Whenever I tell someone that my celebrity crush is Adam Lambert, I get a very strange look. And then comes that irritating question: “But isn't he gay?”
Being gay doesn't make him any less attractive, I try to explain, exasperated.
“But it makes him unavailable,” my friend argues.
“It's not as if I had much of a chance with him in the first place,” I point out.
“But that gives you like.... negative points.”
This seems silly to me. I have no delusions about being with my celebrity crushes. The whole point of their being a celebrity is that a relationship is utterly impossible. I don't understand those girls who have daydreams about running away with their celebrities and living happily ever after. I don't want to marry any of my celebrity crushes; I want to obsess over them— watch their videos incessantly, squeal over their cuteness/hotness, record each and every television appearance (if I'm not already watching it in real time). I don't attempt to make my infatuation fit with reality; reality plays no part in fangirlism. Just because someone like Hugh Jackman is attracted to my gender in general doesn't mean that I have a significantly higher chance of hooking up with him than with Adam Lambert. A celebrity's preference has absolutely no impact on my “chances,” seeing as I am unlikely to ever occupy the same room as him.
The next time I see my friend, I point out that her celebrity crush is happily married, so doesn't that decrease his appeal by her terms?
“Yes, but I can just pretend he's not married when I'm watching him,” she explains.
Fair enough. She disavows reality as well. But she 
also suggests that Adam's "look" is clearly an expression of his sexuality, unable to overlook. I disagree; I think I could pretend he is straight. I could tell myself that his hairstyle is sported by a whole population of males in Asia, and as for the eyeliner I'd point to Brandon Flowers and Jared Leto and tell myself that straight male performers wear makeup all the time. It's altogether feasible to imagine that he's not gay, that he's not “off-limits.” But why would I ever want to dismiss his sexuality? It's just another part of him that I embrace.
Even if it is a bit stereotypical, I tend to believe that gay guys are more sensitive and more in touch with their feelings than straight ones. And isn't that exactly what every girl wants in her entertainer? Why would it be strange to like a gay singer because he writes beautiful love songs and occasionally cries at the end of touching performances?
For example, I recently discovered the music of a singer who represented Israel in Eurovision last year. I immediately fell in love with his voice and good looks with no thought to his preferences. A few videos later, I saw multiple comments declaring that, sure enough, he had come out of the closet. Instead of turning me off, this probably makes him even more attractive because it means that I can expect great music from him—not the gooey repetition that John Mayer mumbles with heavily-lidded eyes, but real, emotional songs.
It's also true that my gay crushes tend to dress better than their straight counterparts, and that's a plus in my book. If I'm going to stare at someone, why not have that person styled to perfection? Being the fan of a gay guy has other benefits: none of us fangirls feels a twinge of jealousy when the paparazzi catches our celebrity holding hands with a man. There's none of the usual pettiness of “She's not pretty enough for him,” or worse, “I'll never get a guy because I'm not as pretty as her!” (The only negative comments might be a despairing, “He's prettier than I am!” I suspect, though, that any self-esteem hits taken from admiring a Korean pop star's eye shape cannot be too serious.)
So my friends can have their straight, all-American Taylor Lautners, Brad Pitts, and John Mayers; I'm happy with my Adam Lambert. He may be gay, but that doesn't make my admiration of him any more ridiculous than the next fangirl's.
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