Me too. The comment whore thing; I start to pine if I get no comments.
Oddly, I have found that what always gets comments on my LJ are fashion entries. Most of my flist are gay/bi men (but not the fashion-industry kind), and gay/bi women (but only half of them are the lipstick-lesbian kind). There's a small proportion of straight men, at least one of whom wrote in to ask me to review slinky black dresses more, bless his heart. (I will, in the next few days). The proportion of straight women on my list is quite small, and about half them also have zero interest in fashion, one would think, given the contents of their closets.
But any fashion post I put up gets a hail of commentary. Odd, odd. I myself wear sweatpants every day and disapprove of most couture and all high heels on political grounds, but that has done nothing to dull my gimlet eye. I will slice and dice a red carpet until it looks like salsa!
The other thing that struck me strange: I made real connection with most of my flist last Jan-March, when I was doing a daily countdown of how friggin' sick I was. Boring! Boring! Self-indulgent and boring! But wow, I got comments out the wazoo. And some really good friends. :)
PS: I went to all that trouble to dig out my "hamster whore of babylon" icon and then forgot to change the caption!
Comment Whore
Me too. The comment whore thing; I start to pine if I get no comments.
Oddly, I have found that what always gets comments on my LJ are fashion entries. Most of my flist are gay/bi men (but not the fashion-industry kind), and gay/bi women (but only half of them are the lipstick-lesbian kind). There's a small proportion of straight men, at least one of whom wrote in to ask me to review slinky black dresses more, bless his heart. (I will, in the next few days). The proportion of straight women on my list is quite small, and about half them also have zero interest in fashion, one would think, given the contents of their closets.
But any fashion post I put up gets a hail of commentary. Odd, odd. I myself wear sweatpants every day and disapprove of most couture and all high heels on political grounds, but that has done nothing to dull my gimlet eye. I will slice and dice a red carpet until it looks like salsa!
The other thing that struck me strange: I made real connection with most of my flist last Jan-March, when I was doing a daily countdown of how friggin' sick I was. Boring! Boring! Self-indulgent and boring! But wow, I got comments out the wazoo. And some really good friends. :)
PS: I went to all that trouble to dig out my "hamster whore of babylon" icon and then forgot to change the caption!