Gay men overthink things and end up alone. What I realized after rewatching “Smiley” a year and a half later

I first watched the series “Smiley” about a year and a half ago, shortly after moving to Spain. At the time, I was curious to see Barcelona—the city where I was just beginning to make a life for myself—on screen. I understood very little Spanish, so the series also served as my introduction to a new reality.

“Smiley” is a 2022 Spanish romantic comedy series from Netflix about two men, Álex and Bruno, whose chance encounter in Barcelona gradually develops into a relationship. Through their story, the series explores love, loneliness, friendship, and the challenges of modern dating.

A year and a half later, I decided to rewatch it in the original Spanish—in part to practice the language. To my surprise, I found myself seeing the series in a completely different light: Barcelona no longer feels like a backdrop, I recognize the streets, and I have a better understanding of the gay community it portrays. Some scenes admittedly feel contrived, but the relationship between Álex and Bruno now seems much more authentic to me than it did the first time around.

There are two things that capture Álex and Bruno’s relationship particularly well: they are clearly drawn to each other, and they have absolutely no idea how to talk about it properly. 

From the very beginning, there is some kind of invisible thread connecting them. They are drawn to each other, but instead of simply taking a step toward one another, they start overthinking. And then they overthink some more.

Why didn’t he text? Why did he delete the message? Why has it taken him so long? Maybe he doesn’t like me? Maybe he’s already seeing someone else? Maybe it’s better not to do anything at all?

And at some point, you find yourself sitting in front of the screen, practically shouting: “For God’s sake, just text him!”

Text him. Ask him. Call him. Tell him you care.

But no. Each of them waits for the other to make the first move.

It frustrates me so much precisely because I recognize this kind of behavior from more than just the series.

In the year and a half that I've lived in Spain, I've met a lot of guys and kept encountering the same situation: someone seems interested, views your profile, reacts to your posts, but doesn't want to message you first.

It's much the same in gay bars. Someone might look at you, smile, and send you signals, but actually coming over and introducing himself is another matter entirely.

Personally, I'm not very good at picking up on flirting either. I can't always tell whether a guy likes me or just happened to glance my way. And to be honest, I'm not always ready to make the first move myself.

I often explain this by saying that I'm a bottom and I'm used to the other person taking the initiative. I want the guy to come over, introduce himself, and make the first move. But if you set sexual roles aside, what remains is a perfectly ordinary fear: what if I approach him first and get rejected?

But what if the problem isn't just the fear of rejection?

We're afraid of seeming interested. We're afraid to message first. We're afraid to make the first move. We're afraid that admitting how we feel will put us in a more vulnerable position.

This creates a strange situation: two people may like each other, both may want things to go further, and both may be looking forward to meeting—yet instead of talking, each starts coming up with his own version of what's happening.

And then we wonder why nothing ever works out.

I think this is one of the main problems with gay dating today. It's not that we don't want relationships. A great many of us do. The problem is that we spend too long waiting for some kind of sign.

And while we wait for it, life goes on.

There’s one idea in “Smiley” that particularly struck me on my second viewing. During a performance by drag queen Keena Mandrah (Javi), she shares a thought about trains: we think we still have time to catch the last train, but at some point we may find ourselves alone at the station. Or we may end up boarding the wrong train altogether.

I think this metaphor describes not only the series, but our lives as well.

Especially gay life.

We’re afraid of being alone, so sometimes we board the first train that comes along. Even when we know it isn’t going quite where we need to go. The important thing is not to be left at the station.

I know that feeling very well.

In 2022, my relationship of six years came to an end. At the time, I was terrified of being alone. It felt like I would never find anyone else with whom I could build a relationship.

And sometimes it’s that very fear that makes us choose the wrong train.

Not because it’s truly meant for you, but because you’re afraid to keep waiting.

You think: well, this one seems good enough. Maybe it’ll work out. Maybe I’ll get used to it. Maybe everything will fall into place.

And you get on a train.

Only later do you realize that it wasn't going in your direction.

Even now, I can't say I've completely overcome this. Sometimes I still don't know exactly which train I need. But at least now I've learned not to be afraid of changing trains.

And I've also stopped being afraid of being left alone at the station.

The series also explores another important theme — the story of Veronica and Patricia.

I don't want to go into detail about lesbian relationships — that's not my lived experience. But the theme of honesty here resonates deeply with me. You can't live forever with things left unsaid in a relationship.

Yes, coming out is a personal decision. No one has to disclose their sexual orientation before they're ready.

But when your secret starts forcing the people around you to constantly lie along with you, the situation becomes more complicated.

I understand why, at a certain point, Veronica simply couldn't hold it in any longer.

If I had been in a relationship with a man for seven years, and then his parents came to visit us and, in Spain, where we don't need to hide, he suddenly introduced me as just a friend, I would find it very hard to keep quiet.

Maybe I wouldn't have been able to keep quiet either.

Because after everything I've been through, I have absolutely no desire to go back to a life where I have to pretend I'm not attracted to men.

To me, this isn't just information about my sexual orientation. It's part of who I am.

And that's exactly why the freedom to talk openly about who I am means so much to me today.

We're constantly thinking: what if? What if I message him first? What if I go up to him? What if he doesn't respond? What if he doesn't like me? What if I've imagined the whole thing?

But what if, instead of asking ourselves “what if?” yet again, we just speak up?

Message him first. Go up to him. Ask.

And here I return once again to that same phrase about the train. We stand at the station, watch another train pull in, and try to figure out whether it's ours. But instead of asking where it's going, we simply stay and wait for the next one.

But what if we ask after all?

Maybe this train really isn't going where you need to go. Then you'll find out and stay at the station. Or maybe it is going your way—and you won't have to wait alone for the next train all over again.

Sometimes we don't need a special sign. We just need to ask where he's going.