I over-exaggerate, to be sure, but it may explain why my interest gravitated toward Howie’s insecurities.

If I dared venture there in my current 52-year-old dad bod condition, the island would sink itself in the Atlantic before I got there. And this was my twentysomething, in shape, muscular body. When I went to Fire Island for the first time over 25 years ago, no fewer than eight people stopped to explicitly tell me I was too fat to be there. I’m glad someone mentions it, and that the film ruminates on the real and perceived shallow optics inherent in that statement. “No fatties, no femmes, and no Asians,” someone says, describing a mantra seen in some gay spaces.