I’ve always been jealous of gay guys. I understand that that sounds confusing, as I am also a gay guy, but I’m not a very good gay guy. But then that’s also confusing, because that sounds like I’m constantly making out with girls. Which—for a stretch in my freshman year of college—was true, but that’s neither here nor there. I’m not making a lot of sense. But that’s normal for me.
What I mean is that I’m easily intimidated by gay guys. When I was in high school, I was the GAYEST CREATURE TO WALK THOSE HALLS. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t extraordinarily flamboyant or throwing glitter bombs on people. I was a dude who liked dudes in a school of all dudes, so that was pretty much the prerequisite for being the shiny unicorn object. I dug into that title of The Gay Kid in high school because it provided me with an identity.
That identity went up in a plume of smoke once I hit college. Suddenly, I was surrounded by worldly, beautiful, confident gays. And I found myself as the lone gay in a circle of heteros. I obviously love heterosexuals—I’ve fallen deep into like with a few—but I missed having gay friends. In high school, the LGBTQIA+ kids kind of banded together in a “summer camp meets The Walking Dead”-type closeness.
So when I finally did get some LGBTQIA+ friends—Marco, Mitchell, I’m looking at you two queens—we bonded over our shared awe of better gays.
Also side bar, Mitchell fucking begged to have his name be “Mitchell” in the blog. Like, so desperate. This is 80% true.
In our school—should I give a fake name to my college? Fictitious University?—we’ve noticed two major prides—I feel like a group of gay guys would be called a “pride,” like lions, in the same way that a group of crows is a “murder of crows”—of gays, outside of our small little mini-pride. Our pride is so small that we’d be better off calling it a “shame.”
In one corner are the A Capella Gays. This is a group of gay guys that I only recently discovered, but they have infiltrated every facet of my life. The cute guy in the dining hall—an A Capella gay. The random guy I’ve seen in passing more times than I can count—an A Capella gay. The A Capella gays are the slightly less fascinating group. For example, if the two prides were classified as big cats, the A Capella gays would be jaguars because you’re not really sure what they’re about and you keep being like, “Are they leopards? Cheetahs?”
And the other group would be tigers. I do not know why I am so into Big Cat metaphors today.
The Glique—the Gay Clique—comprise of gay guys with perfectly manicured Tumblrs, a closet of artfully vintage flannels, and impeccable Instagram accounts. Now, if it sounds like I’m mocking these people—then I’m writing this wrong. I adore them. But I’m also terrified of them because they have their lives together in a way that I can never achieve. They seem elegantly moody—ennui—but they also do massive amounts of volunteer work. They care about recycling and homelessness and hunger.
Side bar, I’m not saying I don’t care about these issues. I’m just saying they care more. Get off my back.
The Glique rules FU with an iron fist. They are omnipotent in their social connections. Whenever I look up any of their brood on Facebook, I am bombarded with twenties of mutual friends—I didn’t know how to write that out. Because it’s not hundreds but it’s not tens. I made a choice and frankly I’m standing behind it—because somehow they know everyone.
The Glique has branches that extend into other social groups, widening their grip even further. I’ve tangoed romantically—poorly—with a few tertiary branch members, but I’ve never tapped into the Glique. And they’re all so beautiful that I can’t decide if I want to date all of them or just beg them to be my friends. That’s the interesting part about being gay; there can be a sense of competition alongside the attraction.
I think the worst part about the Glique is how nice they are. I want them to be icy and aloof, but they’re actually nice and normal, which makes it all the more confusing as to how they are so much more evolved than I am. Like, it must be strength in numbers, because one-on-one they seem almost approachable—almost—but when they converge as their pride, they become something…greater…more glittery…better.
My own little pride—name to be decided—can only stare in awe at the Dynasty of Gays. We marvel about how they somehow all met each other; how they date within their clan; how they manage to be friends and boyfriends and all various shades in between without seeming catty or incestuous. It’s, frankly, a phenomenon.
My little trio manages to fuck up a simple love triangle but somehow watch RuPaul’s Drag Race. I bet the Glique doesn’t even watch RuPaul. I bet they know RuPaul.
Oh, I just remembered that FU has an entire fraternity dedicated to gay, bisexual, trans and ally men. So that’s an entire other pride. I’ve dated within that pride too. BUT I CAN’T CRACK THE GLIQUE. WHY. Dating within the Glique would be an accomplishment on par with hacking into the Pentagon. And if I managed to succeed, my insecurities would be Penta-gone.
This entire post is inspired because I’m about to be in relatively close proximity with a Glique member and it would be a ~dream~ if I managed to break into their sanctum. Like I said earlier, one on one, they are more approachable. How much more? I guess it’s up to me—it’s practically a service to my country—to find out.
P.S. Here are the potential names I have for my pride:
- The Unholy Trinity
- The Holey Trinity (heyo)
- Destiny’s Other Children
- The Jonas Brothers