Halsey Helped Me Come Out to Myself
How the singer created a safe space
It is my sophomore year of high school. Badlands is the only album my iPod knows. My notebook margins are filled with her lyrics. Then the girl with blue hair and an honest voice begins topping charts. Her life catapults into new motion; so begins mine.
It is my junior year of high school. Hopeless Fountain Kingdom is my most played album. I am 18-years-old in Seattle, Washington. The garage-level elevator in the hotel is “out of service” and TeeTee (Halsey’s dance partner) is in the lobby. I barely sleep that night.
It is November 10th, 2017. Halsey has changed her hairstyle for every tour stop so far; tonight it is 2015 blue. She preludes “Strangers” by telling the crowd it belongs to the LGBTQ+ members. My heart steadies and my pulse regulates. I feel calm, safe. I am standing at my mediocre seat on the second level of Key Arena, my Converse are stuck to the floor, my voice is strained, and I am gay. I am gay and I know it. I am gay and surrounded by thousands of queer kids. I am gay and it all makes sense. I am gay and I belong.
I keep this realization to myself. Now I understand why Keira Knightly as Elizabeth Swann has always been my favorite part about Pirates of the Caribbean. It dawns on me that my friends never panicked when asked who their crush is. I get why, as a kid, I always volunteered to play the role of “husband” in house. I know why The Fosters is my favorite television show. I better appreciate my enthusiasm for same-sex marriage being granted across the United States in 2015. I break up with the boy I am dating but barely think about.
It is July 25th, 2018. The date is embroidered on the back of my A-F1s We are in Troutdale, Oregon on Halsey street. I am the 44th person in line. Once again, I am in the safest crowd I know. Halsey performs “Strangers” and the feeling comes back. This year, I own it. I holler until my lungs are empty, my friends glance at me, I smile.
