The moment I knew it was love was when I saw his eyes. Not the sparkling blue eyes that peered back at me from behind the drag queen's makeup, but the warm, genuine eyes that shone through when he saw my unkempt hovel. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated acceptance. In a world where I had always been so hard on myself, he saw something beautiful and didn't judge a single thing. This is the story of how a chance encounter on Grindr led to a love story that transcended the boundaries of my cynical nature and the expectations of my past.
I had always been a cynic. A self-proclaimed 'terminally online' individual, I saw the worst in everything, especially myself. My past was a glittering, sparkly pop career in my 20s, but by 2024, I was beyond my 'twink era', struggling to make ends meet with odd gigs. Covid had hit the music industry hard, and while my friend Paul Mac kept the music flowing, I found myself in a strange, boozy haze in Sydney. I was single, my best friend was my cat, and I was posting like a 20-year-old on social media.
One day, I posted a track from the Dissociatives' self-titled album, a mid-noughties indie gem. To my surprise, it earned a little fire emoji reaction from Karen, the drag queen from Finance, who I had vaguely heard of from their time on Drag Race. I was snobbily impressed that a queen would listen to indie music, so I clicked 'follow'. As I scrolled through their Instagram, I was intrigued by this self-made character and realized we had crossed paths at the Gaytimes festival in 2022. Karen had performed a 15-minute Tina Turner medley to tide the crowd over while I scrambled to fix a keyboard malfunction.
Despite never having spoken, an online connection bubbled between us. I suggested meeting up occasionally when we were in the same city, but the stars never aligned. Fast forward to the 2025 Melbourne fringe festival, and I found myself staying with a friend in the city. On Grindr, I was greeted by the familiar, handsome face of Richard, my friend's flatmate. Not wanting to sully our first meeting by involving the app, I kicked open the door of the spare room, hoping to catch him wandering by. When that didn't work, I marched loudly around the house, only to find Richard suffering through a severe hangover.
Eventually, my antics lured him out of his room, and I got my first look at him - all sparkling blue eyes in a black band tee and basketball shorts. It was the first time I'd seen him out of costume. He had this beautiful, warm smile, and I threw my arms open at the sight of him. I knew in that moment that I was going to fall for him. He must have felt something too, because his hangover magically disappeared, and he joined me at my gig. I spent the entire performance catching his eye and singing my little heart out as if he was the only one there.
On the drive home, we gushed about Silverchair's highly underrated Diorama album. And put it this way: I didn't need to make use of the spare room. I flew home to Sydney the next day, feeling elated but not expecting anything more. A few days later, he proposed taking a detour after a show in Adelaide to visit me. I hadn't had a house guest in years, and my apartment was a bachelor pad in all the worst ways. I was so embarrassed about it that I booked us a hotel, but the room was so bad that he insisted we go back to mine. There, he got his first glimpse of who I was behind my performer's facade - dirty dishes, hideous bed linen, and all. He was so fine with the state of my house that I could hardly believe it.
This is a person who will not drink champagne unless everyone's glasses match, yet my unkempt hovel didn't receive so much as a side eye. That is something I adore about Richard. Despite his own exacting standards, he is so nonjudgmental. I am a famously cynical guy, always seeing the worst in everything, especially myself. But Richard doesn't; he challenges my negativity without ever making me feel bad about it. When I get salty about some perceived slight, he gently asks me if it's really something worth spending my energy on.
I didn't even have a full-length mirror in my home when Richard started to stay, so he bought me one. Now, when I send him my daily fit checks, I make my bed and tidy up before I take the shot. Not because I fear he will judge my slovenly ways but because his love makes me feel like the kind of person who deserves to have six decorative bed pillows and not sleep with their shoes on. This is the moment I knew it was love - when he saw my unkempt hovel and was so nonjudgmental.
