Heated (queer millennial) Rivalry

Last month I was invited to a ‘Heated Rivalry’ themed party at a nightclub with little known context of what it would be. The flyer looked exactly like how younger generations now advertise parties, but the theme did not really click. How exactly does a ‘Heated Rivalry’ party look like?

We had some theories and they all involved, to different extents, some notions of either queer, gay or at least male attendance. We could not have been more wrong: at a party of aprox. 1200 people, me and my 3 friends were the only gay men. The remaining 99% of attendees, let me emphasize this, had three things in common: they were women, they were gen z, and they were very likely attracted to men. A big majority was also white, but that was not as evident.

The set up was quite simple but new to me: you have a stage with a DJ playing and a screen above displaying videos from the show ‘Heated Rivalry’ that would sync with the music. Most videos were from the series, a big chunk were Tik Toks and others were fan created. Attendees would then all watch the screen (not necessarily dance) and react to the videos by screaming, clapping or hugging their friends.

I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing: there was a party (4 times sold out in dc!) in which younger women would come enjoy videos of a TV show that represented MY male queer experience. What level of (sub)cultural appropriation is this? I was kinda enjoying it but I also wanted to resist that feeling. This show put tears on my eyes and it’s now making girls unapologetically horny. I wanted to feel offended but there was no reason for that.

It only took a change in perspective to understand what was happening. My first reaction, as I mentioned, was one of protest against something that genuinely happens a lot between gay and straight woman: the objectification of the former for the enjoyment of the latter. But this wasn’t the case. What I was experiencing was an intimate connection, as a queer male millennial guy, with an audience of straight gen z females.

There was, however, a missing piece. I was sure we did not share the same reason for that connection. So what was theirs? Let’s start with my reasons which, I dare to say, are probably applicable to the majority of the queer male millennial population.

I think Heated Rivalry spoke to me through three specific emotions. The first one is romantic anxiety. How many times have I not gone to bed waiting for a text of that special someone or procrastinated to answer theirs in an attempt to act cool? It also reminded me of the distress of getting to know someone for the first time and really not wanting to fuck it up. That moment you realize you care about something and you decide to put your actions and thoughts under heavy scrutiny.

Secondly, it also reminded me of self defense as a reaction to fear. This includes personally outdated  feelings like lying about my sexuality to more current ones like neglecting romantic feelings to someone or denying the fact that someone hurt you. As little queer kids, we learn not to show our jugular unless we have to, and I think the show depicts that very well. This is particularly true when it involves boys and, more obviously, sex and attraction.

Last but not least, the show gave me incredible amounts of nostalgia. For my first boyfriend, my first broken heart, my first romantic kiss, or my first time holding hands in public. That was by far, as a millennial, the most precious feeling Heated Rivalry gave and that will probably keep me hooked to it.

I am pretty sure that is not the frequency in which I connected with these girls. If they are showing attraction to men by attending this party, I can hardly imagine they went through similar experiences when facing love for the first time. What was it, then? It only took a quick conversation with a female friend of mine (one of the best) and a life being educated about feminism by my girlfriends (big shoutout to them) to understand it.

I think Heated Rivalry gave gen z women some level of hope for a genuine representation of non-sexist love among straights.

While watching the show, I think the young female audience got something they do not usually get from traditional shows: they were able to reimagine love in equal terms, without gender roles or implicit mysoginy defining a relationship. For them, it meant an actual representation of their idea of love, instead of what mainstream media offers.

It may be hard to think that was the case portrayed in the show but I do feel those were the terms and conditions of the relationship between Shane and Ilya. Perhaps unintentional by the script writers, but that relationship was defined by huge amounts of consent, respect and mutual protection. No feelings were one sided and, perhaps in an attempt to highlight the queer aspects, gender roles were fluctuant and overlapping.

I felt confident about my conclusion but also amazed by how my reasons to relate to the show were extremely different to theirs. I was obviously not watching to reimagine queer love. If anything, it was so real and so raw that it triggered old emotions in a mix of both good and bad. And still, there I was, watching the same screen as those gen z girls, and allowing all these feelings come into my body. Just not the same ones.

I had a great time. I’m not going to lie. And frankly it would be stupid to think the hot scenes were not something both they, my friends and I were quite enjoying. At least that was a point in common (or already a second?).

But I am sure we all went to bed that night with different thoughts in our heads. In my case, it was satisfaction to know that, above all, what these feelings were speaking of was finally a stage where I, among many others, was starting to feel consistently represented on the screens. The first time this happened to me was in 2015 when Troye Sivan released Blue Neighborhood. Ten years later, I still cry and dream about those songs and the feelings they evoke. Many more songs, albums, movies and books have joined that list. And I know it will just keep increasing.

For the case of non-sexist love represented in media, I am unsure when the first efforts appeared. But I am glad that queer representation had some positive spillovers there. After this change in perspective, I am enormously happy that, for my gen z queens, it gave them the satisfaction that such representation  is also possible. And we might be close to one where media truly represents heterosexual love in terms that honor and elevate the real aspirations of women.

This is how I arrive—once again—at the same conclusion I’ve tried to articulate so many times in the last lines: representation matters. It matters in public spaces just as much as it does on television, in the streets, and in our everyday interactions. I know—hardly a groundbreaking insight. Still, I find comfort in it, because it ended up connecting me to a social group I never expected to share something so meaningful with. Absurdly enough, it was a show about hot, closeted gay sex that ended up building that bridge.