The first Halloween I ever dressed up for was in 2023.

I’ve always admired people with a high level of passion and dedication for the spooky season, but I’ve simply never been one of them.

In the middle of October that year, Australian popstar Troye Sivan released his single ‘One of Your Girls’. It’s a sweet yet heart-wrenching ode to a crush on a straight man; a delicate electronic tune soaked in subtle, delicious vocoder. In the music video, Troye’s drag persona dances lustfully and devotedly around a straight love interest, played by internet heartthrob Ross Lynch.

One could argue that at its core, ‘One of Your Girls’ is a yet another synth-pop song about lust. However, within its lyrics, the track builds a world of queer loneliness, power dynamics, and a sense of longing powered by internal inferiority.

“Give me a call if you ever get desperate / I’ll be like one of your girls,” Sivan proclaims in the chorus.

Image credit: YouTube/Troye Sivan.

Ifell in love with ‘One of Your Girls’, the music video and the story behind the track. Everything about it resonated with me on such a deep level.

Even though I’ve been attending drag shows and watching RuPaul’s Drag Race for years, that very Halloween was the first and only time I’ve dressed up in drag – taking inspiration from Troye’s video.

Before you get too excited – it wasn’t anything worthy of winning a Drag Race maxi-challenge. With two weeks left until October 31st, my friends and I searched shopping centres in hopes of finding a simple, girly and sensual outfit for me to wear.

Due to financial and logistical constraints, I had to settle for much less than I had hoped for: a wig more plastic than the hair of a vintage Barbie, and a black H&M dress that would have sent RuPaul into a fit of rage.

Despite my low-budget outfit, the night was an absolute success. For weeks after, my friends and I couldn’t help but smirk when ‘One of Your Girls’ started playing somewhere. It became my song.

But why did I resonate so deeply with Troye Sivan’s fantasies? Why does the concept of hooking up with men who don’t identify as queer appeal so much to me, and to so many other queer people?

In the ever-so-delightful world of queer men, there have always been guys who prefer to go ‘masc4masc‘.

It’s a term often plastered on Grindr profiles, manifesting the willingness to only meet up with those who describe themselves as “straight acting”. These masc4masc guys are likely to hear phrases such as, “You don’t look gay!”, and when presented with such a statement, I’m sure they must feel like a mother of three who has just been asked to show her ID in a liquor store.

Some masc4masc guys insist it’s just their sexual preference, while still respecting and befriending more femme gay men. However, there are also those in this space who actively shame and belittle camp men for their proximity to femininity.

I fell in love with ‘One of Your Girls’, the music video and the story behind the track. Everything about it resonated with me on such a deep level.

As someone raised Catholic who experienced a lot of intense verbal homophobia in my teenage years, there will always be this violent, shaming voice at the back of my mind.

I have learned the importance of self-love and educated myself on trauma, but I can never remove the voice that whispers: “You’re not a real man. You will never be a proper man. You will never be like them.”

I can silence it and take its power away, but removing it all together isn’t possible for me. Not yet.

I think the self-loathing caused by internalised homophobia is a reason that so many gay men may feel sexually attracted to straight men. Being with men who never had space for you can be soothing. If I can’t be one of them, I want to at least be around them.

For some, navigating identity decisions can feel like hanging off the edge of a cliff. The nonchalant, effortless aura of traditional masculinity is the rope so many non-straight men try desperately to cling onto. Myself included.

Troye Sivan has reflected on these issues himself.

In a Zach Sang interview, he contemplated:  “Is it internalised homophobia where I’m like, this person 100 per cent would have scared me in high school and now they’re showing me attention – is that what I’m feeling and responding to?”

Despite having a campy personality modelled on someone who could host Celebrity Catchphrase with a Negroni in hand, I’m actually a sucker for everything sporty.

If someone is wearing a pair of AirMax 95s, I’m ready to sign the marriage papers on the spot.

My eye naturally gravitates toward Nike and Adidas logos in busy nightlife crowds. I love a buzzcut and a skin fade, which I consider to be the sexiest haircut a man can get.

In 2020, I was one of those people who obsessed over the chain Paul Mescal wore in Normal People. I even bought my own, but it didn’t seem to have the same effect on people. I wonder why.

For queer people, internalised homophobia can lead to, and present itself in a range of serious issues – from substance abuse to chasing toxic and emotionally unavailable partners and more.

But this internalised shame is not something you can switch off instantly like a cheap set of fairy lights.

As I continue to be interested in sneakers and athleticwear, I recognise that these fashion items are symbols of a particular archetype. In gay fetish jargon, this aesthetic is usually associated with the word scally.

Casual sportswear items – such as Nike tracksuits or white socks – have been artefacts of the scally fetish for decades, and living your life according to what floats your boat is a healthy thing. But these days, I recognise where the attraction to this aesthetic might be coming from.

These clothes and accessories are the entry pass to the exclusive club that so many boys, including myself, were rejected from as teenagers.

One day back in June, I left the house to get a haircut. My usual barber wasn’t available, so I settled for a different barbershop in my local area, which isn’t necessarily known as the most queer-friendly piece of the city.

As I stepped outside my front door and crossed the road, a voice emerged from a passing car. The driver screamed at me, telling me to go fuck myself, and called me a homophobic slur. I was shocked.

It was the first time in almost a decade that someone had shouted homophobic abuse at me. I felt numb. In my naivety, I thought sporty gear was my armour.

Being with men who never had space for you can be soothing. If I can’t be one of them, I want to at least be around them.

I decided to go ahead with my appointment, despite the fact that a trip to the barbershop is already mental gymnastics for a queer man to endure.

As I walked in and sat down next to all the other guys waiting to be served, I felt weak and unsafe – probably because I had been hate crimed five minutes earlier.

They were all tall and muscular, and their facial expressions reminded me of marines ready to jump out of a plane. I looked down at the floor and noticed that they were all wearing my favourite sneakers.

Am I the problem? I asked myself. I felt scared of them, but attracted to them at the same time. I somehow liked the idea that they could hurt me, while I was craving their approval like I crave nicotine after three drinks.

That day, I left the barbershop with a brand new set of doubts and questions to torture myself with at 1am. Am I my own number one saboteur? Am I wasting my life chasing a fantasy that will never become reality?

In my dating life, I sometimes find myself in talking stages with men that fit the love interest type from One of Your Girls. Unfortunately, they often lose interest pretty quickly.

They end up friendzoning me or ghosting me as soon as they get to know the real me – the future Celebrity Catchphrase host (call me, TV producers).

After a few dates, a nonchalant “bro” or “mate” thrown at the end of a sentence isn’t enough to mask who I really am.

Arguably, the most interesting aspect of the lyrics to ‘One of Your Girls’ is the shift at the end of each chorus.

At one point, the line “Give me a call if you ever get lonely” changes to “Give me a call if you ever get desperate”.

While the song has captivated millions of listeners with its emotional illustration of what it’s like to lust over a confused, hot hunk, it’s important to remember that the receiving party of all this attention is not interested in the narrator. It’s a dead end street.

The street might have a few attractions on it, but once you have enjoyed it (or not), the only way to get out of it is by going backwards, because the big brick wall at the end isn’t allowing you to keep enjoying the stroll.

For me, that encapsulates the tragedy of this type of attraction, and leaves me with two questions to answer.

Is hoping to be someone’s last resort really the best I can do? The answer is no. And the solution is strongly linked to the very cause of the issue – self-esteem.

That said, is a venture down the dead end street worth it? I can’t answer this question so easily.

Judging by the popularity of Troye Sivan’s song, many other queer men struggle with this one, too.