Not your father's golf wear.

"There's definitely a suburban thing to what I do. But like men to dress lot sexier than that," says Gene Meyer, sitting in the conference room of his stylish 57th Street showroom in Manhattan. "My first collection was like subversive golf wear."

When one views Meyer's vibrant clothes, it's hard not to be reminded of retro golf fashion; those loud polyester-blend shirts, those tighter-than-tight checked slacks. With his bright, liberating line of menswear, the hot New York-based designer has brought sex and suburbia together in collections that are winning him acclaim in the fashion industry and changing the silhouette of the American male.

Meyer is at the helm of a popular gay tribe of designers--including John Bartlett and the design team known as Richard Edwards--who are injecting a bold, in-your-crotch sexiness into contemporary men's fashion. "I perceive things differently because I'm gay," says Meyer. "I like men to look sexy." For him, it's a crime to conceal a man in dull colors and frumpy fabrics. "In the past," he says, "men denied themselves clothes that made them happy. I think the whole sense of male beauty has changed in the past few years."

If Meyer's designs are any indication, this is eminently true. Though he's best known for his op-art-inspired neckties--which have been coveted by celebrities as disparate as TV interviewer Charlie Rose and comic actor Robin Williams--the designer's last four sportswear collections have dazzled fashion fans with their luscious hues, offbeat fabrics, and sleek, sexy tailoring. So respected are his innovative designs that in 1996 he was awarded the prestigious Perry Ellis Award for Menswear from the Council of Fashion Designers of America.

Meyer credits most of his success to his sharp graphic sensibilities. "I don't think I've ever read a review of my work where they don't talk about my use of color," says Meyer. It's no wonder: The designer boasts a preternatural talent for intermarrying colors in fresh, unexpected ways. His happy clothes conjure images of Mondrian gone crazy. "I like people to smile when they look at my colors," says Meyer. "To tell you the truth, I've never understood why people have to dress so drearily when they go to work--you know, blue is for boys, pink is for girls. It's amazing, all the rules and regulations we've made for each other."

Having grown up in a Baptist household in Louisville, Ky., Meyer is no stranger to rules and regulations. "I think because I was gay, I was shier and more introverted as a child," he recalls. "I watched things instead of participating." From that vantage point Meyer developed a keen eye for the fashion foibles of the adult world. "I remember when I was growing up, my dad would wear wacky, kooky colors on the weekend--he was a big golfer. I just never understood why he couldn't wear those clothes during the week."

Now Meyer is out to show that men can wear what they want, when they want. In years past, he says, fashion "got to be ludicrous, like every guy was from some cookie-cutter image. It's so boring. Today, guys can look lots of different ways." These days, adds Meyer, old fashion cues like tight fits and bold colors don't tell anymore whether a man is gay or straight. "A lot of guys work out and want to put on a tight shirt," he observes. "And why not? But just as many gay men are conservative as straight men."

According to Meyer, fashion's forecasters predict even brighter colors for next season--surely, for this designer, an opportunity to shine. If he had his choice, whom would he dress in tomorrow's sexy Meyer brights? "Tons of people," Meyer responds enthusiastically. "Every new young male movie star: Ethan Hawke, Johnny Depp, Leonardo DiCaprio."

But Meyer swiftly asserts that his designs don't demand perfect abs and chiseled jaws. He wants men of every stripe to dive into his delicious clothes. "Most people don't look like actors anyway," he says. "The smoke-and-mirrors tricks they use in the media are amazing. Everyone has his own individual charm." Besides, adds Meyer, "I'm not making a movie. I'm making clothes."