Love, Simon - The Closet Paradox
After my 5th viewing of Love, Simon (I brought colleagues with me this time!!!), I wanted to reflect on the greatest paradox of being in the closet. Without spoilers, we saw Simon looking for little hints that the possible-Blues were gay; likewise, we also saw him discover hints that the possible-Blues weren't gay.
One of the most confusing parts of being in the closet is that any little way that someone is nice can be a "huge hint" of being gay; yet, any sign of heteronormativity is seen as definitive proof against. Because we feel alone and isolated, we forget that other people are employing the same hiding strategies that we are. We underestimate how successful our tactics are, and how obvious it would be for someone else in our place to learn them, too.
As an example, you may think a guy is gay because you perceive one of his comments as flirting--but then you see him dance with a girl. Potentially-flirting was evidence of being gay; dancing with a girl was proof that he's not. But it's not that simple. If he's in the closet, the girl could be his "beard"--either intentionally, or not.
I shared a story in one of my previous reflections about how I was forced to dance with a girl at smart camp. To those on the outside, I would have passed as hetero; had I found the courage to flirt with a guy, he would have assumed I was just being friendly after seeing me dance with a girl. The survival mechanism that allowed me to hide from potential enemies also hid me from suitors and allies; that is the paradox of being in the closet
For me, one of the most painful examples was at a dance at smart camp. I briefly alluded to it in my first reflection: my friends pressured me into coming up with the name of a female crush so they could setup a dance for me. A very awkward and embarrassing dance at that; compounded by my attempt to use this fake crush as a means of denial.
I delayed them by pointing out that I didn't even know how to dance. In response, my best friend, my real crush, offered to show me how to slow dance. Not by telling me, but by actually dancing with me right then and there. In front of everyone. This was the first time in my life that I experienced bullet time as I scrambled to figure out how to react.
I panicked a little. I said no, and lied: I claimed it was only "fast dancing" that I didn't know how to do, but that I could slow dance. I couldn't do either, though. I was worried that if I let him show me how to dance, my friends would have noticed how much I was enjoying it; I was afraid that other onlookers would notice; I was afraid that my safety would be at risk, and that rumors would spread. And so I rebuffed the chance at dancing with a guy, and in so doing, kept up the facade of heteronormativity.
But I really missed out on something exceptional: I could have had my first dance with a real crush, and I could have learned to dance from a friend who cared about me enough to not even think that he'd be judged for dancing with a friend. I struggled with that for a long time--20 years later, I still wonder how different my life could have been had I found the courage to be out back then. But the defense mechanisms I relied on for my survival deprived me of a great joy in my childhood--many great joys, really, that I'll never get back.
The most painful situation parallels my hypothetical about a flirting guy dancing with a girl. In hindsight, I realized there was a guy in my last year of camp who had flirted with me.
My hair was freshly cut into a flattop before my last year at the Moravian College site for CAA in 2000; my hair is so thick that the natural spikes of a flattop drew a lot of attention. Some of the staff loved patting my hair, and so did the girls in my group, including the one who compelled me to dance with her: Alexandra.
Our group was sitting in a booth playing card games, and the girls were playing with my hair as usual. There were 3 other guys at the table: one I learned from the alumni association was from Baltimore and probably named Nathan, another one named Aaron, and a third whose name I don't recall. And there were three other girls including Alex. Aaron was grumpy and obnoxious in general, and he expressed disbelief that anyone could actually be so fascinated with someone's hair.
Because of his reaction, the girls tried to convince Aaron to touch my hair--he got really awkward about it, and refused vehemently. The third guy sat there quietly, just watching in amusement as Aaron squirmed.
Nathan ignored the ongoing argument and started playing with my hair without saying a word; not just a quick pat, he let his hand linger. I remember feeling really happy that I had received attention from a guy for the first time, but disappointment for not having the courage to say anything at all.
Eventually, Aaron reached in for a quick swipe, before both the conversation, and hair play, ended. But I also have a vague memory of Nathan playing with my hair a second time, briefly, while playing a card game before going to class the following week.
After I returned home at the end of my last session at camp, I was angry at myself for a long time. In the moment, I didn't realize Nathan was flirting, so I completely missed out on my only chance to explore dating at an only slightly delayed age.
Especially painfully, I missed out on a chance to talk with someone like me; someone who could relate, and make me feel less isolated when I needed it the most. Someone who could have helped me work through the emotions I was trying to understand just from knowing that he was going through it, too. I missed my only chance as a teen to talk with someone who could truly understand me. My only chance at the time to understand that there really were gay people in my world--I still don't know for sure if anyone in my life at the time was gay or bi, and I wonder what it would be like to have that chance to talk with someone who shared some of my childhood and was trying to cope in hiding nearby, too. To see how differently they grew through it, and whether or not they resented the same things in our shared environment.
And worst of all, I never got contact information, so I didn't have the chance to get that conversation at a later time through the safety of the internet. I've used all of my resources between my camp alumni friends, and the alumni association, but I was never able to track him down.
That's a regret I still hold onto today: I've always wanted some kind of closure. Did he know I was kind of interested? Did seeing me dance with Alexandra discourage him, or did he realize that was part of being in the closet? Did he realize I tried flirting back? Was he struggling the way I was, or did he find comfort being himself? Did I really lose my one chance at normalcy, or did I misinterpret his gesture?
I don't know that I'll ever stop wanting these answers, and I think the fact that Simon got his answers in Love, Simon is one of the reasons I feel so strongly about this film. Much like Abby "deserved a superhero," I felt like I was watching experiences that I deserved to have.
I always wonder how my life would have been different if I'd had my current "fuck the world" attitude, back then. Would I have been able to stand up to a toxic, abusive mother even earlier? Would I have been able to experience the childhood milestones my culture stole from me? Would I be able to look back onto a happy childhood, instead of one marked by constant suffering?
The closet paradox interfered with my ability to understand the people around me. It meant that situations where someone else could have had an upfront conversation and ask, "what was your motivation?" weren't possible for me. Where someone else would have avenues for closure, I had none.
I don't think about it every day anymore, but it's always there at the back of my mind, venturing to the front every few months. I don't know that I can really do anything as a practical resolution anymore, except talk about it so that people who are, or will become parents or teachers won't make the same mistakes towards the kids they're responsible for, that caused me so much pain.
