Review Mode: Don’t Tell New Acquaintances Your Deepest Darkest Secrets

Eeeven if you really want them to think you’re cool and fun.

Welcome to Review Mode, a biweekly newsletter where I mark up my social interactions, mining my, like, medical-grade self-monitoring for your reading pleasure.

Here’s one about the lengths I’ll go to for beautiful cis gay men to think I can hang.

So, this weekend, I was at the birthday party of one of my most gorgeous cis gay friends (he works in fashion) surrounded by all his shiny, beautiful people.

As a transmasc nonbinary bi-or-whatever person, cis gay male spaces are tricky for me. Like, there are arguments to be made that I belong there, but generally, when I’m surrounded by gorgeous cis gay men, I suspect that the attitude towards me is more like, “Aww, it’s so cute that you’re doing that.”

It’s kinda like being a porpoise among dolphins. Like sure, I’ve got a similar deal, but it’s a little off, and ultimately I’m just not as fun.

So, I’m a little over-eager to be accepted. And it shows.

Real group shot taken by one of the photography gays at the party

That’s the headspace I was in when, at this party where I had very few people to talk to, I fell into a conversation with two beautiful strangers.

“I’m not sure if we’ve met,” I said to them, knowing we hadn’t. “I’m Carson.”

They introduced themselves as Beautiful Cis Gay Man (BCGM) #1 and BCGM #2. Crazy that that’s what their parents named them.

“Sooo,” said BCGM #1. “Tell us a secret.”

“Well, first of all, how do you know the host?” I said, fishing to see how connected our social circles might be.

“I used to hook up with him,” said BCGM #2.

“And I’m friends with him through BCGM#2,” said #1.

“Okay, but how’d you meet?” I pressed.

“Grindr, why?”

“I’m trying to figure out how many people we know in common.”

“We’ve met a couple people here before, but we only really know the host,” said #2.

Good enough. So, I told them the first secret that came to mind — my Big Secret.

“I’m gonna snitch on the people I buried that body with to get a shorter sentence,” I confessed.¹

“Okay, that’s a good one,” said BCGM #1, with BCGM #2 nodding enthusiastically.

THANK GOD.

Can you imagine if I betrayed my deepest-held secret only for them to be unimpressed?

Then the two of them started offering me advice based on friends of friends’ experiences snitching until we were joined by two people I know. (Incidentally, one of them was a woman, so I was no longer the only out-group person.)

“Hiii Jonah and Isabel,” BCGM #2 said. Shit. So these guys do know people in my social circles.

“We’re asking people to tell us a secret,” #1 said.

“Oh, hmm. I’m trying to think — do I even have any secrets?” Jonah said.

God dammit.

We all know do I even have any secrets doesn’t mean Jonah doesn’t have any secrets. It means he’s taking a second to be judicious about what he should or shouldn’t share — a moment of thoughtfulness that casts a harsh light on my own poorly-considered divulgence.

“Oh, here’s one,” he said. “I think my friend’s a bad writer.”

“Okay??” said BCGM #2.

“No, like, it’s bad. He spent months stressing out about this contest he was submitting to, so I’ve poured hours and hours into encouraging him and telling him how great he is, but the whole time, I’ve been secretly thinking, ‘Yeah, this guy’s not gonna win.’”

“All I’m hearing is that you’re a good friend,” I said, which sounded nice, but obviously what I really meant was What the fuck was that? You call that a secret? Nuh-uh. Pony up, pretty boy!

“Wait, what was your secret, Carson?” Jonah asked.

“I’m not saying.”

“What was their secret?” he asked BCGMs #1 and #2.

“We promised not to tell,” #2 said, but he said it so teasingly that what I heard was we’ll tell you later.

“Isabel, what’s your secret?” I asked, eager to change the subject.

“Hang on, I’m thinking about it.”

Oh, so everyone’s prudent but me?

“Okay, here,” she said after a moment. “So, I don’t have confirmation yet, but I really think that my friend who’s only ever identified as straight might be cheating on her boyfriend with this girl we both know.”

We were allowed to do hunches? We were allowed to just spill other people’s tea instead of our own??

Notably, no matter how many times I tried to direct the “What’s your secret?” question to BCGMs #1 and #2, they were able to avoid answering. Thus, with nothing on them, I have no protection. They’re out there, armed with my Big Secret, in a social circle full of far more mutual friends than they initially let on.

I always forget that they do all know each other. When a cis man gets beautiful enough and gay enough, his beauty and gayness draw him into contact with all the beauty and gayness in the vicinity, creating a supergay superbeauty.

Whatever. It’s fine. I know all the funny transmascs.

Point is, I’ve condemned myself to live in fear.

The Lesson That I Should but Probably Won’t Learn from This: Don’t just go around trusting random people with sensitive information, even if you desperately crave their approval.

Carson’s Life Updates

• At a barbecue, I told a friend that I’m thinking of becoming a vegetarian, and then I ate a burger, and then I got food poisoning. What do you think that could mean?

• I rewatched about two-thirds of A New Hope for Star Wars Day and my takeaway is that George Lucas doesn’t know how women sit. Luke finds Leia in her cell chilling like this ↓. Never once have I seen a woman (or any person) chill in this position.

  

• A friend (hi, Gray!) recently asked who “the haters” are in my boilerplate bio at the end of every Substack — whether it’s the transphobes or the people he/him-ing me. To clarify, “haters” in this case encompasses any and all enemies and doubters, real or imagined.

  • Most people, I find, are quite nice to me, but it wouldn’t feel nearly as fun to say “Carson Olshansky (they/them, thanks to the love and support of so many people in their life)”

The Boilerplate

Carson Olshansky (still they/them, despite the haters) is a Brooklyn-based comedian and writer. You can follow them at @carsonolshansky on Instagram and TikTok and at @carson-olshansky on YouTube.

1. Okay, this wasn’t actually the secret, but I’m not gonna tell you guys what it was. I’d like to think, if I’m gonna make the same mistake twice, it at least won’t be right away.

I use this body-burying/snitching placeholder because that’s what the stakes of my secret felt like to me, but really, the stakes were closer to, like, “I think my friend is cute” or “The real reason I broke up with our mutual acquaintance was ’cause his breath stank.”