Review Mode: So Should I Just Stand Here or, Like, Say Something?
Ultimately, I don’t know what the proper etiquette is for wing-manning/third-wheeling/c*ck-blocking
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.
Last weekend, I accompanied my hot gay friend to a town full of hot gay people and had to figure out what I’m supposed to do with myself while all these hot people were flirting with each other. I never quite cracked it.
So, we were at this place that I’ll call Gaybeachtown. Whichever one you’re thinking of, yep, it was that one. A place full of hot gay men with relatively narrow ideas about what constitutes attractiveness, and we know how I feel in those spaces.
I was there with my hot gay guy friend, Chris, who’d just gotten out of a not great monogamous relationship, so he was ready to flirt. I was excited for him. It was long overdue, and hot, wonderful people deserve to get to kiss lots of hot, wonderful people if they want to.
That said, I was also very aware that I myself would not have many flirting opportunities in this environment. In fact, there’s really no flirting environment in which I thrive. The thing is, there is not a town, beach, bar, or Pride event specific enough in the world for what I’m looking for. Like, where do transmasc nonbinary people go to meet sweet, funny, creative, probably neurodivergent bisexuals who are usually on the they/them-to-he/him end of the gender spectrum? Where’s our app?? Try to fit all that into a catchy title like Feeld or Growlr.
All to say, I’m very happy for Chris that, as soon as he was ready to re-engage with the flirtatious side of himself, there was a world of hot gay men waiting for him with open arms (read as: legs). Still, witnessing it, a small part of me was reminded that I can’t have that.
But I don’t think that little bit of jealousy was why I felt awkward, standing around while he flirted with people. I think it just is awkward.
As we walked down the streets of this beach town, Chris in his little muscle tank, guys kept chatting him up. And every time, I had to ask myself, “How much would a socially gracious person participate in this interaction?” I never figured out the answer.
The two extreme ends of the participation spectrum would be a) straight up leave, or b) act as an equal participant in the conversation, as if completely unaware that there was flirtation happening, despite overtly flirtatious body language and language-language.
Skedaddling wasn’t a real option1. I’d make myself scarce if it was clear to me that Chris actually wanted something to happen immediately, but as far as I could tell, that wasn’t the situation in any of these cases.
So then, if I have to stick around, the question is, how much do I participate? Little to no participation, which was pretty much what I opted for in most of these cases, doesn’t reflect particularly well on Chris. It makes it seem like he’s friends with awkward weirdos. Cool, hot guys who you want to fuck aren’t supposed to surround themselves with awkward weirdos.
But it felt like any contribution I made to the conversation would be a distraction from the task at hand: getting Chris some flirty attention from all the guys he couldn’t kiss while he was with his not-very-nice ex.
Like, every second in which I’m saying, “Yeah, the weather’s been really nice,” is a second in which no one’s saying, “Hey Chris, are you on Instagram?”
I tried to smile and nod along and occasionally interject a little, but every time I spoke, even I was like, “What’s this guy doing? Can’t they see this isn’t about them?”
I’ve never done any wingmanning. Would you believe that, when I’ve had friends going out looking to hook up, I haven’t been their first call? So, it’s not a skill that I’ve had much practice with.
Usually, when I write these, I edit myself with suggestions for what I wish I’d said or done. In this case, I really don’t know. Can someone with a natural instinct for — or even a highly studied understanding of — social graces please explain to me how someone is supposed to behave in these situations?
The Lesson That I Should Learn from This: I don’t know!!! You tell me! I just want my friends to get laid — is that so much to ask?
Carson’s Life Updates:
I won my roast battle against the very funny Britt Migs in a close tiebreaker. If you wanna check out the full thing, it’s in this video, 34:25 to 37:30. But honestly, if you want a laugh, you may just be better off checking out Britt’s stuff.
I watched the new episodes of the queer Ultimatum, because I didn’t realize that everyone else had decided that, just cause it’s bad, we weren’t gonna watch it.
It still feels like the whole show is just answering the question, “Hey, what if the Milgram Shock Experiment was gay?”
Some friends and I did our Spotify blends at a Pride party, and all I learned was how deeply alien my aesthetic sensibilities are to all my peers.
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.
Ugh, I feel so bad for Chris. Imagine if you were flirting with a hot guy, and the only friend you had with you was the one who earnestly uses the word “skedaddling”? I may not know much about what makes for effective wingmanning, but I don’t think it involves a lot of okey-doke or like, see ya later, alligator.
It's oddly heartwarming to know other people have this type of awkward third-wheeling experience too.