Everyone survives New York in their own way.
I don’t know if it was by chance, circumstance, or a combination, but I found that my prime productive hours were between midnight and 7am. My days were spent auditioning, working odd jobs, or taking classes, but it wasn’t until the sun went down that I began to thrive. And why not? The blistering sun was gone, the streets were less crowded, and the city was quiet(er). My sandbox was New York’s underground, and the night crawlers were my friends.
New York has changed over the years, and so have I. I’m not the nightlife urchin I used to be. I do, however, live in Hell’s Kitchen, which is, for the moment, the epicenter of gay New York. And I still keep late hours, so between the bars in my neighborhood, cruising the dating apps, and running into club-kid acquaintances of the past, I still socialize with a wide variety of late-night individuals, most of whom I would never take home to Mom.
Ergo, if at 3am on a random Wednesday, someone I wasn’t expecting buzzes my doorbell, I know it’s most likely a Fraggle Knock. It’s a sound I’ve grown all too familiar with and conditioned myself to ignore, no matter the “urgency” the repetitive buzzing may indicate. The Fraggle Knock is a condition of living in New York’s gayborhood. Hell’s Kitchen is a Fraggle magnet.
What’s a Fraggle? From the New York gay perspective, a Fraggle is an attractive young man (18-35), usually well dressed and sometimes perceived as carefree and whimsical.
He is homeless, yet optimistic, despite always being “between jobs.”
He has nothing to do, nowhere to go, and nowhere to be.
If you’re not vigilant, he is more than content to stay at your place and keep you “company” all day or many days.
Some Fraggles barter their housekeeping skills as compensation for your hospitality by doing the dishes or offering to help you “clean”, which is their way of rooting through your shit.
Fraggles are always looking to ‘party’ as an economical way to support their substance abuse problem. They have no money, so don’t expect any monetary contribution or donation toward party expenses. They’ve done all of their drugs; now they want to come over and do all of yours.
They consistently troll through nearby profiles, searching for a kind face, a couch to crash on, a place to shower, and a charging station for their phone. Fraggles are very much like bed bugs. Once they are in your apartment, they are very hard to remove.
In New York, gay dating apps are infested with Fraggles. They are hard to spot and often don’t reveal themselves until they’ve made it over the threshold into your apartment.
If a trick shows up at your place with more than two carry-on pieces of luggage and wearing the kind of wired earbuds you get from Jet Blue, you may be in for a Fraggle experience.
Fraggles don’t “look” homeless. In fact, you’ll notice that Fraggles are often over-dressed in designer clothes, wearing expensive shoes, smelling of exquisite fragrances, and toting around a satchel of useless gadgets and electronics. These Fraggles’ fineries are typically stolen, donations, or gifts/bribes, used by exhausted hosts to get the Fraggle out the front door.
Fraggles have little consideration for others and are quick to exploit your empathy. They are experts at the “extended goodbye”. When it’s time to go, they can’t find their socks or need to rinse off quickly or charge their cell.
Fraggles transcend being someone in need to become the personification of “needy”. “Can I borrow some underwear?” “Do you have an extra hat?” “What about two AA batteries?” “Is this charger mine?” “Would you happen to have an extra $5?”
These individuals are skilled in utilizing many tactics to exhaust you until you cave in and invite them to stay, sparing them another night on the street while you sleep with one eye open.
If you encounter one Fraggle, rest assured plenty of others are infiltrating your neighborhood one profile at a time. They are an incestuous lot. Ask your friends and fuck buddies, and I’m sure you’ll have a Fraggle or two in common. After a recent experience, a Fraggle revealed to me that before arriving at my apartment, he spent the past two days shagging my next-door neighbor. (I knew those shoes looked familiar.)
It’s easy to feel sorry for the cute boy with a big dick who is down on his luck and going through a rough patch. They can be charming and persuasive but don’t be fooled — it’s bullshit.
Most Fraggles live on the streets by choice, far from being the victim they would have you believe. Their disregard for authority, lack of consideration, and refusal to follow rules & guidelines got them kicked out of their mama’s house, fired from their job, or evicted from their apartment. Rather than swallow their pride and make amends, they’ve convinced themselves they can be players and work the welfare system to their advantage. It’s a common delusion.
New York has a homeless problem. The shelters are overcrowded and dangerous, especially for young gay men. Spending the night in a shelter is a calculated risk. But even those shit-holes have rules and curfews. Fraggles don’t typically like authority, much less curfews, which often land them right back on the streets they came from.
Once you’ve had the Fraggle experience, you are on their radar, automatically added to their list of potential crash sites. In the wee morning hours, when the bars are closed, the streets are empty, and the apps are running dry, the Fraggle needs someplace to go.
Thus begins the Fraggle Knock cycle. Every hookup they’ve encountered is subject to the random, out-of-the-blue, middle-of-the-night Fraggle Knock. They go from door to door, block by block until some unsuspecting or benevolent person lets them in.
Fraggle Folk are not bad people, but they are desperate and desperate people do desperate things. I won’t turn my back on a Fraggle, but a strict protocol will be established, and specific ground rules must be obeyed.
First and foremost: never Fraggle Knock my place. I won’t answer. In New York, stopping by a person’s apartment unannounced and ringing their doorbell, at any time, is unacceptable. It’s just not done. I don’t, and won’t, answer my door unless I expect a package, a delivery, or I’ve invited a guest to visit. Period. When I was a kid, it was exciting when “company” would visit. Not now. Not in New York, and the Fraggle Knock is one reason.
Fraggles are no longer allowed inside my apartment or around my belongings unsupervised. I’ve lost remote controls, razors, shampoo, numerous cords, etc., to sticky Fraggle fingers.
I pass on clothing or accessories I no longer wear and will occasionally buy them food or a slice of pizza. I won’t give them money but will provide them with a MetroCard with a few rides left on it. The Fraggles I’ve encountered know I will help them if I can.
Why do I do this? Why do I care what happens to these rebellious punks? Why do I bother with a subculture that is typically self-serving and exploitative? I don’t know, and all I can fall back on is a belief in humanity.
Unlike their whimsical namesakes from Fraggle Rock, these Fraggles live on the fringes of society, grappling with realities that are far from fantastical. For some in the Fraggle community, addiction has become a harsh reality. What begins as a temporary escape from the pressures of urban life can quickly spiral into a devastating cycle of dependency. Under the cover of night, these Fraggle souls roam city streets, chasing shadows and struggling to find their way back from the abyss of addiction. It saddens me to watch once vibrant personalities slowly relinquish their ambition and melt slowly through indignity into despair.
Homelessness is a stark reality for these individuals, and although many have indirectly chosen a nomadic existence, others have fallen through the cracks in society or been left abandoned by overwhelmed parents and an imperfect foster system. Life without a permanent roof over their heads is a daily struggle, where a spare mattress or sofa offers a safe temporary respite from the harsh realities of life on the streets.
For those who dare delve into New York’s Fraggle community, navigating the waters requires empathy, understanding, and a willingness to see beyond the surface. It’s a world where stereotypes crumble, and human stories unfold with raw authenticity.
Beyond the facade of glimmer and glamor is a matrix of resilience and survival, where each Fraggle has a story to tell — of dreams deferred, battles fought, and moments of fleeting hope. I see acts of kindness, however small, as some way to remind them that they have worth, that their lives matter, and have meaning.
The Fraggles of New York are a complex and often misunderstood community grappling with issues that defy easy solutions. Though seldom told, their stories are threads woven into the fabric of New York’s intricate tapestry, reminding us of the humanity that binds us all.
