At college I freely made my homosexuality explicit and explore relationship dynamics. I was no virgin before or during college, but a relationship continued to elude me. I wasn’t laser focused on acquiring a boyfriend because the class load made it quickly clear that was not going to happen. I was good enough for a lay, but not to spend time with. I felt like a child compared to my classmates who all seemed much more worldly than I. I desperately wanted to be like them, sophisticated, well-read, and so comfortable in their uniqueness that they could sell themselves. This was something I couldn’t be, but I could pull forth a façade.
Hours were spent in the college’s library developing my cool gay identity vocabulary. I read cultural writers to know what to think, and studied the writers and artists to know what to get away with. Rejecting all previous gay iconography, I studied with interest, cultivating worldly queerness. I molded a new sophisticated variation of my previous mask – a manic pixie queer dream boy. In a world of weekend parties and fickleness, I covered insecurities in a façade specifically designed with a shelf life.