Elana Berkowitz

The event, sponsored by Marriage Equality New York and the Wedding Party, two nonprofits devoted to promoting access to legal civil marriages for same-sex couples, is being held at the aging gay club Roxy in Manhattan’s Chelsea neighborhood. The expo has attracted a largely professional crowd of around 700, evenly split between gay and lesbian couples, most leaning toward cable-knit sweaters, button-down shirts and pointy-toed heels.

As homosexual weddings, or commitment ceremonies, become more public and more prevalent, wedding professionals are rushing to accommodate gay couples’ particular needs. Numbers of commitment ceremonies are hard to come by, but the 2000 census counted 46,490 same-sex partner households in New York state, up more than threefold from the 13,748 such households in 1990. Around half of the 50 vendors at the Expo cater specifically to, or are part of, the gay and lesbian community, including gay and lesbian ministers, a company that exclusively specializes in planning gay weddings in Italy, and a wedding videographer. One company, Two Bride Weddings, makes stuffed teddy bears, disposable cameras, and garter belts, all with a small silver image of two women facing each other in silhouette. The owners, Michelle Simons and Xiomara Sotolongo, from Surfside, Fla., describe their company as “a little mom-and-mom shop.” They’ve been together for 12 years and were inspired to build the business when they had their own commitment ceremony and couldnt find a bridal store where they felt comfortable.

Money is green, even when it’s pink. Among the gay-friendly businesses, there are plenty of traditional vendors more than willing to support nuptial consumerism of all flavors. There are tables for the Bloomingdales registry, for Citibank, for Met Life. The Knot, a popular Internet wedding site, also has a table. The Knot has included commitment ceremonies on the site since its founding in 1996. In fact, in 1999, a same-sex couple who called themselves “the Two Kimmies” won the Couple of the Millennium contest that the site sponsored after they rallied the gay community to cast their votes. “Certain parts of our audience were outraged, and some advertisers were outraged,” says Carley Roney, the Knot’s co-founder and editor in chief. “But in our mind, what better sign of the new millennium?”

Gerard Monaghan, president of the Association of Bridal Consultants, which has 2,600 members in 27 countries and all 50 states, also sees the climate for same-sex celebrations changing. Though few of his members specifically target the same-sex community, almost all happily accommodate them, which has raised a host of new issues. “How do you handle guys coming into bridal shops to try on wedding dresses?” Monaghan asks. “You can’t say no, because that is sex discrimination, but you have to maintain the comfort level for the brides who are normally in the shop.” In response to the demand, he notes, some shops have set aside an invitation-only evening once a month for men to try on wedding dresses.

If wedding dress parties for men aren’t a sign of a cultural shift, the August 2002 decision by the New York Times to include same-sex couples in its wedding section certainly is. Nearly every attendee at the expo cites the venerable Gray Lady’s decision as a watershed moment. Lisa Padilla, a lawyer with Marriage Equality calles it “the icing on the cake for the legitimacy of same sex couples.” Anita Visser, co-chair of the Same Sex Wedding Expo, adds “There is no question that the NYT announcements had a huge effect in the business world which the expo thrived on,” she says. “For same-sex couples to finally see themselves side by side with nongay couples gave them a sense of empowerment and entitlement to celebrate their unions in a way they never felt before.”

Many mainstream vendors at the Expo are eager to break into something that they see as a potential growth market, particularly in a tough economy. The bridal industry is worth $72 billion a year, according to the Knot, and though same-sex couples represent a tiny portion of that, they are still an attractive niche market that is steadily growing. Most vendors note that the same-sex community is economically viable and has the same wedding needs as its heterosexual counterparts. “A wedding is a wedding” C.J. Kitsos-Holm, owner of Be Holm Catering says, while dishing out samples of mini-quiche and chilled gazpacho.

Besides being good for business, vendors say gay clients are simply more fun. “Same-sex couples are less stressful than heterosexual couples,” said Jeanne Griffiths, owner of Tastefully Done Catering, based in New York City “There usually aren’t two families butting in.” Roger Kachel, a baker with Ron Ben Israel Cakes, says that gay couples can be more daring and expressive in their choices. He described a Junior League wedding show he attended a few weeks before where he only displayed cakes in white or cream. But here at the Same Sex Expo, the most popular cake was a colorful burnt orange and chocolate brown cake with a cascade of autumn-colored flowers. The cake “would have flopped with the Junior League,” he says. Also popular with gay couples at the expo was a multitiered, white, almost opalescent cake festooned with perfect white sugar flowers appliquis, inspired by a Bagdley Mischka dress.

James Knopf, a partner in Bill Kocis Innovative Flowers, also thinks his gay clients are more imaginative, less bound by tradition. At his table he displays bouquets of short-stemmed roses densely packed into special containers filled with something called Swell Jell, a shiny, squishy, colorful polymer crystal that supports and nourishes the flowers. “Same-sex couples are willing to try something new,” he said. “They have never had access to weddings, they are truly committed to doing this and they want to make the most of their night.”

Outside of New York, the bridal industry isn’t always as unrelentingly supportive. A query about same-sex weddings to the National Association of Bridal Retailers, based in Las Vegas, was met with a quick “We have no one here who will comment on that subject.” Frank Andonoplas, a gay wedding planner based in Chicago, recently had an extravagant vow renewal ceremony with his partner of 10 years at an upscale hotel that had never before hosted a same-sex wedding. His own ceremony aside, he still sees very few in Chicago. “Maybe New York is a little ahead of us, but my clientele is not same-sex in any way, shape or form,” he says. “I probably do one same-sex wedding every few years. But most gay couples are unfortunately still doing it very low-key.”

Others say that in recent years same-sex weddings are veering toward more lavish, traditional affairs than discreet dinner parties or casual beach gatherings. The Knot’s Carley Roney explains: “Same-sex couples are having more all-out glamorous, 200-people events instead of commitment ceremonies with a couple of their nearest and dearest. The party is turned up a little bit. It has that sense of saying, ‘Ha! We can do this.’ They are just so excited to have the wedding so they take great pleasure in the planning process.”

Here at the Expo, couples are planning ceremonies that run the gamut from fairly traditional to downright out there. Jackie and Teresa, from Newark, N.J., say that they’re going for a Cinderella-themed reception with tiaras on every table, one bride in a fairy-tale ball gown in their wedding colors of white and lavender, and the other bride in a white suit with a matching lavender cravat. Sarah and Hannah from New York City, on the other hand, have opted for an intimate affair at the Central Park Boathouse, where they will update traditional vows and wear white silk pants, with matching silk tunics. And John and Matthew, also from New York City, are getting married in October in a ceremony they described as “very nontraditional, sarcastic, and tongue-in-cheek.” Their Halloween-themed wedding will include Edward Gorey invitations, black roses and a red velvet cake.

Yet for all its fantasy and romance, the celebratory nature of the expo is still bittersweet: Every couple there notes that while they can purchase their dream wedding, they cannot have the legal substance the ceremony confers on heterosexual couples. Jim and Charlie, 41 and 51 respectively, feel the frustration: “We can never be legally, financially connected; it will never be airtight,” said Jim. “A heterosexual can just buy a Russian bride and she gets citizenship and inheritance, but we can’t get anything.”

But the bride and the bride will look marvelous. And so will the groom and the groom.

As he explains that only five of us will advance to the second round, Paulie Legs pipes up again: “So, not everyone gets a second chance? That’s bullshit.”

These people aren’t messing around.

Havens for the semi-talented, air guitar competitions have been springing up all over the world, in Europe, Australia, New Zealand and even Japan. Though the Air Guitar World Championships have taken place for seven years in Oulu, Finland, Americans have yet to make their presence felt at this favorite teen-bedroom art form, even though we may very well have invented it. Along with 17 other air guitar hopefuls I am here to set things right. We will take our turns at 60 seconds in the spotlight, and the winner of tonight’s competition will compete against the winner from another regional in L.A., with the final winner flying off to Oulu to compete against the big dogs in August.

Though I am pretty loud and garrulous in traditional social interaction, I am not given to public performances of any sort. It just took one humiliating off-key solo performance of “Let The River Run” at a middle-school fundraiser to retire me from the stage. Now do I have what it takes to face the crowd again, and maybe even banish my middle school ghosts forever?

Prognosis so far: not good. I seem to be the only contestant who hasn’t had a passion for air guitar bred in the bone. One performer, Lance “The Shred” Kasten, a wiry 41-year-old who calls himself the “old Geritol” of the contest, says without a trace of irony, “every day I play; when my wife goes to work, I go downstairs and jam.” Craig “Czar” Zahler, a goateed 30-year-old chef from New Jersey and a self-proclaimed metal head, tells me, “I’ve played air guitar seriously for the last 16 years; I do not see air guitar as a joke, but as the most intimate way to unite my heart, mind and body with music.”

I’ve been hoping that my utter lack of talent would be no impediment here, but it turns out that around half of the contestants actually play guitar. Fortunately, many of them see air guitar as a totally different enterprise, and sometimes a more exciting one. They are at their best when not bound by real strings and their own physical limitations. Johnny Rocket, 33, dressed in a rumpled T-shirt and jeans, explains, “It is a totally separate animal because when you play the real guitar, you have to focus on fingering; it is confined. Air guitar is free; it is about emotion and energy.”

Contestants are splayed out all over the room, some pulling on black wigs, dirty, torn rock-band T-shirts, sparkly tops or leather pants. I was sure I was going to chicken out, so I didn’t pack myself a special outfit. I’m still wearing my boring, white button-down, black pants, and dirty Converse from work. I call my friend in a panic, and he comes to the rescue, hand delivering a tight, hot-pink and black striped 80′s dress, fishnets and acrophobia-inducing white heels.

While I await the arrival of my makeshift stage costume, panic once more begins to rise in my chest and I start wildly searching for any last-minute tips. From Cedric: “Don’t be too drunk.” From Super Julie, a 29-year-old social work grad student in a silver spandex body suit and green high heels: “Pretend to be the biggest rock star ever.”

Great, but how? Masterblaster, a graying former air guitar champ from the ’70s, loiters downstairs by the bar and offers to be my patron saint for the evening. He offers a solo-length pep talk, concluding with, “You have to be the guitar for the night, you cannot be shy. Remember, air guitar is not a sport, but a state of mind.” With this, he pats me on my shoulder and sends me on my way.

It’s 9 p.m. The show starts in half an hour, and the place is packed with mussed-looking hip kids — suckers — who’ve paid $8 to see my performance. A slow-moving line forms outside of the club and snakes all the way down Rector Street.

The performers are still corralled upstairs, trading stories and pandering to the enthusiastic journalists lining the walls and scribbling into their notebooks. There are already a few standouts and press darlings, even before show time: David Jung, a 31-year-old actor getting set to perform Extreme’s “Play With Me” under the guise of C. Diddy, or Chink Diddy. He promises to redefine Asian stereotypes through his “Asian fury” air guitar style and his loosely tied kimono with red leggings, a Hello Kitty breastplate, and a studded leather belt.

Then there’s Lucy “Snatchface” Alibar, 21, a petite, scarily energetic blond with pigtails, short skirt, cropped belly shirt, and a painted vagina on her head. She mugs wildly for cameras. While rehearsing her moves, a series of jumps, splits and funny faces, she explains, “In high school, guys would never come and talk to me, and I would always say, ‘What, do I have a vagina on my face?’ So this is just a physical manifestation of my insecurities.”

Dan “Bjorn Turoque” Crane, a 32-year-old Bruce Springsteen lookalike, sports a bandana, a slim, gray leather tie and gaudy black-and-white checked shirt. He’s all confidence and rock-star bravura: “I know I have a chance, I just have ‘quois’ as the French say, hard to explain, but I have it.” Bjorn plays guitar and cites Bob Mould and Pete Townsend as his actual guitar heroes, but when he picks an air guitar hero, he strays out of the genre entirely, selecting tennis player Bjorn Borg, his namesake. “He has real grace on the court, great moves,” he explains, “and that is what this is all about, grace, style and power.”

And now we’re ushered to the stage. Everyone hurries for just one more can of beer or fortifying shot. (So much for Cedric’s advice about inebriation.) I head to the strip club bathroom to practice a few high kicks and tough-girl sneers, and am gratified when the strippers murmur approval.

Minutes later, all 18 of us line up by the side of the stage, hearts palpitating, fingers stretching, getting introduced to the three judges and the scoring system. Our fate lies in the hands of three judges, Adam Crystal, a classically trained musician in the band Dopo Yume, Ulton Guilfoyle, curator of film at the Guggenheim Museum and a Live Aid concert producer, and Gavin McInnes, co-founder and publisher of Vice magazine. A tough bunch. Each performer has 60 seconds to wow them. The judges score on a 4.0 to 6.0 point scale based on originality, charisma, feeling, technical ability, artistic merit, and “airness.” Cedric defines the elusive “airness” as “the extent to which you are watching a performance that is not an imitation of playing the guitar but rather a form of art unto itself.”

It’s on. Some contestants sensually caress their air guitars, others thrash around with it like it was a hot potato. Almost everyone pays homage to the classic moves: the windmill, the high kick, or the passionate, down-on-one-knee guitar solo. Some keep their eyes open, others close them rapturously. A few contestants seem to forget about their air guitar entirely, throwing in snaps, claps and wild hip gyrations. Snatchface performs dozens of kicks and jumps, and her act ends up costarring her purple underwear. C. Diddy, red-faced, tongue out in concentration, attempts a behind-the-back air guitar solo.

The crowd is tipsy, capricious and loud as my turn approaches. They don’t want correct chords and fingering, they want showmanship, pyrotechnics, air guitar heroes.

I’ve chosen Joan Jett’s “Bad Reputation.” I flail, I thrash, I shake, my glasses fall down my nose, my hair plasters itself to my sweaty forehead. I look like I am manhandling a bag of invisible eels.

I am, well, awful.

But somehow, after I finish, there’s loud applause, flash photographs and cheers. I feel somewhere between truly exhilarated and awfully nauseated.

My performance is deemed “horrible” by Gavin and “terrible” by Adam. At least, they say, “you were better than the other press chick.” (The press chick in question performed a rather tentative rendition of Avril Lavigne’s “Skater Boi,” which was met with tepid applause and some loud boos. The host scolded the booers, saying, “That is not the spirit of air guitar!”)

Not surprisingly, I do not advance to the second round. But C. Diddy, Bjorn Turoque, Super Julie, The Shred, and Rufus Sewer, a dapper performer in a long, white silk scarf who describes his style as “Midwestern sexuality,” all do. This time around, contestants all have to perform to the same surprise song: The Smashing Pumpkins’ “Rat in a Cage.” Each brings his or her unique stylings to the proceedings; sweat flies, fists pump, shirts are removed. But in the end, to wild cheers of “the chink is going to go all the way,” C. Diddy emerges victorious, with Bjorn Turoque taking second place.

The evening ends with a dazzling duet performance of Led Zepplin’s “Good Times, Bad Times” by C. Diddy and Bjorn Turoque. Of course, audience members wave air lighters.

The lights come up and I slink back to the bar while cameras swarm over the newly crowned winner. An hour later, I’m still flushed and flooded with congratulations, thumbs-up signs and post-performance beers from a forgiving crowd. It’s been a glorious night — the couch potato’s version of the American dream, a brief taste of rock stardom without any of the laborious studio time, nail-biting demo shopping, or, you know, having to practice playing the guitar.

Or, as Cedric puts it, “Air guitar is attainable by everybody. Not unlike falling in love, it could happen to anyone — and everyone can do it.”