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Barry Manilow is gay. Surprise! Or, maybe you think it’s not so surprising. Let’s think about that.

Barry Manilow’s gayness has nothing whatsoever to do with his earnest, soft pop mellifluous ballads, nor is it in any way related to his ostentatious showiness. If Barry Manilow spent all his time in a parlor clad in the wildest of Bob Mackie’s ensembles, decorated with garish chandeliers and drawings of cocks, it wouldn’t make him gay. If he dressed in drag and performed private renditions of Cabaret with Alan Cumming, this would not make him gay. Likewise, if he went on a cruise with Cher and Kathy Griffin and drank wine spritzers for a week at Carnival in Venice, it would not make him gay. Barry Manilow’s gayness is defined by one thing only, and that is his own self identification as such.

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