The Blaine Game

blaine the game

Growing up, style was never a big part of my life. Being stylish meant wearing whatever my mom had picked out for me the night before. It meant always wearing white shirts underneath all my clothes, tucking my tops into my pants, button-ups, sweater vests, slipon shoes. What I did love was TV and the movies. Before I fell in love with fashion, I was infatuated with red carpets. Before I fell in love with boys, my biggest crushes were celebrities and fictional characters. Before I fell in love with myself, I looked to the screen to who I wanted to be.

The first time that all of my loves poignantly collided was when I was watching Glee. I know, so typical, yet I was amazed. Besides the musical numbers, I felt myself drawn to Blaine Anderson, a character played by Darren Criss beginning in the show’s second season. He was effortlessly charming, confident, and quite possibly the coolest gay man I had ever seen in my life. Despite the abundance of accessories and his choir-boy status, he was an example to me that being gay didn’t just mean being well-dressed, traditionally feminine, or sensitive—not to suggest that any of these

attributes are bad, but to declare that I don’t have to be limited to how society labels me. As I continued to watch the series, I began collecting his signature bow-ties in great amounts alongside various little things to add to my outfits. These items became a part of my closet, a part of me in the way I presented myself to the world. Blaine wasn’t just a cute character I adored or emulated, he was an inspiration for finding myself. This is what I’d like to call the Blaine Game. It’s a term I created to describe the way that gay men, myself included, discover their identities through representations of men in the media: men as society expects us to be, men that we are sexually attracted to, and, most importantly, men that we are inspired to be like. It’s the way that a pop-culture obsessed, little boy like me can use his love for TV and movies to help love himself through fashion. At this point, while the screen was already such a big part of my life, it began to shape me in ways that it never had before. Its impacts manifested themselves into the way I talked, as well as how I dressed. The Blaine Game helped me to be myself. Since I can remember, my head has always been up in the clouds. Even before the advent of the Marvel cinematic universe, watching these characters, I dreamt of being a superhero. The modern superhero is an individual that doesn’t necessarily fit into society, but one who is admired by all men, straight or gay or in between. Slowly making peace with what I understood about myself, I couldn’t decide if I’d rather marry or be Chris Evans as Captain America. Naturally, I opted for both, adopting superhero T-shirts into my wardrobe. From Steve Rogers to Spider-Man, these simple additions to my personal style were a step towards self-love. My younger self was always so focused on appearing polished in the eyes of others that I never realized I could have more fun with fashion. The way I dressed didn’t have to be all ties, all the time, or feeling embarrassed to wear my (literal) heroes on my clothes. The Blaine Game meant I didn’t—I shouldn’t—hide or discard any part of my identity. Cardigans shifted into layers for my Avengers tees while Spider-Man: Homecoming emerged as my own personal version of GQ. By playing the game the way I wanted to, I could be anyone I chose to be. During just these past few months, I’ve made the most drastic stylistic changes yet as I have discovered my newest fashion idols: the queens of RuPaul’s Drag Race. They’re gay men, gender non-conforming individuals, and even transgender people united by the art of drag. Due to the nature of their work, having a strong style and an individual drag aesthetic are essential to being a successful performer. Despite already being members of the LGBT community, being a part of the drag community deviates these queens even further from societal norms. However, through their larger-than-life fashion sense, personality, and unstoppable attitude, these queens have transformed their distinct qualities into sources of pride. As I watched them tear apart masculinity and femininity into their own definitions, I was inspired to do the same. Awestruck over the impossibly long-legged Naomi Smalls of season 8, I incorporated elements of her lush brand into my own, now strutting through life with faux fur flowing over my shoulders and a pair of little shorts underneath. Naomi, alongside countless other queens, allowed me to express other sides of myself that I was too scared of before, out of fear for being mocked as too feminine. Wearing these new clothes, I’ve never felt clearer about my identity as a male. After all, I’m my own man. I just do it with a crown. The Blaine Game therefore, is not a method of leaving who I am behind, rather one of evolution. Its rules, just like those of fashion, are self-defined. There’s no “winning” involved. Playing the game means having fun with your own style, learning more about yourself as you go. I’m not the same person that I was so many years ago—I don’t even dress exactly the same way. My style has changed and grown with me. Thirtyseven ties later, Blaine’s bows are now taking the form of big ribbons tied à la Naomi Smalls. I wear my fur coat like a cape. All at once, I’m both superhero and supermodel. I’m me. You can watch Glee on Netflix, The Avengers: Infinity War soon in a theater near you, and the 3rd season of RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars every Thursday at 9 PM. I’ll be here, in living color.

By Sean Tran Layout by Elizabeth Marics