Chelsea Boy

Chelsea Boys in 2011

When I first arrived in Chelsea four years ago I was fascinated by the personality the neighborhood carried and the reputation it held beyond its streets. I wasn’t here during the 70’s, 80’s, or 90’s and thus lacked any personal connection when people spoke nostalgically of a place that was built on sex, driven by sex, and almost destroyed by sex. Sex, it seemed, was one of the defining characteristics of this neighborhood: then and now. For a 24-year-old transplant from Iowa, what better place could there be to go to?

This is noted, on my part, with hints of both arrogance and affection. I wasn’t here during the AIDS Crisis or the glory days of big Disco or the riots at Stonewall. But a lot of the people that were there during these periods are still in Chelsea. And a lot of them aren’t. I became obsessed with the place and the people that made it what it is. And to do so I needed to go beyond my own experience, and beyond the borders of Chelsea’s streets.

The more I asked around and read, the more I realized that the term, Chelsea Boy, seemed to be waning. As the new gay-ghettos are moving north to Hell’s Kitchen and east to Brooklyn, the phrase’s relevance has become limited to camp. To be labeled a Chelsea Boy defines yourself in two ways, your geography and your gender. It implies your sexuality and age. In the subtext, so much more is said.

Throughout writing this book the two most frequent questions I received were: What’s is a Chelsea Boy to you? And, do you consider yourself a Chelsea Boy? I live in Chelsea, check. I’m a male, check. I’m young, check. I’m gayer than Gaga, double-check. Now, for subtext: Do I do steroids and own a small dog? Do I go to circuit parties and do drugs? Do I camp and cruise and wear designer clothes? Am I vacant and shallow and plastic? Am I cliché?

This is a book about place. This is a book about language. This is a book about me trying to find myself in the language and space of Chelsea.

—Craig Moreau