In 1984 I had just come out of the closet. I was living my best gay life, or so I thought when one is barely an adult. I was 19, full of life, self-centered but also a lot of fun, and moody at times, a lot moody really—probably caused by years of brutal bullying: from my family, schoolmates, from anyone who was mean spirited. I never understood what set me apart from other people. Yes, I was an odd kid but wasn’t anybody? Sure, I wasn’t that boyish. I didn’t particularly enjoyed sports, and I preferred playing with dolls more than with trucks but that didn’t mean anything, right, right?!
Oh how wrong I was.
Anyway, back to my gay outing. The thing I liked most back then, besides clubbing and drinking and dabbling in illegal drugs (remember, it was the ‘80s), was reading trashy novels. Like everything else, I found that they helped me cope with life in general. One of those novels was Shirley Conran’s LACE. I remember vividly the first time I came to know of it. I was watching its TV adaptation and enjoying the heck of it and telling myself that I needed to get a hold of the book, ASAP.
I got a paperback copy that same week. In fact, I still own it. Though the novel ended up being quite different from what I had witnessed on the small screen, I couldn’t get enough of Lili, Pagan, Maxine, Judy and Kate, who was the fourth friend in the novel. Even to this day, 40 some years later, I still go back to LACE whenever I feel the need to re-immerse myself in these fascinating women.
Which brings me to the author. Dame Shirley Conran just passed away today (May 9th of 2024) and I’m sad. She was 91. She will never know how much she meant to me. Just the simple fact that she liked one of my tweets once (when she was on social media) brought me the greatest joy. For the longest time, she, like the rest of her peers, gave me a reason to get up every morning. I felt safe in her surroundings. I still do. And for that I will eternally be grateful.
RIP, talented lady, and thanks for everything.
Martin
