Gay men and the “spark”: When attraction is actually anxiety

There’s a very particular way some gay men describe a first date that felt promising. It was “electric.” The chemistry was “insane.” They “haven’t felt that in years.” Sometimes this is followed by a detailed analysis of eye contact duration and whether a three-minute gap between texts constitutes emotional withdrawal. And occasionally, that spark genuinely does mean something good. Sometimes it’s attraction, compatibility, shared humour, aligned values, mutual interest. But sometimes what you’re calling chemistry is just your nervous system reacting to emotional unavailability with good bone structure.

Chemistry feels intense. You leave the date slightly wired. You replay the conversation on the tram home. You notice how quickly he views your Instagram stories. You tell yourself you’re being relaxed about it, while internally drafting contingency plans in case he “pulls back.” The whole thing feels charged and meaningful and rare. And because it feels intense, it must be important. (That’s usually the logic.)

The problem is that intensity isn’t the same thing as compatibility. A lot of what gets labelled as chemistry is activation. Your system is alert, focused, slightly on edge. You’re tuned in. And if you grew up gay, chances are you became very good at tuning in.

Growing up gay means you learned to read the room

Even in relatively accepting environments, most gay men learned early on to read a room. Is this safe? How much of myself do I show here? Do I need to tone it down, toughen it up, make a joke before someone else does? That hyper-awareness doesn’t evaporate once you’re out, professionally successful, and financially independent. It just follows you into dating. So when you meet someone who is charming but slightly hard to read, confident but emotionally ambiguous, warm one moment and a little distant the next, your system doesn’t necessarily interpret that as a warning sign. It interprets it as familiar. And familiar can feel like fate.

Anxiety in designer clothes

There’s a particular flavour of spark that is actually anxiety in very good packaging. It feels like wanting to secure the connection quickly. It feels like relief when he replies and disproportionate disappointment when he doesn’t. It feels like telling your friends you’re “not that fussed” while refreshing your messages. You might call this chemistry. But often it’s your attachment system asking very old questions: Am I chosen? Am I enough? Is this about to disappear?

Add gay dating culture to the mix and the whole thing gets amplified. Apps create constant comparison. Desirability is visible and measurable. Options seem endless until you’re the one waiting for a reply. So when someone who appears slightly unavailable gives you attention, it can feel like winning something. Intermittent reinforcement (warm, then cool, then warm again) is psychologically powerful. It keeps you invested. Your brain doesn’t calmly assess emotional availability in those moments. It goes into “pay attention, this matters” mode.

What compatibility actually feels like (and why it’s slightly boring at first)

Compatibility is usually much less dramatic. You leave the date feeling steady. Interested, but not destabilised. You’re not subtly performing or trying to impress. You’re not analysing every word afterwards. You might even wonder whether something is missing, because there wasn’t a surge of adrenaline. For some men, calm reads as boring. If you’re used to intensity, steadiness can feel flat. But calm is what intimacy actually grows in. You don’t build something stable on constant activation.

The harder question isn’t “Is he hot?” or even “Is there chemistry?” It’s who you become around him. Do you feel grounded or slightly on edge? Do you like yourself when you’re with him? Are you curious about him, or are you trying to win him? There’s a difference between attraction that expands you and activation that keeps you scanning for threat.

Therapy isn’t about choosing “safe” men who bore you into personal growth, and it’s not about shaming you for liking what you like. It’s about noticing the pattern. If the men who create the biggest spark also create the most confusion, that’s not bad luck. That’s a loop. And loops feel exciting right up until they start feeling familiar in the worst possible way.

Sometimes the healthiest connection won’t feel like fireworks. It won’t hijack your nervous system or send you into a minor existential spiral over read receipts. It will feel like ease. And for some gay men, ease is far more uncomfortable than intensity. Not because they’re incapable of intimacy, but because calm doesn’t demand constant vigilance. Occasionally, the most radical shift isn’t finding a completely different type of man. It’s tolerating steadiness long enough to see what grows there.