The Oxford Male
As a pair, we looked ridiculous: I was wearing brown cords and a jumper, bouncing along Cornmarket Street enthusiastically, big curly hair bobbing in the wind and a slightly wonky grin plastered to my face. Next to me walked Michael, a good half a foot taller, long and straight black hair tied up behind his head, black leather trench coat flapping, huge black boots stomping on the ground.
When I was a child, I thought I had discovered something truly profound when I realised that what we disliked most in others is what annoys us most about ourselves. My epiphany had come after I had snapped at a family member for doing something minor but deeply annoying, only to be met by the mind-numbingly, gut-punchingly true riposte: “but you do it all the time.
During my tragically unrebellious adolescence, as a young gay man peeking out the door of the closet, the idea that opposites were attractive seemed ridiculous to me. I would have been more than happy to have found one other person in my situation to talk to, my abnormal habits were what I sought in other people. My opposites, the loud, sporty, or funny straight teenagers around me made my awkwardness even more acute.
Those dissimilar to myself were not made suddenly attractive by their exotic difference. Their displays of my annoying traits simply made me jealous of the grace and wit with which they managed to employ continuous sarcasm to sound like Blackadder’s inner monologue, whereas I made it sound like the bitter and jaded annoyance which it really was. Timidity, a feature of my personality which I loathed, was not something I hated in others.
It was a bond, almost a shared hobby which broke down barriers and helped me form friendships with similarly retiring people. At some point, I grew out of my awkwardness, and by the time I reached university I was starting to explore relationships properly. To my surprise, I was no longer looking for the similarly lost soul to comfort me in my isolation, but a character to fill in the gaps in mine.
Superficially, these have been obvious to see — the metal fan, the cool indie boy with a beard I could only dream of being able to grow, and most recently, the 6 feet 5 inches tall floppy-haired man. Sometimes I wonder whether this is just a new manifestation of an old insecurity.
Gay relationships are always going to have an element of direct comparison and perhaps by seeking guys who are so different I am avoiding competing: if I am apples and he is oranges, we can never be judged on the same scale. Then again, it might be an aspirational thing — a chance for the apple to pick up an orangey tint. Either way, my trivial point this week is that, when it comes to it, Michael and I would not have worked however freakishly different we may have been.
Being an odd couple is not the straightforward route to success I might have suggested. What really helped was that we shared a sense of humour and other similar relationship clichés. So there is an extra challenge in this whole relationship minefield: not only do I have to find someone who inhabits the opposite end of the gene pool, they need to enjoy all the same dead baby jokes as me.
25th May 2006