What I Learned From Gay Culture: No One Will Love Me If...

Can you think of something you learned as a child and later realized it was a lie? The Easter Bunny and Santa Claus come to mind. With them, it’s easy to believe they don’t exist. We may even wonder why we ever held to such outlandish stories.

Other lies go deeper. Lies like, “Being gay is wrong,” or “You’ll never be good enough.” We eventually learn that cognitive distortions like these were instilled in us by biased and judgmental religious fanatics, yet the lies continue to control our lives.

They’re not so easy to dismiss as a giant rabbit who hides eggs and candy. Though they may be just as outlandish, they dig their roots deep and take hold of our psyche.

Part of what makes it difficult to overcome these lies is that our society perpetuates them. As adults, we may rationalize that our parents or church community was wrong. Then, we see the same sentiments in other places. The lies become so much more difficult to ignore.

Local Pride

I went to my local Pridefest last year. I intended to go the year before, but when I drove by, I saw protestors outside. I didn’t want to deal with that. I allowed fear to keep me from connecting with my local LGBTQ+ community.

Last year’s event was a small-scale festival with a handful of vendors. I bought a lemon cupcake (which was very good) and a bracelet. Not many people attended, as this is a small community.

Protestors showed up again last year, from what I heard. By the time I arrived mid-afternoon, they had left. I suppose their shift had ended, or perhaps they got tired.

Hate can be exhausting.

The protestors were focused on the event’s “family-friendly” drag show, which was held in the morning. The 18+ drag show was scheduled for the evening, but I didn’t stay to watch.

I always feel conspicuously awkward at these kinds of events. I’m attending by myself and don’t know anyone else there. I’m not the type who walks up to strangers and makes friends. I feel incredibly awkward doing so.

Kansas City is bigger, and I’m only a face in the crowd. This is both an advantage and a drawback. On one hand, I’m anonymous and no one notices me. On the other hand, I never meet anyone new.

KC Pridefest was two and a half days last year. I attended on Saturday. There was some good entertainment and many vendors.

I decided to go early, watch the parade, and have fun. I bought an outfit that showed off more of my body, which is common among many attendees of these events. However, I got up that morning, looked at myself in the mirror, and became depressed.

There’s no way I could compete with all the guys with their six-pack abs and perfect looks. As I get older, maintaining a fit body is much more difficult. Should I be so superficial? Should I care how I look? Probably not.

It took most of the morning going back and forth, but I decided to go. However, I changed my clothes first. Because of this indecisiveness, I missed the parade.

While I walked around the festival, I saw many shapes and sizes. I saw the perfect bodies and sculpted abs, but I also saw shirtless men with large bellies and short shorts.

Why can’t I be as carefree as they are?

The problem is that we all judge one another. The LGBTQ+ community is supposed to be one of inclusivity and support. Yet, even within our marginalized group, we exclude those who don’t fit our ideal.

What are we teaching?

We all know Hollywood is superficial. For years, we’ve seen movies featuring gorgeous actors with the fittest bodies. When LGBTQ+ movies began gaining in popularity, that superficiality didn’t change.

Gay or straight, we all prefer to see pretty people.

I’m no different. I’d rather see Ryan Gosling and Matt Bomer making out than Steve Buscemi and Adam Sandler. It's refreshing to see a plain or average-looking person fall in love on screen, though. It doesn’t happen very often.

What I’ve learned from popular gay culture is that no one will love me if …

• I don’t have a perfect body
• I’m too old.
• I don’t have the right fashion sense.
• I don’t go to bars, drink, or “party.”
• There are better options out there.

Lies continue to control our lives.

Nowhere is this superficiality more prevalent than in the infamous “dating” app, Grindr. If you ever want to feel bad about yourself or see the superficiality of your fellow gays, get on Grindr.

So, why subject myself to such scrutiny? In a rural Midwest area, love is elusive, and sex is a decent replacement. It’s a substitute for what I truly crave, which is intimacy.

I could move to a more urban area, but circumstances prevent that — namely, money. I can’t believe what people pay for apartments these days. Convenience costs much more than it used to. I love the job that I have now, and it sustains me. Thus, I remain in the sticks.

So, how do I find someone who loves me for who I am? Perhaps you’re asking the same question. I’m sorry, but you won’t find the answer in this article.

From my experience, I can tell you where you won’t find it: gay bars and Grindr. There are probably couples out there who met online or in a bar. They may be joyously planning their fairy tale (no pun there) wedding. If so, I’ll happily attend and throw rice in their faces as they run toward the limo that will take them to their dream honeymoon.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and one of the groomsmen will be single.

When I get down to it, I have come to two conclusions:

What I should do: Accept myself as I was created and be content with my body, as I find a man who will love me for who I am.

What I will do: Work out furiously and starve myself until I leave for the next Pridefest in June.

Because despite knowledge and realization, lies still have power.

*Original version published on Medium