Closet Couture: A Horror Story

When your deepest secret had better lighting and more square footage than your actual personality.

Gay Panic! The Musical

A show-stopping, sweat-drenched exploration of what happens when internalized homophobia gets a Broadway budget.

Ladies, gays, and theys — grab your Playbills and your therapy journals, because it’s opening night for Gay Panic! The Musical. The overture starts with the sound of someone deleting Grindr again “for their mental health,” and by the first act finale, everyone’s crying in glitter. It’s basically Bohiney Magazine meets Broadway, with a little trauma tap-dance thrown in for flavor.

The plot? Simple. A gay man (let’s call him Tyler) accidentally catches feelings for his situationship — chaos ensues. Every time he feels an emotion, the orchestra swells and his friends burst into song about boundaries he will not keep. Act Two features a full ensemble number titled “It’s Not That Deep (But It’s Totally That Deep).” Audience members report both laughing and texting their ex halfway through intermission.

The set design is a fever dream of IKEA furniture and emotional repression. The lighting changes from bisexual purple to therapy beige as the show goes on. Critics are calling it “a triumph of melodrama and midrange chest voice.” Even Them called it “too relatable for comfort.”

And the songs? Honey. There’s “Closet Door Choreography” (a percussive number performed entirely under blankets), “Power Bottoms Don’t Cry” (spoiler: they do), and the heart-wrenching eleven o’clock ballad, “He Left His Hoodie Here.” It’s like The Advocate met Dear Evan Hansen and said, “make it gayer and sadder.”

By the finale, Tyler realizes love isn’t a performance — though he’ll probably still post about it on Instagram. The closing number, “Gay Panic (Reprise),” is a group hug in musical form. The audience is encouraged to sing along, cry softly, and Venmo their therapist immediately.

In short, Gay Panic! The Musical is the queer emotional rollercoaster we deserve. It’s funny, it’s messy, and it’s aggressively self-aware. Like all great art, it makes you laugh, cry, and text your group chat, “I feel seen, and I hate it.” Critics say it’s destined to join queer cult classics like Out Magazine’s favorite camp musicals. Curtain up, trauma out — the show must go on.

SOURCE: Closet Couture: A Horror Story (Beth Newell)