Middle-class, once-thin gay guys in Africa and China are joining newly opened Western-style gyms, drinking supplemental shakes and bulking up to appear more masculine, more manly and more desirable. Now, as in America, gay profiles on apps in these countries are starting to say, “No fats or femmes.”

In a way, with their new bodies and swagger, these men are doing exactly what I did as a schoolboy, crossing then uncrossing my legs. They are often trying to fit in, to blend and, to an extent, shrink, albeit behind bulk. The difference is, even then, as a child, I was aware of why I was doing it. I wonder if the men of today know?

As men, gay or straight, we’ve made it out of caves (well, some of us at least) and closets. We’ve survived metrosexuality and the so-called down low (“straight” men having sex with men). But we are still desperately trying to find our footing, as men, to walk upright, with our heads facing the sun, looking for the best light for that vulnerable selfie we are not sure we should post.

Every so often, I’ll see a little boy sitting somewhere, in public, with his little legs crossed. He is usually smartly dressed, though reserved, sitting away from the other kids, positioned near the adults, reading or drawing rather than running around. I always smile, because it makes me think of my little self, and also because it’s still a peculiar sight. Sadly, it still stands out as something odd, not quite right.

But he’s a child, doing exactly what a child is supposed to do: be free to discover. I can imagine other adults describing him as an old soul or some such, while some probably whisper behind his parents’ backs about whether he’ll “turn out to be gay.”

I don’t really care what he is or becomes, but I always get joy in seeing something familiar, something as joyous and consistently inconsistent as a little boy with his legs crossed, shoe angled just so.