Fake Romances
They're misleading. Even silly. But honestly, is there anything gayer?
Every summer from 2000 to 2003 I had a new girlfriend. Yes, I, a person who rounds down to a 6 on the Kinsey scale, had a real, live girlfriend every single summer for four straight consecutive years.
To be clear, there was no way I could have kept up the durational performance of heterosexuality during the school year. Nine months was way too long to sustain the charade. Plus, in school I was among other boys—real straight boys!—who did things like play sports and lust after girls. In the summers, though, I attended musical theater day camp where, for eight weeks a year, I could successfully masquerade as whoever I wanted to be.
Well, it was less that I was pretending to be someone else and more that I was among likeminded fellow pre-teens who were down to accept me as I was. Kids who would look at me and say “that guy? The one with frosted tips and a choker necklace? The one belting the Evita soundtrack? We’re all waiting to see who he picks as his girlfriend.”
Camp would begin in late June and by the end of the first week I’d get a good sense of which girls had crushes on me. Week two was courtship (trading Original Broadway Soundtracks from our bulky CD books), then it was time to make my move. By Friday of that third week I’d take a girl by the hand, lead her into the woods, and say the six words every pre-teen girl wants to hear from a lispy, limp-wristed pre-teen boy: “Will you go out with me?”
The three to four weeks that followed were utter bliss. I would have a best friend with whom I could hold hands and gossip about camp drama. I’d walk her to her bus (recall: day camp), kiss her goodbye (on the lips!!!), and smile all the way home. Then I’d spend the whole night chatting with her on AIM, dreamcasting whatever revival was about to arrive on Broadway. The relationship would come to its natural conclusion by summer’s end when we’d see each other off with a hug and the promise to remain friends forever.
To call this “fake” would have been imprecise. My sexual feelings were, yes, fabricated, but I did genuinely care for them. And while none of these relationships lasted past August, it felt as though both she and I were in on the bit. She wanted a boy who asked her questions and knew who Kristin Chenoweth was, I wanted to not lie when I told kids back at school that I had a girlfriend.
I wasn’t the only one. The gayest boys you’ve ever seen in your life were pairing off with girlfriends left and right. Though we never spoke about it to each other, lest we chip at the facade, I could tell we all fucking loved it. And who could blame us? We were quietly nursing the scars of homophobia and weren’t quite ready to emerge from our closets, so, in the safe space of 10am to 4pm, deep in the woods of Long Island, we got to engage in the harmless illusion that we were Kinsey 1s before September came and the spell would be broken.
As you may have seen, Liam Neeson and Pamela Anderson fell in love. They got cozy at red carpet appearances for The Naked Gun where they couldn’t stop looking at each other with heart eyes. There was a poetry to their unlikely courtship, too. He’s a widower who lost his wife in a tragic ski accident, she’s a gem who is finally receiving culture’s overdue apology. Their burgeoning relationship proved that love was not only possible at any age, but it could also triumph over life’s great hardships.
According to a recent report, though, none of it was real. It was all a publicity stunt. Apparently the two never even saw each other between the wrap of production and the beginning of the press tour. (It’s worth noting that this has been refuted by Pamela Anderson herself.)
People are upset. They feel lied to. Was it all a bit?
If it was, it wouldn’t be the first time.
Sydney Sweeney and Glen Powell seemed to be having a full-blown affair on the set of Anyone But You until it was confirmed to all be a scheme to drum up attention for their movie. Some believed that Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper were dating during the awards circuit for A Star is Born until it was later debunked.
I don’t know if Pamela Anderson and Liam Neeson were ever truly in love. Maybe they were. But if it was, indeed, all for show then I salute them.
By faking a romance they’re taking part in a storied tradition us closeted gay kids know well. Just as I was trying to sell tickets to my uneven performance of heteromasculinity, their only crime is trying to fill seats for The Naked Gun. Sure, the motivations may be different (us: survival, them: capitalism), but you know what? I bought in. And while it lasted, I fucking loved it.