Starf*cker by Matthew Rettenmund; Lethe Press, $25
Twenty years ago, writer and BoyCulture.com blogger Matthew Rettenmund published both a well-received work of erotically charged fiction, Boy Culture, and a must-have Madonna fan-bible, Encyclopedia Madonnica, recently updated for its double-decade anniversary. Each book satisfied a niche market: gay readers wanting sexy smut about insatiable young 20somethings, and Madonna wannabes rabidly devoured every minute detail of her pantiless climb up the ladder to stardom.
It's apparent the author hasn't changed much since the 1990s, since his memoir Starf*cker, subtitled the eye-rollingly silly A Meme-oir, dives right into the heart of Rettenmund's obsession with celebrity, beautiful men, Madonna ("yes, still – always ") and his allegiance to pop-culture fanaticism. His foreword defines "starfuckery," which forms the foundation for the memoir, as "rooted in an appreciation of nostalgia, which along with wisdom, gray pubic hair and a lack of respect for boundaries, is something that comes with age."
Excessively chatty and giddy yet charming and distinctive for all of his loony celebrity name-dropping and dishy asides, Rettenmund waxes nostalgic for his "tubby" Lutheran childhood begun in Flint, Michigan, then on to Flushing, Queens, as a plucky child with an "eerie intelligence." His stroll down Memory Lane includes adventures with Dungeons and Dragons, Atari, random straight male jocks he'd obsessed over, a quest for high school supremacy that mirrors Mean Girls, and coming out to his best straight buddy, who, he sadly assumed post-admittance, "felt really stupid for having been so close to me without realizing the truth."
As a young adult, an addiction to gay porn and celebrity soon blossomed into stints at a book publisher, a media news outlet, and a stab at becoming a porn star himself. His love for Divine soon gave way to everything Madonna, high-energy dance music, and boyfriends, cheating on boyfriends, and sure, even a relationship or two.
Perhaps the best part about Rettenmund's memoir is the writing. The author is a seasoned, flashy wordsmith, and his fancy footwork on the page is something to behold. He's a cross between your bitchy, lip-glossed best friend holding court at the brunch table and the National Enquirer, if written by Jackie Collins.
He has definite opinions on relationships and dating in Manhattan, particularly if one navigates these murky waters using hook-up apps and winds up throwing caution to the wind, not exchanging photos, and coming face-to-face with a man "much older than I'd expected, hunched, and looked like a greater being had chewed him like bubblegum and spit him out." Then there's the modern-day curse of meeting a man he really likes who already happens to be in an open relationship: "Curse these great-looking, successful guys," he writes, "who find each other, take each other off the market, and continue to play the field." On the subject of seducing straight men, Rettenmund believes this to be "as easy an itch to scratch as it is to type Craigslist into your browser and hit return. Whatever challenge it once held is gone, girl."
Rettenmund's addictively fun blog, created "out of a desire to say something mean about a pushy journalist encountered at a Blondie concert," is filled with memes and hunky-man clips on repeat ("wrestler GIFs are my gifts to you") and has emerged as a gay Internet impulse mouse-click since its inception in 2005. That's not to say that his name will be instantly recognizable among bookstore browsers; Rettenmund does serve a niche market. Far from obscurity but not exactly knocking knees with the Kardashians, his memoir is an amusing indulgence, much the same way TMZ has become a procrastinator's dream date. Never dense nor particularly incisive, this memoir is worth reading only to discover that there are gay men out there who still cherish pop stardom to its very core, and who see "how lucky it is for someone to become a star in the first place."