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My "Oh, Clay" voice is quick approaching "Oh, Britney" tones.
This long piece in New York magazine isn't a terribly nice set up -- they have Piss Christ artist Andres Serrano shoot his portrait, a classic media trick to force a culture clash anecdote. But it has plenty of smart, painful commentary too, like: "New York's is not a culture that smiles on false humility or unprocessed self-loathing. And this is the angle Aiken has been working for decades."
But at this point who can argue the Idol has dug his own sad, lonely little grave?
"Let's not fool ourselves," he says with his eyebrows up in his arch, queeny way. "The truth is? There are people like Justin Timberlake, males who are cool on radio right now, and then there' s me. If I heard myself in a dance club? If I went into a dance club -- which I never do -- and I heard Clay Aiken come on, I'd roll my eyes and get out. But you know what? I'm fine with being kind of vanilla! It's oh-kye!" In his book, Aiken says that it's not just clubs but also bars he dislikes: "The only reason people go to bars is to get drunk and have sex. To me, bars are what hell is like."
He imagines his social life here will be "nonexistent, really. I'm not a nighttime person." He does not plan on dating, and he is not involved with anyone. "Heck, no," he says. "My dogs." He has never had a romantic relationship with anyone, unless you count the girls he took to dances back in high school in Raleigh. "I just don’t have an interest in ... any of that at all. I have got too much on my plate," he says. "I'd rather focus on one thing and do that when I can devote time to it, and right now, I just don’t have any desire."
But Aiken is 29 years old and he is also a human. Surely he must have needs. Urges. He contemplates this in silence for 20 or 30 seconds. "Ah think maybe I don't! I mean, not really. I've just kind of shut it off, maybe. Is that bad?"
Oh, Clay.
Previously > A cautionary tale
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