I felt a tap on my shoulder, and there it was. It was masculinity, looking me right in the face, reminding me that boys don’t sing Whitney Houston, that boys don’t act like that, and demanding that I put the mask back on. And I remembered that masculinity represented something. And that something, just like the performance of masculinity, was ever evolving. Sometimes that masculinity represented acceptance. Sometimes it represented respect. Sometimes it represented safety. And sometimes it represented power. But the performance of masculinity never, ever meant freedom. It meant that everyone—including me—would never get to know who I really was.
— Wade Davis, The Mask of Masculinity