From the moment Johnny Weir triple axeled onto the figure skating scene, I hated him. Whether it was his diva-like antics, fashion freak-outs, or temper-tantrum-throwing attitude, there was something about him that I simply didn’t like. Only after watching his new Sundance reality show did I realize the rather obvious reason for such heated hatred: he is exactly like me. Or I am exactly like him. The point is, we’re scarily similar, and such similarity has always been a turn-off for me.

In the words of one of my best friends, I can be, and often am, an insufferable little bitch. (Okay, I added the “insufferable”, but only because it’s true.) I’ve long ago reconciled myself to this, as has my inner circle, but the beauty is that I’m the only little bitch in said circle.

When questioned if I have a “type”, I always think “anyone different than me”. Fuck the notion of successful relationships being built on similarities. I don’t think Andy and I could be more different – what’s important, and what has made our relationship work for so many years, is the fact that we’re compatible. It’s possible to be total opposites in every way, and still get along.

It’s also the subconscious way I’ve chosen my friends over the years. A quick survey of those friends who have lasted a decade or more in my life reveals that not one is anything like me. I live with myself 24/7 – why would I want to hang around a carbon copy, or even someone remotely like myself? There’s nothing attractive about that.

Which brings me back to Johnny: I thought I would rather pass a kidney stone than sit through a reality show (yuck) about a bitchy queen (double yuck).  But after watching the first episode, I was pleasantly surprised, and wildly taken aback by how much I grew to like him. Even Andy didn’t think it was a total train wreck, and actually found himself laughing at some of the familiar antics (especially those that found him in the more ridiculous clothing pieces). After the second episode, I had come to admire the flamboyant skater, for refusing to bend to “proper” figure skating etiquette, and for doing it his own way.

True, he has not publicly and officially come out – but is that even necessary? The man has more sequins and furs than the entire Gabor family, and he wears Galliano underwear. With nothing but a pair of skates. How could I have ever hated someone like that?