I felt this as a 34-year-old, and then realized how much more acutely the Adam Rippon of it all must sweetly sting for a wide-eyed kid. The effusive reaction to Rippon shows how very important representation can be, just as Black Panther will when it arrives in movie theaters this week. It matters to a child—and to an adult—to, yes, see some reflection of themselves. But also to have the faraway heroes, the almost impossible ideals. Maybe those unreachable gods somehow help clarify things here on Earth.
If I, at eight, or 10, or 14 (oh god, 14), had seen Adam Rippon in all his swanning, proud splendor, and everyone applauding him for it, it would have destroyed me—but also remade me. It would have said something to me that I rarely ever heard said. How much time young queer people spend yearning for that kind of connection, forever sifting through culture to find the gay stuff. When you find it, it can speak to you in almost holy tones. On Sunday night, there was gay stuff, and swishy gay stuff to boot, right there on national TV, for anyone who wanted it: powerful and accomplished and beautiful.