Boy Meets Boy is a Different World

As a gay man, I’ve learned I need to set the bar way higher for straight people.

Wait, did I say straight people? I meant everyone.

I was speaking to a fellow actor recently about straight men like him playing gay roles. We were going to play lovers in a play, and I was asking him about his level of comfort and his general thoughts about preparation for the part. He told me that he was approaching it all with an open mind, that he had no qualms about being seen as gay, and that he was as excited about this role’s challenge as any other’s. He ended by saying, “The way I see it, I’m just a guy falling in love. It just happens to be with another guy.”

My first reaction to hearing those words was probably not unlike yours reading them. I felt grateful to be in the company of someone so accepting, and though he was talking about the role I couldn’t help but feel personally acknowledged as well.

But somehow, somewhere in my mind, something bugged me about what he said. Was it how easy it seemed for him to think he understood what it was like to be gay? Was I jealous at the confidence he exuded in portraying a person I spent years trying to repress? Was I angry that his reward was glory where mine had been shame?

No. And no. And no.

What bugged me was something that I hadn’t even realized until that very conversation:

What he said wasn’t true.

It sounded pretty, and it was something that I had wished were true my entire life. But through being in the closet and coming out and having boyfriends and coming to terms with what it truly means to be gay, I knew it wasn’t exactly that simple. Not that it’s complicated, it’s just more interesting.

. . .

Boy meets girl is something we know. Young boys get asked if there are any pretty girls they like at school, young girls get asked about the cute boys. Sex ed classes are already lacking, but for gay or questioning students doubly so. Romantic comedies are only a certain kind of romantic. Dating shows only a certain kind of dating. We know what it looks like for a man to sweep a woman off her feet, or for a woman to fall head over heels for the man of her dreams. Not that those representations are perfect, or always realistic, but they are everywhere. And by them being everywhere, it starts to feel like there’s no other option. Nobody thinks to ask a little boy if he’s got a boyfriend.

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When I first fell in love, I didn’t have a lot to go off of. When people asked me if I was dating someone, I would smile and say “Yes”, but when they asked what she was like, I’d get a little caught off guard. Growing up in Wyoming, and Utah, and Arizona, I’ve met a lot of people who immediately get weird when they see me with another guy. Now I live in LA and love to be seen holding hands with my boyfriend, but most Hollywood love stories still don’t make as much sense to me as they seem to do to my straight friends.

In other words, boy meets boy is a different world.

For one, the stakes are higher. When two men are in a relationship, there’s more risk. For proof, just listen in on a gay first date. You won’t have to wait long before hearing something like, “So does your family accept you for who you are?” And it’s rare to hear an answer that doesn’t include at least one relative or family friend who isn’t.

Then there’s coming out. Talking about the part of our lives when we lied to ourselves about who we were, while we secretly wished for affection and contact and love that we couldn’t even fully understand. But we knew all the consequences. Having a boyfriend or girlfriend in high school is something queer people can sometimes only dream about. Even if it’s a more progressive school, queer relationships are automatically more visible and more vulnerable. Not to mention how often being gay is used as a quasi-playful insult or the butt of a joke.

Growing up queer comes with a kind of invisible loneliness. One that comes not just from feeling alone, but also from feeling that what you want, who you are, is not even presented as a choice.

So when I’m in a relationship with a boy, it’s not at all like being in a relationship with a girl. The highs are higher, because I remember that there were nineteen years of my life where doing anything with a boyfriend was a faint dream. The lows are lower, because after spending so long denying myself of what I wanted more than almost anything else, the thought of losing it can be unbearable. Every time I get to say “my boyfriend” I release an entire childhood of repressed hope.

. . .

This is what came careening through my brain after hearing my friend say he was practically a coin toss away from understanding what it meant to be gay and in love. And I realized that up to that point I’d still been trying to fit into a world that wasn’t built as much for me.

That’s why I need to set the bar higher for everybody. We all do. Because when we recognize that the norms sold to us are only a meager portion of what’s actually available, only then can we contribute to building a world where love can be understood more universally.

Then, at last, there will be romcoms for us all.

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This post was previously published on Medium and is republished here with permission from the author.

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