Deja and Me, 2020.

No one was more surprised than I was that I got a second pug within a few months after my first one died in October 2019. DJ lived to be almost 15, he was my shadow, and such a big part of my life that I wrote a book about him. How do you top that?

Deja came along (yes, the pun was deliberate) a few months later for the simple reason that I knew I had miles of love to offer another puppy, and knew she’d benefit from a loving household. …


Strangers Together: Ari Gold helping me publicize to the max.

The first time I met Ari Gold, in 2013, at a tiny West Village coffee spot he picked out, I didn’t recognize him. Although I’d seen a ton of his videos and photos in magazines, he was tiny in person, wearing a cap, and exuding none of the sex appeal so prominent in his work. I walked right past him and he had to call out my name. It was as if I, not the openly gay, Billboard-topping singer/songwriter/downtown New York staple, was the more notable person in the room.

I was preparing a party for the release of a…


In the middle of writing a piece on being happy as I get older, I had to stop. Because today I’m not. I don’t feel hashtag grateful or hashtag blessed.

I feel as if all of us, the rational thinkers at least, have been hit by a bus this past year, cancelling any future plans and disabling us for life. We’ll live, I suppose, but the injuries remain. Some of us have lost limbs that will never come back.

In between a raging pandemic and a lunatic cult fringe that lingers, between reading endless stories of people refusing to wear…


(CNS/Reuters/Ringo Chiu)

After a year in which “calm” has turned into a one-word oxymoron, I can’t remember being more relaxed than the day of January 6, on the treadmill at my gym, watching CNN on the monitors and reading captions about a riot at the Capitol. The pictures that accompanied the words were, or would have been just five years ago, unthinkable. Defecation and urinating on the grounds, Confederate flags waved, selfies with police, a man sitting at Nancy Pelosi’s desk, a guy wearing a “6MWE” shirt (“Six Million Jews Wasn’t Enough”). …


This is a story about (lack of) control. And if you get that reference you’re up to speed. It starts out just the opposite, this feeling of power, predestination almost. For those of you who drank the Kool-Aid with your morning bible, you might even still get touches of it. You know, when that book sells or the guy says yes or Instagram likes are way, way up. Like it was as expected as a tidy “Brady Bunch” ending.

But it’s as fake as the filter, as artificial as those colored drinks, as deceitful as Mr. Brady’s sexual healings. At…


Me, circa 1992

There are a lot more pressing problems in the world right now than the physical condition of my body. A pandemic out of control, black lives matter, a fascist-wanna-be president, Netflix options running out — the list goes on.

So it might seem odd, then, that I even bring up the subject of my physique, which is, incidentally, in decline. At best an example of extreme narcissism; at worst, a severe case of white privilege. “David Toussaint’s lamenting about his extra COVID pounds? I’ll try to shed some tears in between dodging cop bullets and fighting off this six-week-long virus…


Imagine you woke up one morning with a cold, just your everyday, twice a year cold. You’ve had them since you can remember, even as a kid. Imagine the sniffles and aches and sneezes and snot coming out of your nose. Imagine wanting relief so you could go about your day as planned. More than anything, you’d really just love to go back to bed until you felt better. You’d like people to call and sympathize and offer words to cheer you up or bring you chicken soup and silly magazines to read. …


(This article contains spoilers for Madonna’s Madame X Show)

Writing anything negative about Madonna is a win-win for all involved. Hating her gets hits. She is the most ridiculously maligned, ridiculed, discounted, demeaned, under-credited pop star of our lifetime. Madonna, by most media accounts, is a cheat, a charlatan, and, at the root of it all, an un-repenting whore not deserving of any achievement she’s spent her incredible career-lifetime achieving.

Read up and you’ll find that Madonna isn’t old now — she was over the hill by 35 — and that she isn’t just now writing sub-par tunes; back in…


About a year ago I got a chance to interview a friend of mine who’s well known in queer circles. I was thrilled at the opportunity to converse with my millennial pal for a second time, because, in the few years in which I’d gotten to know him, I found him to have some of the most insightful and clever perspectives on modern man life. He’s a no-holds-barred, tell-it-like-it-is kind of guy.

The interview was shelved about ten minutes after our meeting. By me.

“I won’t publish any of this,” I told him.

“Why?”

“You said nothing of interest. …


Face Your Illness

Whenever I write an article that mentions my mental illness, even in passing, someone somewhere, on some comment thread or in an email or even in person, tells me that my disease is a fabrication, non-existent, an excuse, a grab for attention. They refer to it as a personal weakness — for different reasons than intended, there is truth in the latter. They tell me my life is a lie.

I take these comments personally because it’s a denial of my self, all of it. Saying my mental illness doesn’t exist is no different than telling me I choose to…

David Toussaint

Book Author, Longtime Writer, Professional Actor and Playwright, Pug Lover

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