I don’t always understand aspects of the gay superculture. I don’t personally have a taste for drag, or dancing, or sass, and I’m allergic to glitter. And all of that is okay, because we’ve reached a point in pop culture and regular culture where we’re not boiled down to these base–if fabulous–signifiers. I can be all the things I am and still be gay.
With that said–there’s something about Ursula.
I was seven when The Little Mermaid hit theaters; I was immediately drawn to the indigo-hued, octopus-from-the-waist-down villain from the piece. Perhaps it was her confidence, perhaps it was the body language, perhaps it was Pat Carrol’s sanguine voice. I saw something I recognized; something aspirational.
I’ve learned in my travels that many young gay men had this feeling. It’s funny what we gravitate towards; stereotypes are one thing, but icons transcend that.
I always wanted to be Ursula when I grew up; tonight, for the first time in ten years. I sort of get my chance.