Lifestyle

Why I Don't Want To Be Your 'Gay Best Friend'

by Sean Abrams
Paramount Pictures

I'm all for making new friends, but not if all you want me around for is to fill the void as your "gay best friend."

If you've ever heard those three words, odds are, you'll assume we're someone who is overtly sassy, will talk sex tips with no judgment and can tell you when your ass looks fat without you getting offended.

"GBFs" are all the rage, it seems. It's cool for girls to be unique and — outside their regular circle of gal pals — have that one guy whom they can hang around without the fear of that person always trying to get in their pants.

The media, whether on TV shows or in movies, has treated the stereotypical gay best friend as more of an accessory than anything else. 

Think Damian from "Mean Girls," Brandon from "Easy A," or the iconic Christian from "Clueless."

He's never the main part of the storyline, and he's always depicted as someone who is super generic and can't exist on his own without having the girl around. 

Ultimately, it's dehumanizing. 

Popular culture pushes the idea that gay best friends should always be around when necessary, ready to spew out the hot gossip and get rumor mills churning.

Apparently, we like to get things riled up, bringing around excitement in the form of some quality catfights.

But that's too bad, considering I fucking hate getting myself caught up in the middle of stupid drama. I have no time for that, and I'm around for way more than to be at your beck and call.

I do, on the other hand, enjoy perusing around for a nice pair of slacks. It makes me feel good to give my friends advice, but it pains me to have to remind them I'm not a go-to for these things just because of the stigma of being "limp-wristed."

In fact, I'm relatively as far from effeminate as you can get when it comes to my mannerisms.

At first glance, a GBF might seem like a great thing to be. But when it continues to be a repetitive trope that misuses our sexuality to pigeonhole gays into a sole role as the sassy, advice-giving influencer in your friend group, then there's nothing to be applauded.

At first glance, a GBF might seem like a great thing to be. But when it continues to be a repetitive trope that misuses our sexuality to pigeonhole gays into a sole role as the sassy, advice-giving influencer in your friend group, then there's nothing to be applauded.

A gay best friend should just be another friend to you. Just because we might share similar tastes in men doesn't mean that should be the focal point of our relationship.

Not to be all emotional, but we gays do have feelings, too. We appreciate being valued for way more than our sense of style and taste in dick.

I tend to stray away from how gays are represented on TV screens, so I don't conform to the hype. I want to fit in and have people enjoy my presence simply because I'm being me — that's all.

Of course, I'm not saying to erase the inclusion of gays in media, simply because of an annoying gay best friend stereotype. In fact, give us more gays. Increase the representation of LGBT characters.

But, if you're going to do that, you have to do it right. Depict us in an accurate, multi-faceted way, and show that being gay shouldn't stop you from seamlessly fitting into society.

It would be great to see a gay guy more aware of himself and his actions, and not just used as a tool for clothes shopping and rumor spreading. We're way more than that.

Depict us in an accurate, multi-faceted way, and show that being gay shouldn't stop you from seamlessly fitting into society. It would be great to see a gay guy more aware of himself and his actions, and not just used as a tool for clothes shopping and rumor spreading. We're way more than that.

This stereotype has caused the concept of a "gay best friend" to feel like such a plague.

I want to be your friend first, without the concept me of being gay ever coming into question. My sexuality should never be the sole reason you want me in your life.

Throwing that trope away altogether and having us just be a best friend — sans gay — would be a title I'm sure a lot more of us would appreciate having.