Respectable Realness

For my whole life, I’ve played by the rules. Now I’m asking: Am I allowed to be fully me?

Photo by Igor Omilaev on Unsplash

For a few months now, I’ve been writing about sex on the internet.

Specifically, I’ve been writing about my sex life. In rather a lot of detail.

This feels (and is) very new for me. I started my journalism career at a local business newspaper, writing about real estate development and the like. Back then, I was serving respectable realness, honey: Blue-checked button-downs, khakis, a Subaru, homeownership. Tens across the board!

Now, I’m regaling you all with tales from bathhouses and naked dance parties. I’m a proud slut, and a freelancer with nary a business casual outfit to be found in my closet.

But the thing is, I still do a lot of non-sexy work to pay the bills. I write journalism about computer viruses and heat pumps. I help universities tell stories about their alumni. And I work with trade associations you’ve never heard of.

Straddling these two worlds feels, well, a little nerve-racking lately. Every time I hit publish on one of my spicier newsletters, I worry: Will one of my “respectable” clients read it and decide to drop me because I’m a reputational hazard?

I recently realized that the question underneath this is: Am I allowed to be fully me? It’s a question that goes really, really deep.

When I was growing up, I was expected to be more-or-less flawless. I had to get straight As. I had to join all the extracurriculars, and lead them. I had to go to a good college. I had to get a good job.

I did all of these things. (Internalized homophobia is a hell of a drug!) The lesson I learned, unfortunately, was that the key to love and success was being perfect, normal, and “respectable.”

I’ve spent a lot of my adult life trying to unlearn that lesson. After eagerly embracing “homonormativity” in my early 20s, I gradually unraveled myself from many conventional trappings of adulthood: I gave up the car, the job, the monogamous boyfriend, the house.

Now, I’m living a deliciously queer and unconventional life in a whole new country. With every passing day, I inch closer to the weirdest, truest version of myself.

Taking these steps is a little like leaping off a cliff, over and over again. Every time, I wonder if I’ll survive.

So far, so good. I’m still here. And, to bring it back to my practical concerns, so are all of my clients. I’m tempted to take this as proof that I’m allowed to be super gay and horny on the internet, while also being a “respected” freelance writer, whatever that means.

But then my brain whispers: What if it’s because my editors simply haven’t read beyond the paywall? When they find out, surely they’ll leave me. 🤷🏼‍♂️ Maybe. It’s possible.

It’s also possible that this fiercely vulnerable path leads me to do some of my best work yet. It’s also possible that this work inspires other queer people to live their most liberated lives.

Because that’s the thing: I’m not ashamed of the life I’m living, of the sex I’m having, of the stories I’m telling. The shame that others might feel is simply not mine. I have nothing to hide. I am free.

And so maybe I also need to adjust my definition of “respectable.” I respect people who are being their queerest selves, without apology. I respect vulnerability and honesty. I respect the courage to speak truth even when it’s terrifying.

The most I can do is hope that the people in my world respect these things, too.

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📸 Finocchio Foto

This week, I leave with you a snap from my dreamy winter hike this weekend with a lovely group of queers.

Photo by Mike De Socio