I’ve been going back and forth on how to write this, because it feels unbearable to read, “I’m a masculine guy so I have a hard time in queer spaces.” I roll my eyes when I see this and think to myself, “This guy’s trying too hard.” However, I do need to acknowledge how I’ve benefited from people assuming I’m straight and most importantly, if I don’t accept that I make queer people uncomfortable then I won’t be able to work on attracting the kinds of friends I actually want. I know it’s going to be a difficult process working on expanding my identity to make those types of friends as well, but, it’s something that long term I would like.

At first, I was considering just writing about how straight passing and masculine I come off and poking holes in it, because to a straight man, no matter how much I pass, I’ll still be queer. That ignores that the benefits are so great to just having general strangers assuming my straightness and leaving me alone. I thought about starting here because of how much the gay community prizes masculinity and seeks straight passing men. Even in the super liberal city I now live in, I still routinely see “masc for masc” or other ways of stating that preference on the apps. Even the guys that don’t say that on their apps will still approach me in a certain way that makes it clear that they’re chasing after a straight passing fantasy. Although I’m unsure of my own masculinity, I have to acknowledge the conversations I’ve had with other queer men, which are really stupid in my mind but are these constant surprises when I say I don’t like sports, don’t drink beer, etc. 

I don’t think it’s particularly surprising to say that gay men share some of the same stereotypes around masculinity and sexuality that the greater straight community does. So usually after these conversations is my attempt at defending the identity I have in my head, which is that I’m just a huge nerd. Now, with how much STEM is being prioritized as a good industry to go into, I don’t think this is an undesirable trait. I just think I need to work harder on showing my comfort with being perceived as queer.

To that is the reality that I choose to play into the visuals of straightness and desire a straight passing public persona because I’m worried about being perceived as queer. My politics might be queer, but my perceived identity is not. Like most queer men, I’ve learned a bit about how to market myself and choose to market myself as straight passing. The hours I spend at the gym, the hobbies that are another form of exercise, and the constant dieting and mindfulness of what I’m eating is so that I can have a body that men desire and that plays up the natural traits I have that are tied to perceptions of masculinity, such as my body hair and broad shoulders. On top of the skin, the way I dress is still safely heterosexual, leaning into the natural traits which other men have chosen to play with in a way that approximates androgyny and femininity. For example, when I’m riding the metro into downtown Los Angeles, I make sure to wear a dark jacket on top of whatever floral pattern I have on, buttoning it up before riding through Compton and Watts and making sure it stays that way until I get to a gay bar; my pants and shoes, as I’m too cheap to buy more fashionable ones, have not been an issue.

I’ve been rewarded for this type of behavior. It would be one thing if this positive feedback loop was limited to awarding me sexual partners. However, it’s everywhere in my life. From the family members that applaud me for passing to the coworkers that are happy to read me as a particularly nerdy but straight engineer. Grossest of all is that in prioritizing the quickest and surest way to financial stability, I ended up in a straight, male dominated and heteronormative industry. In fact, I could be tempted to summarize that the only drawback is that I make other queer people uncomfortable.

However, there is a cost to maintaining that sort of identity. So many of the habits I’ve picked up have been learning how to suppress certain tells and emphasizing others, so that people can attach their own stereotypes to the identity I’m projecting. That stiffness isn’t something I’ve easily been able to just drop when I’m amongst the queers; as laid back as I am at home, I know that in crowds and public I get uncomfortable, but so much of that is a fear that I might be seen, a concern that someone will clock me and thus disrespect me. The clothing is not necessarily an issue, because it’s similar enough to things I could wear at work. But, when I’m looking longingly at someone at the bar who is freer than I, I am also analyzing what their identity costs them.

I don’t think it’s particularly ground breaking to say that feminine men have a more difficult time in general. I’ve given myself this platform, but the reality is that I need to take a step back here and have someone else really go through what their feminine identity has cost them. See, at the bar I’m just being superficial, wondering how much the nicer shirts cost, the clothes, the accessories. That’s what I had initially started off thinking about, the superficial costs of maintaining our identities. After all, we all have these accessories or shortcuts for identity, to signal how we’d like to be perceived and those all cost money. But, that doesn’t get at the missed opportunities and public scorn that feminine men might feel is more critical.

As the pandemic wanes and queer public spaces reopen, I have to task myself to keep in mind how I am perceived and work to change that. I’ll complain about it more in detail in another post, but I don’t want to continue dating men who are into me because of my proximity to straightness nor do I want to make friends that are constantly policing their gender expressions. Thus, in order to attract a different type of person I need to put in the work to present queerly.