If I read another rambling think piece or watch another whiny YouTube video about some dejected and rejected Black Gay Man (or any other ethnicity of gay man for that matter) waxing poetic about how racist it is for White Gay Men to rebuke them based solely on race I am going to smash my head through a wall, seriously…
What is wrong with you people?
Are you that enamored by the white gaze and white supremacy that you will willingly subject yourselves to overt racism and constant microaggressions in order to be accepted by men who literally view you as a sexual fetish and nothing more?
Before I go into it please watch this video of an Asian Man (and a good looking fella at that) pleading with his “friends”–that he clearly wants to be more than just friends with–to stop being racist towards him and other Asian Gays…

Chile, I barely got through it. And if you search for them you will find a glut of these videos with men of color imploring their white counterparts to stop being racist towards them…
“White men, please stop objectifying me for my dick. I am a Black Man I am more than a dick.”
Or
“Dear White Men: Not all Asian Men are (insert every single Anti Asian sentiment that you’ve ever heard or seen in the gay community. Trust me there are a plethora of them)…
Or the most popular, which is clearly pandering, “Dear White Gay Men: Please stop basing your preferences on race.”
I’m sorry but I really don’t understand this foolishness. Perhaps it is because I’ve never willingly subjected myself to this. 99% of the men that I’ve dated (and still date) are Black Men (specifically other African Americans. Although I’ve dated a few dudes from abroad too). Overwhelmingly, that is what I am most attracted to and I’ve no shame in that. Granted, I’ve dated a couple of white men here and there but I wasn’t completely into the few I’ve dated so it fizzled. Primarily because, without fail, they would say and do certain things that were TOTALLY racist, and they had no clue until I came right out and told them, “Hey, that was fucked up.” So, to that end I refuse to put myself in that type of situation nor am I going to act as a race relations professor in a relationship. I want to experience: love, joy, sex, and romance in a relationship, not blocking microaggressions that will inevitably occur. Again, I am open to the possibility of interracial romance (especially if it is Chris Hemsworth. Uhm YUMMY); however, the white guy in question will have to be a super special snowflake amongst the intensely RACIST microcosm that is the Gay “Community.”
Many gays seem to labor under this mass delusion that simply because they know what it is like to be excluded from hetero-normalcy that somehow they GET IT. They believe that they “get” what racism is, how it works, and that it can’t possibly ever be them. Most white people, gays in specific, believe that being a racist means dressing up in a Klan outfit, burning crosses, and saying “NIGGER” in front of a black person. Otherwise, it was just this horrible occurrence that was abolished when Lincoln freed the slaves and MLK said, “I have a dream.”
However, what we fail to understand is that, before we are gay, we come from the same White Supremacist pathology that saturates the united states of America (the globe for that matter, but for the sake of this writing I am using America for specificity). White Gay Men are still, first and foremost, White Men in a society that privileges Whiteness and Maleness, period. They grow up in the same culture that prioritizes whiteness and degenerates blackness. They grow up in the same racist communities that their heterosexual counterparts do. They have that same racist white uncle who makes anti Black/Asian/Mexican jokes at holiday dinners. Before anyone knows that they are gay they are first and foremost white, and by proxy, whiteness is central to their identity…
Which is why I do not understand you Black and Asian men, with your GRINDR accounts, looking to hook up with White Men (because in certain regions GRINDR is totally white) and being disgruntled when you see, “No Blacks, No Asians, No Fats, No Fems…Just a preference” on every other profile. What do you expect? The gay world prioritizes White Frat boys with blond hair and chiseled abs. You don’t fit into that all. Instead most of them see you as a fetish or potential flavor of the month. When they want to indulge their “Kink” more often than not you are the kink. But hey if you are one of those Negroes that enjoys being fetishized by white gay men then more power to you, nobody is stopping you. But be honest with yourself and stop placing this onus on racist white men.
Racist white men are going to do them (literally and figuratively). Racism, sexism, and all of the other isms do not impact them. They live in their little bubble where the only thing they’ve had to overcome is homophobia. So when that is no longer an issue why do you think that, all of a sudden, those who are raised in a macro-system that prioritizes them and denigrates YOU, they are going to give you their unrelenting support, including their asses, dicks, and hearts? No, that is not how racism and privilege work boo!
What I implore Black (the entire diaspora), Asian, Non White Latinos, and various others to do is to begin unpacking their own baggage. Why is it so important for you to acquire the affections and attentions of white men? Granted, this is a rhetorical question (we are all mired down in white supremacist pathology) but why don’t you stop to think about where it all comes from.
What would make you sit in a room full of white men and listen to, “Not to be racist but…” (and everything that follows will be vehemently racist)
Why would you want to be viewed as just your Big Black Cock and how you fuck or your stereotypical ability to be the submissive Asian bottom?
Moreover, why do you willingly and continuously reject beautiful men that look like you and have more in common with you just to acquire the white gaze.
If you say that, “It is just a preference” you are a damn liar. Preferences are acquired. They don’t happen in a vacuum. Preferences are like ice cream. I may PREFER vanilla but occasionally I am willing to try Strawberry and find that I like it too. Preferences can and do change and the idea that someone can be born and raised in a Black and or Asian community and suddenly grow up to ONLY “prefer” people who do not look like them as lovers and partners is indicative of a larger issue.
So before you write the next maudlin think piece about why racist white men don’t want you (easy, it’s because they’re are racist) ask yourself why you don’t want yourself. That is the most important inqueery (misspelling intentional. I just thought that was cute).
Prince

As the author of Lust, Men and Meth: A Gay Man’s Guide to Sex and Recovery, David Fawcett, Ph.D., L.C.S.W., has been speaking in cities across the United States, meeting many people affected by their own or other’s meth use. He is also a person with HIV, therapist and clinical hypnotherapist in private practice in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, who serves as the mental health and HIV expert for TheBody.com’s “Ask the Experts” forum.
In Part 2 of our interview with Fawcett, we discussed how family members, hookup app users and other community members can counter the stigma that can exacerbate meth use, as well as possible next steps to harness the growing awareness of both meth use and stigma.(You can find part 1 of the interview here.)
Many friends, loved ones, care providers and community members are involved with people seeking to make changes in their meth use. What are common pitfalls that people may not even know they’re doing, in terms of using stigmatizing language or a stigmatizing framework? How can family members and allies be supportive and also take care of themselves – do what they need to do without compounding the stigma?
It’s a great question. It’s complicated.
One of the ways that people cope with addiction is to use a morbid humor about it and their behavior and some of the things they’ve done – almost joking about it – and having kind of a group identity based on those behaviors. One of the appeals of meth particularly is the taboo quality of it. It’s actually taking that stigmatized aspect and embracing it in an unhealthy way.
That can sustain a level of stigma, just because they’ve incorporated that into their identity somehow in ways that they’re not even conscious of; people can do it automatically. So pointing that out to them, pointing out the language, pointing out how to be conscious of words and correcting them and [encouraging them to be] in environments that are corrective is really important.
Often people continue to employ the defense of stigmatizing others as they’re coming through their healing process. So we’ll see a lot of stigma within the addiction community. As I mentioned [in Part 1 of the interview], alcohol users stigmatize meth. But even within the meth community, people who’ve smoked it look down on people that snorted, and people who’ve snorted look down on people who’ve injected: [There are] hierarchies of stigma that can persist if they’re not challenged or at least corrected. So just raising awareness of this is important.
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“Why I’ve Given Up on Hooking Up”

Sex has never been a particularly pleasant experience for me. It’s a fundamental part of being a gay man, of being a human being, but the “fun” part has always eluded me. Don’t get me wrong, I always enjoyed the bumping of proverbial uglies (I am a romantic at heart, after all) but the lead-up before and the fallout thereafter eclipsed that enjoyment. The hunt is exhausting. The encounter is fleeting. The loneliness seeps in. And then it begins anew. The cycle continues. Like all addictions, there’s a cycle.

For me, the process of hooking up has become an addiction. An addiction fueled by insecurity. The insecurity that comes with being a gay man. The insecurity that you’re not masculine enough when masculinity is demanded of you – absolutely demanded – as a matter of course from other gay men. “Masc musc” whimpers many a profile. Masculine. Muscular. Abs prominently on display. Face obscured or head completely decapitated. This is the faceless face of hooking up in the 21st century.

This emphasis on anonymity and masculinity further engenders internal homophobia in the gay male community. Never mind what sex between two (or more) men actually entails, we’re taught from a young age to embrace that which is manly and shun that which could be perceived as its antithesis. Femininity is weakness, is undesirable, is a boner-killer if there ever was one. From the ludicrously inflated pecs of Tom of Finland to the sculpted torsos on Grindr, gay men have always prized the hyper masculine, but this exaltation of all things manly forces those of us who don’t necessarily fit within those rigid gender constructs to make one of two choices: rebel or conform. I’ve tried both and I can say from experience – it takes a real man to be a queen.

I had my first flirtation with hookup culture back in high school – pre-Grindr, pre-Manhunt, maybe even pre-Craigslist – when XY (the now-defunct magazine for twinks and their admirers) had an online personals section. Then I was just coming into my own as a gay and I bought my occasional copy of XY with more than a little shame. I’d sneak onto my friend’s computer, excited to find others like me. It was all so new, but even then I remembered being confronted with the reality of the internet’s sway on people’s attitudes and mores: “no blacks, no Asians, no fats, no fems.”

The inherent racism of gay male hookup culture masquerading as a “preference” akin to height or hair color is an issue I’ve struggled with since then – and have grown weary discussing – but it’s incidental to my argument here. Being online and having a world of men at your fingertips with a wall of anonymity between you and them makes us all awful people. It reinforces unreal body expectations, encourages the enumeration of ideal qualities/deal breakers, and contributes to the further disconnectedness of my already disconnected generation. I’ve spent countless hours, whether alone or in the company of friends I rudely ignored, staring intently at my phone, slavishly yet listlessly flipping through the same profiles, wasting my time and poking holes in my self-esteem for what? Sex? Maybe. Love? Hardly. Validation? Probably.

All addictions have their respective highs. Guys telling me how sexy I was, or how cute I was, or what a great body I had made me feel good about myself. I worked out to be attractive to other men. Working out also made me feel good about myself, but that esteem was tied to the approval of others. I could stare in the mirror for hours on end – artfully posing to achieve that perfect profile pic – but if no one told me I was attractive, why would I have reason to believe it? My ego as inflated as the pecs of the bikers and sailors in Tom of Finland’s iconic drawings, I drowned in my own reflection. And I perpetuated the cycle of unreal expectations and ideals. Homosexuality is acknowledged narcissism and guys tend to seek out others like themselves. So I tried to be like the guys I wanted to attract. I can work out obsessively; I can take shirtless, faceless selfies of myself and plaster them across the internet; I can pretend to be masculine, but I can’t be something I’m not. I can’t be white, I can’t be the masculine ideal others want me to be, I can’t live my life by rigid standards to which I never subscribed.

It’s all a game and I tried to play by the rules. Not so at first. I tried to be myself, or rather, to represent myself as truthfully as I could. Even the truth requires the proper lighting and the omission of certain facts. My profiles – with the proliferation of hookup apps and websites like Adam4Adam and Manhunt, I had about six profiles running concurrently – featured my face along with the obligatory shirtless pics and a playful description of me. I got some attention, but not from the caliber of guys I felt I deserved. My looks, as validated by the very men I was rejecting, gave me license to be more selective. As I grew more selective, my profiles grew less playful. I erased my face. I added more shirtless pics and naked pics; I worked out harder; I left my descriptions blank so I would have nothing to blame for a guy not messaging me back, other than his own “preference.”

But it was never enough. Some guys can put aside their personal feelings with a studied yet cool sense of detachment; they can allegedly just have fun and not take this silly thing too seriously. But I’m not one of them. I take everything too seriously. I would wait with bated breath for a response from a guy and if it didn’t come I would wonder what was wrong with me. Was it something I said or didn’t say? Am I not muscular enough? Am I not masculine enough? Am I too black? Not black enough? Guys that I would strike up a casual conversation with immediately became potential boyfriends. We would either meet and have sex and I’d never see him again or we’d casually text until one or both of us lost interest. Some times, we’d meet and I’d face my rejection in-person. Were we to meet in another, less sexually-charged way, things would probably be different. Giving all the goods off the bat, however, takes the surprise and spontaneity out of meeting each other.

But these apps and sites have rendered me completely unable to interact with guys in any other way because they cater to my insecurity. My insecurity about talking to guys. My insecurity with coming off too effeminate or too needy. My insecurity of attracting someone without using my body. It’s one thing to be rejected based on a picture and a headline, but to be rejected based on something more substantial like personality is a soul-crusher. I broke myself down and I beat myself up and I compromised my values and what I believed in in order to satisfy my all-consuming sexual desire. I recognized that this desire was just a desire to be less lonely, which explains why I would often get attached to someone so quickly and so easily.

For instance, I chatted on the phone for an hour with one guy I met on Adam4Adam. After the fact, I sent him a few texts to which he didn’t respond right away. That prompted me to send him a long message on Adam, apologizing if I had scared him away. I’m not a phone person in general and an hour long conversation is otherwise unheard of with me, except on very rare occasions with very dear friends I probably haven’t seen or spoken to in a while. Meanwhile, the object of my misguided affection had no idea what I was talking about. He was busy and had meant to respond to my texts, but for me, a steady stream of second-guesses immediately came flooding into my head.

I hung out twice with another guy I met off the app Jack’d. The second time he slept over and we cuddled all night. The following morning was perfect. He was in my arms, the sun filtered in through my apartment windows, illuminating our naked, intertwined bodies. I recorded the moment in my head because I knew it would never last and that I would likely not experience it again any time soon. I didn’t hear from him for a while after that most perfect morning. I sent him a text to the end that I assumed he had lost interest. He replied that he was simply busy so I added – perhaps with the intent of pushing him away before I was inevitably hurt – that I was “kinda crazy” and that I “kinda liked” him. I never heard from him again.

Then yesterday, I had enough. A guy that went to my gym messaged me on Scruff, yet another app in my casual sex arsenal. We had seen each other in the gym before and had obviously checked each other out, but as is often the case, it was easier to talk through our mutual online profiles. No one likes being rejected and that additional buffer makes the rejection less painful. Or so it would seem. When I saw him in the gym again he completely ignored me. And that’s when I nearly burned my gym down to the goddamn ground. I got so mad. So enraged. But why? Why was I letting this get to me again? It wasn’t the first time this had happened. I had been on both sides of that equation. The ignored and the ignorer. But that was the last straw.

I had finally grown tired of putting myself through all these waves of doubt and insecurity over what some guy with a few pictures and a handful of sentences (if not just a headless torso with nothing else) may or may not think of me – if he thought of me at all. I want to have more respect for myself. To stop sending naked pics of myself to strangers in hopes that they’ll like me based not on who I am but what I look like and what I could potentially do to their eagerly awaiting assholes. To stop attributing my value to my body and its ability to attract. I want to have relationships away from my screen. So I quit.

I deleted all of my sex profiles.

Some addictions you have to quit cold turkey. That’s not to say I won’t be back. I’ve deleted my profiles before, only to come crawling back, promising myself that things would be different. But I fall into the same trap every time. The cycle of self-loathing and self-compromise. So I’m quitting, for now, indefinitely. I need to work on myself and my insecurities rather than hiding them or magnifying them in digital form, or trying to banish them all together through sex with the hottest men I could find. If they liked me, I could like myself. Oh, gurl. I’m not even into S&M but playing the casual NSA hookup game is the most masochistic thing I could have possibly done to myself.

Now it’s up to me to attempt to make real connections in the real world. Because through this process I realized the most important thing – that all those apps and sites aren’t real. I always attempted to see the headless torsos as real people, but they’re just the versions of the people they want to be. That’s why the connection online and in-person is often lost in translation: you can’t carry on a relationship – strings attached or not – with someone who doesn’t exist.