Citation de MegGomar
In LA, we fought about who was closeting who the most. But, the truth
is, it was worse for Paula. I was in denial, desperate to make it work. The
family thing was somewhat manageable, albeit hurtful. The Hollywood ball
game was a whole other story, riddled with confusing rules that constantly
changed. And I had changed. I was different here, she wasn’t. I was being
told to lie and hide. It puzzled me to watch cis straight actors play queer and
trans characters and be revered. Nominations, wins, people exclaiming,
“How brave!”
“Keep your personal life private, that is what I tell all my clients,” my
manager would instruct me, while the same clients walked the red carpet
with a spouse or came out as heterosexual in an interview. Being arm in arm
walking down the street in paparazzi photos was a natural phenomenon,
even encouraged for publicity. There was always the pressure to appear
more feminine—dresses to events, high heels, “take off your hat.” This was
my manager’s attempt at helping me build my career. In her heart she was
caring for me, coaching me to morph into part of the club, making sure I
still had all opportunities available to me. I got lost in the part, unable to
fully lean into the character but still losing track of myself. Stuck in the
liminal space.
Hollywood is built on leveraging queerness. Tucking it away when
needed, pulling it out when beneficial, while patting themselves on the
back. Hollywood doesn’t lead the way, it responds, it follows, slowly and
far behind. The depth of that closet, the trove of secrets buried, indifferent
to the consequences. I was punished for being queer while I watched others
be protected and celebrated, who gleefully abused people in the wide open.
“The system is twisted so that the cruelty looks normative and regular
and the desire to address and overturn it looks strange,” Sarah Schulman
writes in her required read, Ties That Bind: Familial Homophobia and Its
Consequences.
Paula’s and my relationship was caught in the cross fire, and I was
losing track of how to make it work.
Being closeted while learning Roller Derby has a special type of irony
to it, given how intertwined queerness is with the sport, but throwing
myself into learning this new skill still opened up a much-needed pocket of
joy in my life at the time.
is, it was worse for Paula. I was in denial, desperate to make it work. The
family thing was somewhat manageable, albeit hurtful. The Hollywood ball
game was a whole other story, riddled with confusing rules that constantly
changed. And I had changed. I was different here, she wasn’t. I was being
told to lie and hide. It puzzled me to watch cis straight actors play queer and
trans characters and be revered. Nominations, wins, people exclaiming,
“How brave!”
“Keep your personal life private, that is what I tell all my clients,” my
manager would instruct me, while the same clients walked the red carpet
with a spouse or came out as heterosexual in an interview. Being arm in arm
walking down the street in paparazzi photos was a natural phenomenon,
even encouraged for publicity. There was always the pressure to appear
more feminine—dresses to events, high heels, “take off your hat.” This was
my manager’s attempt at helping me build my career. In her heart she was
caring for me, coaching me to morph into part of the club, making sure I
still had all opportunities available to me. I got lost in the part, unable to
fully lean into the character but still losing track of myself. Stuck in the
liminal space.
Hollywood is built on leveraging queerness. Tucking it away when
needed, pulling it out when beneficial, while patting themselves on the
back. Hollywood doesn’t lead the way, it responds, it follows, slowly and
far behind. The depth of that closet, the trove of secrets buried, indifferent
to the consequences. I was punished for being queer while I watched others
be protected and celebrated, who gleefully abused people in the wide open.
“The system is twisted so that the cruelty looks normative and regular
and the desire to address and overturn it looks strange,” Sarah Schulman
writes in her required read, Ties That Bind: Familial Homophobia and Its
Consequences.
Paula’s and my relationship was caught in the cross fire, and I was
losing track of how to make it work.
Being closeted while learning Roller Derby has a special type of irony
to it, given how intertwined queerness is with the sport, but throwing
myself into learning this new skill still opened up a much-needed pocket of
joy in my life at the time.