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I can’t remember word-for-word what the joke was about Prince, but it went something like this: Prince is the only man who wears makeup, high heels, sings in falsetto, is prettier than most women, and can still steal your girlfriend. Although Prince wasn’t at all known to be anything other than heterosexual (his list of beautiful companions is pretty impressive), I would still add that he could probably steal your boyfriend, too, if he wanted.
This joke was actually a compliment. If you thought it was making fun of Prince, then you read it wrong. What this was saying is that Prince was so confident in who he was and how he expressed himself as a man that he didn’t need to play by the normal rules of dating engagement. He could just be himself, whichever self he felt like being on a particular day and at a particular time.
For those of you who can’t see it, that’s what true freedom looks like. Prince was a frontline ambassador not only for freedom of artistic expression but just plain freedom to be. The kind of freedom that most of us are either afraid of or are too constrained by the society in which we live to be able to fully experience. True freedom comes with a price, and most of us aren’t willing to pay that high.
We lost Prince a decade ago on April 21, 2016. I remember that date well, and I remember how the music world reeled. But what I remember more is my first reaction when I saw Prince, a dude in high heels, a long jacket, and skimpy black underwear. I determined right then and there that there was no way I was ever gonna get this guy’s album, even if the music sounded decent. No way could I justify being a fan of a dude who dressed like that. I was a diehard fan of Jimi Hendrix and George Clinton, both of whom also dressed in, let’s say, unusual fashions. But you never questioned the maleness of what they had on. And you never heard either one of them singing songs with lyrics like “Am I straight or am I gay?”
But then I saw Purple Rain. Like…I saw it about 5 or 6 times. I had just returned home to Denver from four years living in Chicago, pursuing my dream of supporting myself as a musician and writer of fiction. It didn’t quite work out. I arrived home close to 40 pounds underweight and in need of a job.
One day, I think I saw an ad for the movie and was a bit intrigued. By the end of the film (I was at an afternoon matinee and was one of just a handful of folks in the audience, which is how I normally like to see movies), I was like the guy in that commercial sitting in a sofa chair, grabbing the armrests with his hair blown back.
I think my afro may have gotten pressed straight. I had never seen anything like this before and didn’t quite know what to make of it, except that I wanted more. I went out and bought the album Purple Rain right away, then bought every other Prince album as soon as they came out.
I became more than an admirer; I became a disciple.
Am I straight or am I gay? Was a question. But the question wasn’t as important as the answer, which was that it didn’t matter. Not one damned bit. Just by asking the question, he exposed how stupid and irrelevant it was.
He was The Artist, and that’s how he lived his life. But he didn’t just live his life for himself, he lived his life as an inspiration for the rest of us to stop being afraid of who we are – and to stop being so damned intolerant of those who aren’t like us.
