You not only killed Angel, you basically murdered nightlife because, as Mayor Giuliani kept looking for ways to crack down on clubs so they became safe for tourists and community boards, you gave him every reason to put further restraints and make going out an exercise in constantly looking back to see who’s watching your every move. In fact, you made it very uncool to go out at all, especially dressed with any flamboyance, because the association was with a hateful, grisly act of violence that was substance-fueled and totally demented. It was years until people were able to dress up and laugh again, and if you find the nightlife still a little too restrained when you reenter it, you mainly have yourself to blame!
But your other immediate actions are what concern people since you’re now able to pursue an actual future as the alternately dreaded and appreciated-despite-it-a Michael Alig. I’d actually like to get together and have a talk since I’m no hypocrite—I followed your every move all those years, put my name on your invites, and defended the club kids’ sense of cathartic liberation on various talk shows, in between criticizing you when you went too far or behaved too crudely. I was sort of the elder statesman of the group—someone who was privy to everything going on and was free to lash out in print about it since, as I constantly told my lawyer, “Don’t worry, Alig will never sue. He loves the press—any press.”
And I still have fond memories of the fun, the frolics, the outrageousness and the kick in the pants you regularly gave to society’s complacence and bad taste. You didn’t get on the cover of New York magazine early on for nothing; you represented the new wave in nightlife and the dramatic possibilities that were bringing a jolt to the mwah-mwah world of polite clubbing. You shook all that up, but then you screwed it up by abusing your freedoms, forgetting your guidelines, and thinking you were above the law and beyond human decency.
Read Musto's full letter of advice here.