Evita’s “High Flying Adored” with the gay men in the theater department of the college I attended. Some of my earliest memories of being queer are of me dancing with my old friend Jeff, arms over our heads and sweating in shared rapture, to Erasure’s “Sometimes” at the old Backstreet bar’s Sunday beer bash in Hartford, Conn.
Personally, I couldn’t square the myth that I wasn’t supposed to innately love the hell out of my gay brothers. But on a larger, more insidious scale, that old narrative served to erase the diversity of sexual and gender identities that comprise the LGBTQ+ world in favor of fabricating some sort of vicious binary catfight.