Due to rampant bigotry and ignorance in our society, many of us are forced to lead double lives, hiding our true selves under a veneer of false respectability. We dress and act like “normal” people at work or school, but afterwards, we scurry home to the colorful outfits hidden in our closets, we bust out our wigs and make-up, and we sneak off to prowl the streets, looking for others like ourselves in whatever seedy neighborhood accepts our kind. Every city has such an area—a part of town where bizarre characters get unspeakable kicks behind dumpsters in dark alleys. A place where we don’t have to be afraid of being recognized because we know the squares back at the office would never come here… to the Clown District.
Meanwhile, our civilian lives are nightmares of alienation and repression. Even as small children, everyone can tell there’s something slightly different about us. We’re always the oddballs in our families, but no one can say exactly why. By adolescence, we begin to understand who and what we are, and we get used to being teased and beaten up simply because the other kids aren’t comfortable showering in front of a clown in the locker room. Most institutions won’t even let us use our real names, so we have to come up with bland monikers like “Lars Larson” or “Suzy Creamcheese” or “Jason Jensen” if we want jobs and driver’s licenses.
Even if we do change our names, most employers will discriminate against us on the basis of looks alone. We might find work in the circus, but the idea of a clown in a powerful, high-paying position is a joke. No one wants to be represented by a clown in court. God forbid some pink-face in the emergency room should have to see a clown looming over them with a hacksaw and a plastic mask full of nitrous oxide. Even today, clowns make an average of $0.57 on the dollar compared to regular humans.
But the worst indignity we suffer is when the government interjects itself into our relationships. Someone recently asked me if the reason I’m not married is because I’m gay. I wish. At least gays have civil unions. The only real difference between being civilly unified and being married is that you have to fill out a few extra forms if you want to pull the feeding tube out of your catatonic spouse. Clowns don’t even have that. We’re not even recognized as people by any church or government office, so it’s always been illegal for us to register our love with the state bureaucracy.
I asked Rev. Nils Nilson of the Church of Divine Retaliation what’s up with this deep-seated fear of costumed adventurers. “Marriage is a sacred institution between a man and a woman, not a man and a clown,” he told me. “If we let people marry clowns, soon they’ll be marrying dogs or flagpoles. White people will start marrying black people. All our time-honored traditions will just spiral down the drain in a sloppy mess of free love and total confusion.”
It seems society will never allow clowns the luxury of having to hire lawyers when they want to break up. And until that changes, I’ll spend my evenings alone at home, twisting balloon animals and crying.
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