Passing vs. Authenticity: My Take on Masculinity
Hey Booklovers!
I’m a tall, cisgender white man who can “pass” in most spaces. I could go about my life without drawing attention, fitting into traditional expectations of masculinity. But here’s the thing—I don’t want to pass. I want to be authentic.
I’m a man. I love men. And I’ve learned to embrace my softness, my flamboyance, and even my “girly” moments—things I was taught to hide as a kid growing up in the ’90s. Back then, it was clear that anything outside the norm was met with discomfort or flat-out rejection. I heard loud and clear that being effeminate was wrong—even before I understood what being gay meant.
In my 20s, I decided to flip the script. A few times, I went out in drag—not in gay clubs, but straight ones. Back then, drag queens were practically invisible in German mainstream culture. So, stepping into that world, even briefly, felt like a powerful act of defiance. It was my way of saying to the world—and my inner demons—“I’m here, and I won’t be ashamed.”
Though I haven’t done drag since, I remain a huge admirer of the art form. Drag is loud, beautiful, fearless. It challenges gender rules, plays with identity, and gives voice to self-expression in its purest form. That experience—even for just a handful of nights—left a mark on how I see myself and how I write my characters.
What does “passing” mean for queer men?
Passing is complex. On the surface, it can make life easier—less judgment, less danger, fewer questions. But it can also feel like you’re hiding, like you’re erasing the very parts of yourself that make you you. For me, passing might offer comfort, but authenticity offers freedom.
How do I define masculinity?
For a long time, I thought masculinity had to look a certain way. Strong. Stoic. Silent. But now, in my 40s, I realize masculinity can also be emotional, colorful, soft, and expressive. It can include loving men and enjoying sparkly nail polish. It’s not about conforming—it’s about owning who you are.
Why was drag a part of my journey?
Drag gave me a brief but powerful window into another way of being. It wasn’t about “becoming someone else”—it was about uncovering more of myself. Even if I only did it a few times, it was liberating, affirming, and unforgettable. Today, I don’t wear wigs and heels—but I do wear bright, queer fashion daily. It’s my quiet (or sometimes loud!) way of saying, “I’m proud of who I am.”
Why does authenticity matter?
Because the cost of hiding is too high. Being your full self, especially when it goes against the grain, takes courage—but it’s worth it. Whether it’s in the clothes I wear, the way I speak, or the queer characters I write—I’m not interested in toning myself down for anyone else’s comfort. I want to model the kind of freedom I never saw growing up.
As a gay author, how does this all influence my writing?
Creating queer characters is my world—it’s deeply personal and comes from lived experience. I write the stories I needed when I was young. Stories that show love between boys, vulnerability in men, and joy in being different. Because someone out there, maybe a teen like I once was, needs to read that it’s okay to be them.
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Stay bookish and fabulous,
Felix
