And after years of that happening over and over again, it becomes really difficult not to internalize the feeling that maybe people only love what you provide… not who you are.

Because too often it feels like people will gladly take your support, your art, your loyalty, your energy, your visibility, your emotional labor — and then quietly move on once you no longer serve a purpose in their personal ecosystem.

But lately I’ve been struggling with this fear that maybe I’ve spent my whole life romanticizing queer community into something deeper than what it actually is.

I still want real connection. I still want mutual care. I still want spaces where people value each other beyond usefulness, popularity, status, or aesthetics.

Especially when you’re someone like me who still desperately wants sincerity despite everything.

But understanding it doesn’t make it hurt less.

And maybe that’s understandable. Maybe when people grow up deprived of acceptance and belonging, they learn how to weaponize proximity and social power without even realizing it.

Because sometimes queer spaces don’t feel like communities built on healing anymore. Sometimes they feel like ecosystems built around validation, attention, visibility, and survival.

And maybe what hurts the most is realizing how emotionally starved so many of us actually are underneath all of it.

The same hierarchy games. The same social climbing. The same performative morality. The same people loudly preaching inclusion while quietly operating through exclusivity and social currency.

And honestly, sometimes it feels exactly the same as the drag world did.

But living where I live in Texas, three hours away from the nearest actual queer safe space, almost all of my experience with these spaces happens online. Through social media. Through observation. Through watching dynamics unfold from a distance.

I came into this path longing for something real. Brotherhood. Structure. Mentorship. Authenticity. A place where sincerity mattered more than optics.

And I think that wound followed me into the leather community too.

Like no matter how much soul you pour into what you create, it will always come second to popularity contests disguised as community support.

Like your work only matters if the “right” people validate it first. Like your voice only matters if it benefits a larger social ecosystem.

After a while it starts making you feel invisible in a very specific kind of way.

I’ve watched artists with real perspective, originality, vulnerability, and vision get overlooked because they weren’t socially convenient enough. Meanwhile people with the right connections get endlessly uplifted regardless of the quality or sincerity of their work.

People support their friends. Their cliques. Their circles. Their politics.

And honestly, one of the deepest insecurities I carry is feeling completely undervalued as an artist inside communities that constantly claim to celebrate artists.

And honestly, one of the deepest insecurities I carry is feeling completely undervalued as an artist inside communities that constantly claim to celebrate artists.

A reputation. A symbol. A brand. And eventually you start wondering if anyone is actually listening to your perspective at all or if they only interact with the version of you they’ve created in their heads.

Because people project onto you constantly when you become visible in queer spaces. They flatten you into a character.

And there’s a painful difference between those two things.

Most people don’t actually know me. They know of me.

And now there’s this whole newer generation of people who only know me through fragments online. Through rumors. Through curated images. Through aesthetics. Through whatever version of me social media turned into content over the years.

The silence afterward. The distancing. The way people slowly emotionally discard you once you stop participating in the illusion that everything is healthy and loving all the time.

That’s the part that hurt the most. Not disagreement. Not criticism.

And the moment I started speaking honestly about those things, I stopped being useful in the same way.

People performing support publicly while privately competing with each other. People performing kindness while quietly using whoever benefits them socially. People performing “community” while operating entirely through cliques, status, popularity, and proximity.

Not performance in the artistic sense. Performance in the emotional sense.

But over time I started seeing how much of it was built on performance.

Because I believed in community. I believed in chosen family. I believed queer people were supposed to protect and uplift one another because we understood what it felt like to be abandoned everywhere else.

I supported people when nobody else would. I amplified people. Defended people. Encouraged people. Promoted people. I gave my time, my creativity, my emotional energy, and honestly pieces of myself that I probably should have protected more carefully.

For years in the drag community, I gave everything I had emotionally.

And I think what’s breaking my heart lately is realizing how much of my identity within these spaces became tied to what I could provide for others instead of who I actually am.

Maybe it’s just my depression and imposter syndrome talking, but lately I’ve been struggling with this really deep feeling that I’ve spent years pouring myself into communities that only truly value people when they are socially useful.

© Robert Mapplethorpe Irises, 1986

Sigourney Weaver © Robert Mapplethorpe

Grace Jones, 1984 Body Painting : Keith Haring 📸 : Robert Mapplethorpe

Calla Lily, 1984, Robert Mapplethorpe. (1946 - 1989)

New studio. Needed a paint job. Feels like my space now. #photographerslife

Pony Boy

Isn’t the view nice ? #bigbutt #bottom #nsfw

Round 2 with @Cole7black was even hotter than the first 🥵😏. Look at how his eyes roll back as he blows his fat load for me 😵‍💫💦. What a sexy stud carrying that huge cock 😈🍆. He's always welcome to these fists 😇

Wow that dick is biiiig 😵‍💫🍆. @owenuncut.bsky.social slinging a fat uncut cock that's perfect to stroke and edge 🥵🤤. I love watching his body react as I finally let him release that backed up load 😈💦