Being attracted to “hot” people makes me feel gross.

I hate that you're hot, and I hate that I think you're hot; how that disgust points to something deeper

This writing was published on my Substack

I hate when I’m attracted to hot people. It makes me feel gross.

As a gay person online, the second Instagram clocks that I’m into men, it floods my feed with conventionally attractive guys. Shirtless. Sculpted. Predictable. I try to retrain the algorithm, but stuff still leaks through.

Over the last decade, I’ve worked hard to expand what I find sexy and beautiful. So when I still feel a pull toward someone who fits the most basic template of attractiveness, I feel disappointed in myself. Almost disgusted.

Why does that still work on me???

It feels like my body betraying my politics. Like my brain running some ancient biological directive I don’t consent to. I hate that no matter how self-aware I am, desire still gets the final word.

A friend once described certain men as “attractive in a cowardly way”. I love that phrase cause it makes me laugh. It’s someone who’s hot by default. No risk. No camp. No queer texture. Just the standard issue version of desire.

And yeah, sometimes that still gets my attention. I wish it didn’t.

I think part of the disgust is actually a defense mechanism. A preemptive move. I reject myself before anyone else gets the chance to. My brain decides these men would never want me anyway, so it wraps the attraction in anger or disdain to avoid touching the shame underneath.

It’s easier to say I don’t want them than to admit I don’t think I’m allowed to.

That shame didn’t come out of nowhere. It came from being fat in gay spaces and watching what gets rewarded.

I remember performing at a big Pride event and being invited to the after party. I walked in and immediately understood the economy of the room.

Fit. Polished. Hypersexual.

When I was performing I could get people’s attention, but now that I’m a civilian in the space...

I’ve never felt so invisible.

Even then, I knew I was valuable. That wasn’t the question. My currency just wasn’t valued there.

And it never would, unless I reshaped myself into something I didn’t want to be.

So I chose to find other rooms. Other stages. Places where what I bring actually matters.

It still stings. I’m always searching for where I belong instead of settling into what’s obvious. That ache sits right under that disgust. I want to punish everyone for it.

That’s the rub. My disgust isn’t about attraction. It’s about shame. Shame for wanting what I was taught I couldn’t have. Shame for still responding to the very system that excludes me.

As I normalize more bodies, I notice something different. I’m more attracted to myself. That feels new. That feels amazing!

I don’t think I’ll ever stop noticing the conventional. That’s fine. Desire doesn’t need to be pure to be honest.

What I want is simpler. I want desire without punishment. I want to stop pairing attraction with shame.

That’s the work. And I’m still deep in it.