Ask Agatha: Help! I’m a "Sports Gay" in Love with a "Theater Gay"

Dear Agatha,

I’m what they might call a "sports gay." Like, full-on sports gay, and proudly so! I hit every trope. I lift heavy at the gym, live in flannel, wear jerseys with other guys’ names on them, and yes, I’m deep into fantasy leagues.

My boyfriend is the total opposite. He’s a musical encyclopedia. He sings showtunes around the house in crisp, ironed outfits before heading off to perform with a local theater troupe. We are walking clichés from two completely different worlds.

The thing is, sometimes I feel really dumb around him. Like I’m this sweaty Neanderthal and he’s this elegant gentleman with perfect posture and a three-octave range. I’ve never seen Les Mis, didn’t even know it had a longer name. I’ve never been to a play. But I love him. I want this to work. I just don’t know how to step into his world without feeling like I showed up in the wrong costume.

Sincerely,

Sporty McSporterson

Dear Sporty,

First of all, you’re not wearing the wrong costume. You’re just bringing your own flavor to the party.

Let’s clear something up. There’s no such thing as a “sports gay” or a “theater gay.” Those are tired little labels we use to shrink ourselves down into bite-sized boxes. The truth is, gay men can be anything. And that’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to belt showtunes to fall in love with someone who does. You just have to care that it matters to him. And you clearly do.

So lean in a little. Ask questions. Read a Playbill or two. Learn what the Tonys are and why your boyfriend gets misty-eyed when someone thanks their understudy. Go to a show and let yourself feel it, even if you don’t fully understand it yet. Let him explain the plot over wine afterward. Be the guy in the front row who brings flowers and wraps him in your big strong arms when the curtain falls. That kind of support is hotter than anything on stage.

Also, let’s quit it with the “I feel dumb” stuff. You’re not dumb. You’re just new to his world. And I bet if he stepped into yours, standing on the sidelines in your sweaty post-game jersey, yelling like a maniac, he’d feel the exact same way. It’s not about becoming the same. It’s about showing up for each other. Curious. Willing. A little turned on by how different you are.

And let’s be honest. You both sound like total nerds. You’re a stats guy. He’s a script guy. You wear cleats. He wears character shoes. Different languages, same beautiful chaos.

So take him to a game. Let him see you in your element, muscles flexing, sweat dripping, body moving with intention. And go see his world too. Sit in that theater seat with an open heart, and afterward, tell him he was amazing while he’s still glowing from the lights. Maybe even kiss him right there in the lobby. Sweaty palms, dry mouth, all of it. That’s the good stuff.

You don’t need jazz hands. You just need to care. That’s what love looks like.

XOXO,

Agatha