This writing isn’t a resentful note, but it’s worth sharing. When I started exploring the leather scene in 2021, I did so hoping to find a different kind of community, deeper than the superficiality that often defines mainstream gay culture. I felt lonely and thought leather offered a deeper, more human connection.

In 2024, the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention released a report revealing that loneliness, lack of social support, and frequent psychological distress were more prevalent among LGBT people compared to the heterosexual population at the time of the 2022 study. So, I wasn’t alone.

I clearly remember the first time I posted photos in a leather uniform. The reaction on social media was overwhelmingly positive, much more than I expected. It was a boost to my self-esteem. What man doesn’t enjoy feeling attractive? I immediately created a BLUF profile, believing it was the ultimate aspiration for any leatherman. But that validation came with people unexpectedly and immediately labeling me as “Sir” and others as “Daddy” without knowing anything about me, without asking or listening.

Suddenly, I was trapped in a role I hadn’t chosen, as if the uniform gave others the right to write my script. It was as if, by wearing leather, I had to embody expectations and fantasies that weren’t mine. However, I wasn’t a character; I was a vulnerable, sensitive, poor man with a story of survival that no one took the time to learn about because it would have shattered their invincible leatherman fantasy.

During that time, I frequently traveled to New York City, taking advantage of the low hotel rates due to the pandemic. On one of those trips, I met someone through Recon. We agreed to meet at my hotel. I came fueled by the positive reactions, excited but also confused. He was submissive and arrived with a script of what he wanted me to do. I tried to play along, but I suddenly became upset. I realized I wasn’t acting out of desire but out of the pressure to please a projection. I asked him to leave. He later admitted that he was “too much.”

I can be dominant or submissive, but only as long as the other person is aware that it’s a role-play limited to a specific time, not a full-time life role. In the leather scene, some people suffocate with disguised demands, forcing others to embody their script, leaving no room for authenticity.

Similar situations occurred in Boston. At a local event, someone asked me where I got my leather. I told him I bought it online, but he wasn’t satisfied. He insisted on knowing the seller’s name as if my value resided in the label on what I was wearing. Many expect to wear Langlitz leather as if only certain brands guarantee authenticity. But I wasn’t there to represent a standard of luxury; I was looking for connection. And once again, I felt reduced to a garment, not recognized as a person.

I thought I would find something more authentic when a local guy took a more personal interest in me. We started chatting on an app, and he confided in me that he lived with anxiety, and I honestly responded that I live with bipolar disorder. We didn’t even meet in person because he disappeared. The problem wasn’t me; I didn’t fit the fantasy he had constructed. He didn’t want a vulnerable man but a prototype Tom of Finland. So, I withdrew from the theater. There are many like me.

What often seems like a community is nothing more than a showcase. And when the facade falls, what remains is silence, anxiety, and abandonment.

Today, I participate from the periphery. My presence on social media is to stay up to date with the community, and I’ve used that space to share reflections on this blog. I write about my experiences and share texts from authors I respect. Surprisingly, I’ve received genuine, profound, and human responses.

Perhaps the virtual world isn’t an ideal community, but I’ve found a voice among a broader audience than my immediate surroundings. And that, even if it isn’t visible in a bar, also deserves its space.

Ultimately, take the leather off a leather man; you might not even like what’s underneath. That’s the truth many don’t want to see because the fetish is mainly based on fantasy, not on the reality of the human body or the history that body has lived. Excuse me if my frankness bursts your balloon.