The weather has been teasing the threat of rain all day. It is a light mist for a moment, then merely gray again. We are waiting in line for the open-air arena that will serve as the venue for my smaller kids' first concert, Macklemore and Imagine Dragons. We are far from the only family present, as there's a good mix of ages and demographics. The promise of being soaked later has not deterred anyone from attending, it seems. A purchased ticket is clearly a commitment.

Among those of us in line for the ticket check and security screening, I notice a slender, bald, good looking man with dark skin, maybe in his late 20s. He is unremarkable except for his shirt. It is not, as one might expect in the sprawling DC metro area, work swag advertising some sort of beltway bandit contractor affiliation. It is not merchandise purchased in the gift shop of some nearby government agency. Instead, in bright contrast to the black material of the shirt, in large, friendly, white type on the chest, is the name of a sex toy for men.

It is unmistakable, despite my attempts to confirm without staring. Nope. There it is. To be clear, I firmly believe and vote to protect this man's right to masturbate in whatever way, with whatever tools he desires. But the wearing of the shirt invites me in, possibly intentionally, possibly accidentally. I want to imagine that this was free somehow, like those government contractor shirts. I wouldn't intentionally evangelize Lockheed Martin to strangers, but I can see how you'd take a free shirt and wear it for messy tasks around the house like fixing a faucet or painting a prop for a child's puppet show, and later find yourself unconsciously wearing it to the McDonald's.

I can imagine no such scenario with this shirt. If it was free, you're advertising for the product, but you're also implicitly sharing that you were, say, at a trade event for such a product. (That must have been fun, and my brain briefly enjoys imagining this.) The alternative - that the man handed over money for the shirt - is equally puzzling to me. I almost want to get out of line just to go over and chat with him about it.

"Which model did you get?" I'd say, turning the awkwardness up while simultaneously revealing a shared interest. "Translucent or opaque, and, if the latter, how did you pick a skin tone?" Only outsiders can ask such questions of other outsiders, and nothing says, "I don't care if I fit in" like wearing a shirt that proudly broadcasts the contents of your nightstand drawer.

--

If the internet has taught us anything, it has taught us that no matter what you find compelling or worthy of your time, there's someone out there who shares that interest - even if that interest is parading around in shirts advertising sex toys.

Many years ago, I attended what in other contexts would have been a revival house screening, but for a work of allegedly classic pornography, "Lollipop Girls in Hard Candy". In 3-D. It was simultaneously better and worse than you are picturing.

Better in that everyone waiting to get in knew why everyone else was also waiting, and this created a sort of giddiness in each of us, as if we were all naked together. The theater staff even gave everyone a lollipop to enjoy during the show.

But worse because the underlying material inspiring this massively shared awkwardness was not very good.

What in 1976 might have seemed tawdry or potentially illegal was now just dull. The all-white cast, complete with lots of facial- and body- hair, cavorted about with each other for just over an hour, but with such a sincere commitment to whatever the plot pretended to be - some sort of hostile takeover of a candy firm that made unusual suckers, I think - that it distracted from the naughty bits. In its defense, it was just as committed to the 3-D factor, and it is a rare event to see an entire theater try to duck at once, then giggle with relief.

No one in today's era of internet-inspired hyper specialization would have been at all titillated by this once-daring effort. Where were the people of color? Why was it exclusively focused on that one guy's enjoyment? Who wrote this thing?

It had become, in effect, pornography b-roll. Everything the internet offers us, in contrast, is pure specificity; nothing but niche.

--

Outdoor concerts and their close cousins, county fairs, have given people the idea that these venues, over all others - even those designed around a shared interest or specific population - are the ideal places to unfurl their freak flags for the rest of the unassuming and/or largely indifferent public to salute. There is some subset of the population, presumably otherwise underrepresented by pride parades, which wants you to know their very particular flavor of offbeat, and they want you to know at the fair.

In my youth, it seemed to be mostly men who wanted to wear black nail polish and matching skirts. Not, Buffalo Bill style, at home in front of a mirror, but out and about for all to raise an eyebrow at. But even then, these were rare.

People didn't really want to advertise their kinks or outside interests then. Today, it's all become so much more acceptable or encouraged to "bring your whole self to work" or, I suppose, to anywhere else. Perhaps even to the line for a temporarily assembled rollercoaster.

During my most recent summer of fair-going, the interstitial pride parade seemed to favor 3-person couples. A younger, skinny fellow with pinkish hair was being doted on by two equally slender young women with complimentary blue hair. I say, "doted," but it was more outright molestation than mutual affection. These folks were clearly into each other, and the fair was, an observer might conclude, not so much a day trip as a smoke break or other quick respite from whatever it was they did when people weren't watching.

But this made me wonder: they seemed to like the attention, so was all of this just an advertisement for some sort of homebrew pornography channel they run? Have we now moved so far into the niche, that, upon seeing someone attractive, clearly flying the freak flag, we should inquire as to their OnlyFans account name? Hey, Vistaprint: If you don't already have this as a template business card, laptop sticker, or car magnet, you're missing out. The internet has spoken.