Article written by Frank DeCaro that originally appeared in Genre Magazine

The White Party at Vizcaya began as a vision and, over the years, has grown into something spectacular and huge that has attracted, in its lifetime, many thousands of men...At the Shore Club in Miami's South Beach, the same could be said of the Adonis behind the check-in counter at the White Party Week Welcome Center. He is a vision-blond and bronzed, shirtless and hairless, like Rocky in The Rocky Horror Picture Show. He is spectacular and huge, and if he wanted thousands of men, he could have them all.

Of that, there is no doubt.

If there is a single reason why the annual AIDS benefit at the mansion and gardens called Vizcaya in Coconut Grove, Florida, is considered the creme de la creme of Circuit parties, this one-man welcoming committee is the embodiment of it. Without uttering a word, he is the living, breathing explanation of why the bestlooking men in the world have come to this best possible location to party hard all Thanksgiving weekend long. He is beauty. He is vitality. And, to top it all off, he is handing out free goody bags with condoms, lubricants, and Bette Midler remix CDs in them to every $100 advance-ticket holder. Only an hour after arriving in Miami Beach, I have seen God and He is wearing white spandex.

How I want to deserve Him.

That beautiful creature-and thousands of others who look just like him-are why scads of men have come to South Beach for Turkey Day, while so many more traditional types went home to their dysfunctional families. It is the same reason why every year multitudes of well-toned gym rats head to Mardi Gras in Sydney, Hotlanta in Atlanta, the Black & Blue Ball in Montreal, the Morning Party on Fire Island, and two dozen other megafetes.

They come for the mountains of manhood, the flexing fabulousity, the lusciousness in Lycra, and the chance to be with each other. That's why they "do the Circuit," flying from city to city to party and party with the same people all over the world. To be and be seen. To dance and, likely, to do lots of drugs. So happy and gay and upscale together.

"You could call the whole weekend 'The Love Handles That Dare Not Speak Their Name,"' says the comedian Bob Smith, who performed his stand-up act at the Comedy Central Carnival during White Party Week last November. "It's the biggest collection of gorgeous men in the world. It's like a Rorschach test, really. It'll either make your day or destroy your self-esteem for a year," he says. Those are the chances you take when you buy a ticket.

Increasingly, gay men are willing to take that risk, however. The party circuit, a phenomenon born of the AIDS crisis, is becoming a full-on lifestyle for those who can afford the luxury of spending thousands of dollars on benefit tickets, airfare, and hotels month after month. It is the new gay jet set, fueled by a disco beat that practically demands all-night partying, often chemically fueled by ecstasy or "K"-all enjoyed (and endured) in the name of raising money to fight a disease that has us dancing as fast as we can to avoid it destroy it, or live with it. And although critics worry that these events are becoming debauched exercises in excessive behavior-instead of AIDS benefits-more and more gorgeous men are joining the fun each year.

"If you add up the numbers of people who attend these events-I have a list of 30 annual parties-you're talking certainly over 100,000 people, and maybe twice that," says Alan Brown, a columnist who chronicles this gay demimonde for half a dozen magazines, including Genre. "That's no small amount of cash changing hands. And it's still very much on the upswing, because the numbers are growing all over. The Black & Blue Ball went from 6,000 tickets to 8,000. For Mardi Gras in Sydney, they sell 20,000 tickets and gross more than a million dollars..."

Truly, it is big business for hotels, restaurants, airlines, and promoters. And it is big fundraising, usually for local AIDS charities. The White Party at Vizcaya, for instance, benefits the Health Crisis Network, an AIDS organization serving South Florida. Although it began humbly as a one-night event for Floridians, in 12 years it has grown into a vacation destination for gay men from all over the world. White Party Week partying now begins the Wednesday before Thanksg*ing and doesn't stop until the wee hours of the following Tuesday morning, with 14 events in addition to the actual Vizcaya White Party packing them in all over South Beach.

"Last year the event raised $285,000, this year almost half a million," says James Remes of Colours Destinations, the official travel coordinator for the event. Those who attend not only the official party at Vizcaya but the other official and unofficial events at such South Beach clubs as Kremlin, Glam Slam, Warsaw, and the open-air disco called Amnesia, count on those events to be consistently exciting.

"People know there's going to be a certain element of high energy that's common to each of these events," Remes says. But more importantly, he adds, "There's going to be a camaraderie and a reunion. It's a coming together of people with similar tastes, lifestyles, and professions. You have to have a certain income level to be able to maintain this life, because it involves taking offfrom work, packing up, and going from place to place."

Indeed there is a pack mentality to such parties, and a certain generic quality to the boys of the Circuit, a sameness that is comforting to insiders but potentially disconcerting to anyone who doesn't meet the high standards of beauty and economic means set by party regulars. "There's one model with different upholstery," jokes Bob Smith. "But I have no complaints about it. It's a very attractive model."

Still, the sight of all these beautiful men- what Smith calls "an art museum where you can ask the statues to dance"-can be intimidating. "People see these guys shirtless and say 'Oh, they have a lot of altitude,"' he says. "But then they turn out to be the nicest guys in the world. They have cats and they love Barbra Streisand also." In short, they're just like their more aesthetically challenged brothers.

For instance, Alan Brown, the columnist, is a management consultant in real life. He says he "came to the party scene late in life-when I was 28." He's 35 now and goes to about 20 parties a year. Brown estimates that serious Circuit partygoers spend as much as $ l 5,000 a year to be in the right place at the right party at the right time. They blow at least $1,000 per event," he says, adding, "not including drugs," which to many people's minds is a prerequisite.

That $1,000 also doesn't include costumes. At the White Party at Vizcaya, Brown and 27 of his friends from as far away as Los Angeles, New York, London, and Zurich, made their entrance in matching white genie costumes, complete with turbans and curly, Turkish-toed shoes. Two of his friends, business executive John Prossen and graphic designer Tim Chisserj both of Minneapolis, were sewing for a month just for that splashy arrival when they made their way onto the dance floor, sparklers in hand. Why do they go to such trouble?

"Why not?" Brown says.

But partying is not the only reason for joining the Circuit. So-called "Circuit queens"- men whose gym membership IDs and frequent flier mileage cards are never very far apart-will tell you they come to Miami Thanksgiving weekend for family reasons, even if they don't eat Stove Top with relatives. White Party Week is not just a disco benefit bash for them, but what Brown likes to think of as a reunion with his "sprawling gay family from all over the world."

Indeed, Circuit parties allow handsome, well-heeled men to align themselves with a community of beauty and privilege, and to enroll themselves in a cult of men who share, among other qualities, money to spend, full heads of hair, 31-inch waists, and upper arms to die for. If all goes well, they have a splendid time and leave feeling better about themselves as gay men. As Remes of Colours Destinations says: "When you band together and join in an event with hundreds, if not thousands, of friends, you realize you're not just one person out there."

Alan Brown elaborates. "People have been gathering around fires, dancing and beating sticks together for quite a few years. We've just refined the art," he says. "There is an energy that coalesces at a large-scale party that is impossible to describe with words- where a group of two or three thousand individuals becomes like one living organism."

Certainly that was the case at ICON 1235 the officially sanctioned Friday night event al Glam Slam during White Party Week. In this disco on Washington Avenue (fashioned from an old theater and owned by the Artist Formerly Known As Prince), a sea of barechested bodies undulated to a techno beat, a throbbing mass of freshly waxed testosterone. It was a sight to behold, glistening with sweat and sex appeal.

The night before, Thanksgiving night, at the club called Kremlin on the Lincoln Road mall, the scene was even hotter, if that's possible. In a kiddy pool above the bar, a go-go boy with a mop of wavy jet-black hair was oscillating an enormous appendage-his own-through the filmy fabric of a red bikini bathing suit. Dripping wet and rock hard, he was the brunet equivalent of the WelcomeWagon blond from the first day in South Beach. Every bit as spectacular. Just as huge.

The dance floor at Kremlin was packed that night-body to fat-free body; it spilled out off the parquet and onto the carpet. Rupert Everett, the out-of-the-closet cinematic heartthrob, was skulking around the disco in a white athletic shirt and jeans. Here, though, he was just another beautiful face in a beautiful crowd. It was as if the room itself were perspiring, relief coming only from icy cold bottles of beer held to sizzling foreheads between gulps. Alive with thump-thump reverberations, who could remember the real reason why these men had supposedly come together? That night, like most others, the fight against AIDS, the original impetus for these parties, seemed only a distant, tangential thought-an unwanted guest too serious to be any fun.

Going to Circuit parties is "good because it raises money, but let's be real-it's a fun thing," says Bob Smith. "It's not feeding hors d'oeuvres to the homeless. But a good party doesn't have to solve world problems. If it can add a little bit to life, it's worth it. What's fun is that you see all these people and it's very upbeat. Besides, it's a really good thing for the community because it boosts the self-esteem of men who've been working out for years."

Not that these parties aren't a chance to abuse those amazing bodies, too. "The inherent irony of the party circuit is that we endanger ourselves to benefit others," Brown says. "There are people who enjoy the parties drugfree. But, by and large, recreational drug use is part of the recipe." Truly, men who watch their fat intake with unflinching scrutiny often will put controlled substances into their bodies with abandon in search of the perfect high.

Brown says dichotomies abound in life, though, so why should these parties be different? They're AIDS benefits and they're exercises in hedonism. So what?

"I work hard and I play hard," Brown says. "My life is in balance, but the pendulum swings widely. At best, the party scene is a sustaining source of positive energy. At worst, it's a self-destructive waste of time. It depends on your expectations," he explains. "Some people go out to get laid. If that2s your expectation, lots of luck. A better reason is to celebrate your friends, and that's a much more attainable goal."

There is a joke circulating among those who have observed the growth of the party phenomenon, probably started by someone whose sexual expectations weren't met on the Circuit. Question: "What's the definition of a Circuit party?"Answer: "3,000 of the hottest men in the universe, none of whom can maintain an erection."

Surely, that is an exaggeration. Some of them have got to be able to get it up and keep it up. But drug use on the Circuit is a sensitive topic, something not easily joked about. To draw attention to it, or worse yet, to criticize it, is to become unpopular. Last September, for instance, David Groff, a sometime partygoer, wrote a controversial piece about the Gay Men's Health Crisis Morning Party on Fire Island, talking about the role of drugs at such events. Some felt Groff had "narc-ed" on them; sharing a dirty secret with the straight world.

"It got a lot of party boys angry," Groff admits. But he feels it had to be said. "For some of us on the Circuit, drug use has become not a choice, but a reflex," he says, reiterating points he brought up in the feather-rufffling article he wrote for New York magazine. "That's what we need to question. The message to urban gay men is that to have fun you need drugs. But drugs can become not a means but a barrier to the true ecstasy of dancing and the genuine pleasure that our bodies can give us."

Drugs remove longing and self-consciousness. Groff explains, "They put us at ease with bodies that, as gay men, we wear like badly fitting suits"-no matter how beautiful they really are. "We have a lot to be proud of when it comes to remaking our bodies. It's pretty astonishing and pretty accomplished at the same time. But sometimes drugs can be a big price to pay for taking off your shirt without fear, not to mention lowering our common sense levels when it comes to giving or getting HIV."

He worries, as some observers do, that parties originally meant to fight AIDS are becoming in fact breeding grounds for the disease. "Some of the Circuit parties are losing favor with their corporate sponsors because they've become too 'party,"' says Remes. "Some are becoming a little too outlandish. The true fundraiser events- like the White Party at Vizcaya-those events tend to grow a little more conservatively. The White Party's still the crown jewel of Circuit events."

The 1995 White Party Week boasted such sponsors as Absolut, Captain Morgan Rum, Miller Lite, American Airlines, Comedy Central, Perrier, The David Geffen Foundation, Kenneth Cole, and, of course-Genre. Vizcaya, Brown explains, "is a community event that has grown into the most desirable ticket, There are parties for partying's sake and there are: parties with a reason, like the White Party at Vizcaya, and there's a big difference," he asserts. "I have a huge issue with the economics of the Circuit. The amount of cash generated by these events is enormous. The proceeds should be going back into the gay community."

There is a feeling that some promoters take advantage of party boys with money to spend, throwing events surrounding actual benefit parties that don't funnel money back to AIDS-related organizations. The average partygoer, though, doesn't seem to question that, as lortg as the music is good and the men are hot.

Indeed, no matter who is throwing the party, who is sponsoring the events, or who is to benefit from them, one thing is dear: The parties continue to get bigger. The Circuit continues to grow. Whether the party is white, red, or black and blue, the boys keep coming, each one more fabulous than the next. "The Circuit is something that needs to be nurtured and professionally managed, because for some guys, it's the only connection they have with the gay community," says Brown.

Bob Smith thinks the Circuit should be encouraged for another reason."Whether it's Shriners or gay men, we like to party wearing the same outfits," he says. "It's an American tradition."

Frank DeCaro is the author of A Boy Named Phyllis (Viking). Last November he briefly achieved his lifelong dream of joining the Circuit.