Accepting, I wrote. Then I thought for a bit. That third guy that texted me was dating multiple guys at the same time. I pretended it didn’t bother me, but it did on some level. I just never voiced it, and I never really expected his loyalty.
Loyal. I wrote and underlined that word several times. Then I tried to picture what he would look like, and my boring ex came to mind.
“There was stability there, but no fire! You were with an earth sign…” Hazel’s voice echoed in my memory again.
Interesting, intense, adventurous, curious. I wrote.
It was only a matter of time before I went on a spree; it was like I was playing the Sims again and creating my perfect man. All thoughts of doubt were pushed to the back of my mind — it’s not like I could be asking too much, right? I was just writing words down on a piece of paper.
Before long, I had a few pages filled up with qualities that I’d love to find in my dream guy. I found myself picturing us together, exactly how he’d look, all the fun dates we’d go on, and how he’d transform my life completely.
After I wrote the phrase Makes me famous, I stopped, realizing how ridiculous I was being. Flipping back through the pages, I scanned through all of the stuff I’d written and with a stark shame, realized that I was being greedy.
There was no way a person like that could actually exist, let alone be into me.
I was boring, I was average. I was just a guy new to L.A., trying to make it here as a hairstylist because he couldn’t make it as an actor. I was fifteen pounds overweight and didn’t have any sort of skill set besides making people beautiful.
Frowning, I closed the notebook and tucked it back into its spot on the shelf.
Returning to my mundane life, I made myself a quick little dinner and then zoned out in front of the television.
Even though I was tempted to text those Grindr guys back, I knew that was just going to lead down the same road I’d been down dozens of times. Did I really want to subject myself to that again, that same old song and dance? It took so much energy…
I turned my phone face-down on the couch and fixed my eyes on the T.V. A new series on Netflix was dropping tomorrow night — looked like an interesting fantasy drama trying to ride the coattails of Game of Thrones.
With a sparkling realization, I recognized the man’s face in the preview image from the picture that average client had shown me earlier when he said, “Make my hair look like his.”
Everything about this guy was gold-colored: Gold hair, gold eyes, golden-tan skin…
I pursed my lips as I watched the dramatic preview, thinking to myself, His hair isn’t so great— I could do way more amazing things with that mane.
The next day, I showed up to the salon looking fresher than ever. I slept well, put on my foundation expertly, carefully put in my light brown contact lenses, and dressed in my favorite slimming black button-down. I was ready for the day.
Refraining from toiling away in conversations with those Grindr guys was… it was refreshing. So much energy that I had poured into those nothing-relationships was finally all coming back to me.
Though, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to text them back, if only to get attention.
Just like always, I prepped my station and made sure all of my products were ready for my clients. Everything was shaping up to be a normal day at the salon.
After my first two clients, my coworker Scott showed up.
He greeted me as usual, but did a double-take.
“You look… there’s something different about you,” he said, holding his finger and thumb to his chin.
“Well thanks, but I don’t know what,” I said. But I knew what he meant. I felt different; I felt better.
“Are you using a new pair of those contacts I told you about?” Scott asked, examining me closely.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
“That must be it!” he said, clapping his hands together. “Honey you finally look like an L.A. boy. Gettin’ all that midwest off of you took a little bit, but now you’re all set!”
I laughed uncomfortably at Scott’s backhanded compliment.
True, I did want to fit in here in L.A., but I didn’t know that meant forsaking my identity as a guy from a small town in Ohio.
Coming here had been a huge culture shock, and I’d had a hard time fitting in. In this city, things were all about appearances. It wasn’t about having a good time or making genuine connections — it was about looking like you were having a good time and making genuine connections. Most of the gay community here was super vain, vapid, and their number one concern was how many Instagram followers they had.
Even now as I snuck a look at Scott, I could see him scrolling through a feed of his own posts, checking to see how many likes he had on his photos.
He’d tried to get me to use social media and all that, but I just couldn’t get the hang of it. It was just more of the same inauthenticity in this land of fame and appearances.
Hazel was the only person I’d met so far that had brought an ounce of realness to my chair. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see her bright pink hair and her shimmering silver eyes.
That reminded me — I had to call her about her exorbitant tip.
I glanced at the clock and discovered that I only had five minutes before my next client came in, and that next client had hair like a Kardashian that wanted to go platinum. Lightening that would take all day. I could guarantee that I wouldn’t have another break.
Dashing into the supply closet where all of the bottles of dyes and colors were glittering on the shelves like potions, I closed the
