Guy Trebay's Times report from the frontlines of the new breed of depoliticized gay male art, which hinges on one show in Dumbo that features work like James Morrison's "Friendster Is Dead," is full of easy jokes for evil homophobes. For example: "'I adore Butt,' said Bruce Hainley, a critic and curator" (he refers to the magazine). And also, on magazines like Butt: "They are as solipsistic as a Rufus Wainwright lyric. They are as whimsical as one of the neo-hippie Devendra Banhart's tunes." But it's beneath us all to limit our enjoyment of this article to such superficialities. Let's look deeper and ask the tough questions. Such as: why does this article exist? Even by Styles's standards of newsworthiness—preppies like a clubby bar, Vogue controls socialites' lives— why do gay men making visual art merit mention? Does one show in Brooklyn even make for gay-dudes' art having an "efflorescence"—much less constitute a "moment"?