexual—because they don't see themselves that way. And while men on the DL certainly have their share of shame, among themselves it masquerades as bravado and sexual freedom: They're the ultimate pimps and players, man enough to do their girlfriend on Thursday and do their best friend, Mike, on Friday. And until 2003, most black women didn't have a clue.

But then I wrote my story, J.L. King published his memoir (On the Down Low), Oprah turned King's book into a best seller, and Law & Order devoted an episode to the subculture. The Down Low quickly ceased to be, well, on the down low. And now, in a sure sign of the DL's cultural currency, white boys—apparently unsatisfied with having co-opted hip-hop—are claiming to be on the "Down Low," too.

I knew nothing of this until two months ago, when I met my first white guy who claimed to be "on the DL." He was 24, tall, masculine, attractive, and said "bro" a lot. I met him at a New York City gay club (he had made the trek from Long Island), and I'm embarrassed to say that we sort of hit it off. On the first of a few dates, I asked him where he worked—and whether people there knew he was gay.

"Bro," he said, "I'm on the Down Low."

"Dude," I said, "You're white. You can't be on the Down Low!"

"Bro," he said. "All kinds of white people are saying they're on the Down Low now."

"That's ridiculous," I protested. "Why don't you just say you're in the closet?"

"Because the closet sounds stupid," he said.