In case that wasn’t enough, Blink’s music video for “What’s My Age Again?” found the trio gallivanting in the buff. Their scrawny and tattooed skater bodies were completely naked except for guitars over their crotches, all while they gave off the same doe-eyed look typically reserved for boy bands. In that moment, they became pop icons. Soon, their faces were emblazoned on teeny bopper magazines like Tiger Beat and Bop that I used to covet from my female classmates. All of a sudden, the girls in my class were wearing Blink merch and pasting photos of the band on their binders. They didn’t know I was obsessed with the band for much the same reason. By the time they reached Beatlemania-level fandom, I felt like I had to distance myself from Blink. It didn’t feel totally safe to have them on my binder anymore; everyone else had caught onto the band’s disarming blend of wacky charm and playful sexuality.
I began listening to “more serious” music around then, swapping Blink-182 for more alternative groups I had discovered on rock radio like Sonic Youth and The Smashing Pumpkins. Though beautiful in their own way, the members of those bands didn’t make me sweat when I stared at their posters in my room. Instead I obsessed over their lyrics, brooding themes, and melancholic vibes. In college, I discovered queer-fronted alternative music, made by actual LGBTQ+ musicians I could look up to and aspire to, which proved particularly meaningful as I started to play in a band of my own. But all the while, I missed what I had given up: the beautiful innocence of having a crush on those goofy boys.
With queer representation of every type more accessible than ever these days, I still think back to the younger version of myself, struggling to find his place in the culture. Recently, as an act of caring for my inner child, I bought a poster on eBay from the band’s Enema of the State era. It’s a simple photo of the trio in their signature baggy boxer shorts in front of a tangerine backdrop, with Hoppus looking as cute as ever. (He’s my favorite, in case that wasn’t clear.) As a middle schooler, I had been too scared to ask my parents to buy it for me lest it raise any suspicions. It sits in my office now, where many of the musicians I interview for Them comment on it, sparking some funny conversations about our queer-coded junior-high faves.
None of us can turn back time. I’ll never be that age again. But there’s a beauty in embracing that scary yet exciting time of discovering what turned me on. I guess that’s growing up.
Get the best of what’s queer. Sign up for Them’s weekly newsletter here.