My junior year of college was met with a certain number of obstacles. I was in a relationship that was going nowhere and ended very messily, I was taking a full load of credits and trying to balance two shows (holla for that performance major I use SO much), and to top it all off I had impulsively bought a puppy. It should come as a surprise to no one that the only thing that stuck past junior year was the puppy – going on five years now.
There was only one other thing that came out of my trainwreck of a year, and lasted past it. And that is my gay best friend.
During one of the shows I was cast in, I encountered this skinny, beautifully tan freshman (with the voice of a goddamn angel) named Gregory, and my life was forever changed. This little twink would later become my drinking buddy, my confidant, my designated driver, and really the brother I never had. He’s my other half, and even when he’s driving me insane with his insane notion that we don’t need to blow out the candles to run downstairs (seriously Greg, you’re going to burn the apartment down) or his need for having read receipts on even though he will always forget to respond, I wouldn’t trade him for the world. He’s had a key to my apartment since 2012 and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Girl friendships are great, bro friendships are fantastic, but there is really something so, so special about the relationship between a woman and her gay best friend. It’s a dynamic I have tried to write about for months, and it takes me hours to describe to someone when they ask why we’re so close.
It’s not just because we can talk about boys. We can, obviously, but Greg and I honestly couldn’t have “types” that were more different. While he may not understand my love for Chris Pratt, my GBF is a drama free rock. While my girlfriends always have a mom to complain about, or a boy to obsess over, Greg has all of the chill in the world. There are exceptions to every rule, but because Greg and the other gays I surround myself with simply tell it like it is, there’s no need to attempt to read between the lines. If I piss them off, I know, and we can move on. There’s none of that, “Well what did they say about me?” bullshit, and it’s so incredibly refreshing.
I love my GBF because there’s none of that underlying competition that I constantly feel in female friendships. Whether we like it or not we’re biologically designed to compete with each other so even the tightest female friendships can feel that vibe sometimes, and it’s the worst. I never have that with Greg.
Sure, I’ve been jealous of him before with his successful relationship with his boyfriend or the fact that his skin looks like it was airbrushed on, but I don’t feel like I’m overstepping or being a bitch when I say, “I’m going to leave with this guy, you cool?”
But the thing I think that makes a GBF a true BFF is their unwavering appreciation for true friendship and because of that, they will always have your back. Even if they are lucky enough to have a 100% supportive family behind them, there will always be the Kim Davis’s of the world trying to tell them that they are wrong for merely existing. When they find someone who will support them unapologetically, they hang on and return the favor.
My gay best friend is my designated plus one to all events, my knight in H&M tank tops, the Real Housewives-loving partner in crime I never knew I needed. No matter what, he’s there for me. And even though my plus one might ALSO hit on the best man at the wedding, I have the best gay best friend in the world and I’m one lucky bitch for it. .
Image via s_bukley / Shutterstock.com
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Kendra Syrdal
The closest Kendra ever went to going Greek was always hitting up Pita Pit on her way home from the bars. But she thanks the sisterhood of DG for always letting her crash taco night and helping her find her way out of that frat party where a guy got stabbed with a samurai sword. Contact her at kendrasyrdal.com for sex toy suggestions and general sass.
@kendrasyrdal
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