Growing up, most of my friendship circle was predominantly girls. My earliest memory dates back to kindergarten, when it was mufti day, and the guys pointed and laughed at me because my fly was undone. Six-year-old me thought it was the end of the world. But I danced it away with the girls in my class when Nikki Webster’s 2001 hit ‘Strawberry Kisses’ was on the stereo – and boom! School was over.
Yet hanging out with the girl gang was met with raised eyebrows. In Year 6, my girl BFFs and I walked to our usual before-school hang out spot, and I saw my dad with our relatives along the way.
In popular culture, straight and gay male friendships onscreen are scarce.
“Why does your son hang out with girls?” she asked my dad. No answer.
Being the only guy in the group also meant I was asked three words again, and again, and again: “Are you gay?” Or I was called a ladies’ man or a player among my bully-turned-friends.
I rarely bonded with straight guys after school. I didn’t want a repeat of primary and high school. I'd think that they’re going to think that I’m hitting on them. That we have nothing in common. That they’re probably boring.
In popular culture, straight and gay male friendships onscreen are scarce.
Which is why fans are praising British teen dramedy Sex Education for its of race, sexuality, and its portrayal of what The New York Times calls .
I found the kinship between Otis (Asa Butterfield) and his queer best friend Eric (Ncuti Gatwa) refreshing. I was in complete awe when Otis dresses in drag on Eric’s birthday as part of their tradition; when Otis apologises to Eric for calling him an attention-seeker, telling him, “I think you are the coolest, bravest, and kindest person I know”; and when Eric saves Otis from his terrible dancing at the school dance.
Off the top of my head, only one other show depicts said kinship onscreen: the Netflix reboot of Queer Eye (and its original version).
In contrast, there’s been a plethora of straight , from the titular duo of Will & Grace, Carrie and Stanford in Sex and the City, Hannah and Elijah in Girls, Kimmy and Titus in Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt – goes on.
It wasn’t until I worked in retail that I realised I could be friends with straight guys. They weren’t the bullies, or the bully-turned-friends that I knew at school. Take Wanya, who had my back when a customer made fun of me.
Then there’s Michael, who often bought the same work clothes as me, to a point where I told him, “We’re not related.” (“We are!” he’d say.) To avoid a repeat of this, I sent him the odd snap, saying, “Don’t get this, please and thank you.” When I wasn’t telling him what not to buy at work, I was telling him time and time again to watch Call Me By Your Name, since I took his word to see The Shape of Water. He still hasn’t.
And there’s Jared, a guy I buddied up with in fitting rooms a few times. The banter was good I didn’t want him to leave when his shift was over.
In episode four of Sex Education, Otis denies he’s in love with classmate Maeve (Emma Mackey). “You’ve been glued to your phone for, like, three weeks now, and every time she texts you, this happens,” says Eric. “You turn into smiley, happy cupcake Otis. It’s weird.”
Otis: “Boys and girls can be friends.”
Eric: “Yeah, sure. Their genitals can be friends.”
But the series makes another point: straight and gay males can be friends too. As one user , “Otis and Eric’s friendship on Sex Education is such a wonderful, healthy, and pure example of male friendships. There is no weird toxic masculinity bullsh*t or homophobia. Just pure love.”
More of that, please.
