It is a universal truth unknown that any young gay American is in search of... popularity.

Gay men in their twenties on a reality television show is like being selected for a prestigious high school cheerleading squad - cocktails included.

Case in point, Paul Johnson Calderon (or, as he likes to be referred to as PJC or bow-tie-guy). 

Last night as I sat down to escape reality by means of reality television, I became entranced with the new CW Television show High Society. A sneak peek into the lives of NYC high society folk.

Interesting? Aren't these people only supposed to be in newspapers when they're born, marry and die.

Not anymore it seems.

Of course, these high society "self proclaimed" socialites (I'm sorry, when did being a socialite become a job title?) wants the world to know that they have feelings too. At least for the two second shot of Tinsley Mortimer crying on her big plush down comforter.

Then it's off to the bar.

In the first five minutes we get to meet Tinsley's frenemy, JPC. Then, of course, the show becomes all about him.

It's his money... Give the boy his damn money.

When he asks his mom for $50,000 to buy a new apartment, she - being the responsible mom she is - only gives him $25,000 so he can learn some responsibility.

Then it's off to some expensive hotel where he meets his friend (a girl with a buzz-cut who faked cancer to get more money out of her parents) when the shopping spree ensues. The two get glammed up and throw on a bow tie for a night on the town where he buys expensive cocktails and shots for his "friends."

The night ends strangely though because he throws his scotch in the face of some girl who said that he was, "ewww gross."

Class pure class.

This kid has dreams though. He wants to write a book. Meet a nice man. Settle down and have kids. His mom has him on the same path also, hoping that he eventually marries Anderson Cooper.

Now, you see, the problem isn't the networks that continue to barrage us with images of gay men and their self-absorbed lifestyles. The problem is the gay men who fall for this kind of warped version of reality.

The new gay cliche seems to be one of wealth, privilege, bed hopping and doing whatever it takes to end up on Page Six - the new gay classifieds it seems.

When I go out to gay bars now, it seems more and more men are twisting their hair up in massive boulders of spiky gelled messes and calling it art by adding a streak of red. And - gasp - God forbid if one hasn't hooked up with some B-list celebrity or A-list porn star?

Oh, the freedom of living in a more accepted society and the pitfalls of that deranged world called - high society.

I think I'll just sit in the comfortable confines of my living room filled with Crate and Barrel Furniture and thank god I will never be some sobbing socialite at night as I find sleep on my Bed Bath & Beyond Sheets.