I Was a Club Penguin Catfish

If you were anything like me in 2006 (chances are you were), Club Penguin was likely a big part of your adolescent internet experience. For a lot of the kids I knew, myself included, it was a watershed moment of parent-approved online interaction. I wasn’t allowed to have a Myspace, but I sure as hell could role-play a pudgy neon penguin to my heart’s content. My friends and I spent hours after school hanging out in igloos, taking over the pizza shop, and yelling random words/emojis in the town square for no apparent reason. It was a fun way to keep socializing, even after we had all gone home for the day.

The most memorable thing about Club Penguin for me though, was the dating. Aside from Runescape, this was the first MMO I had really played with people my own age, and I spent a lot more time with it. Through this, I got my first exposure to what would become an age-old question: “r u a boy or a grl?”. Naïve baby-nerd that I was, I answered honestly and found myself entering online hetero relationships regularly. They were regular because I bailed on them almost as soon as they began. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but every time I started “dating” a “boy” online, it made me feel awkward and uncomfortable. I would break up with my bf at the time and head to a different section of the map before they knew what hit them.

I can’t remember when I first started pretending to be a boy on Club Penguin. What I do remember is creating new characters with stereotypical “boy names” (sk8rboi9 comes to mind), and making sure that they were the typical “boy colors”; red, blue, and black were favorites of mine, lime green if I was feeling feisty. Once I felt my costume was sufficiently masc, it was off to the town to yell “I need a gf” at the world.

I had multiple so-called relationships doing this, but they didn’t last long either due to a different kind of discomfort. Instead of feeling wrong for dating (once again using that term loosely) someone, I felt bad for lying to them about who I was. Inevitably, I would break up with them suddenly, or tell them the truth. That usually didn’t go well, and probably pushed me further into the closet. Despite these feelings of guilt and rejection, I kept doing it. There was a very real need to keep making these connections, even though I knew they would inevitably be nothing more than temporary lies.

I didn’t really analyze the behavior on more than a surface level until I showed my trick to a friend. I thought it was funny, and hadn’t gone beyond that. After watching the process, my friend looked me dead in the eye and asked “Dude, are you gay?” I 100% did the “whaaaaattttt? No!” and tried to convince her it was a joke. She wasn’t convinced, and suddenly neither was I. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t felt safer than admitting who I might actually be.

Like many queer youths, I didn’t have a ton of support or community surrounding my identity at this point in my life. I was still deep in the closet, but had an inkling of the reaction I would get if I were to ever come out. Club Penguin was the first place I was able to express the feelings that I wasn’t ready to deal with. There was freedom in getting to say I was anyone I wanted to be and pursuing the paths I could only dream of irl.

Being questioned about my behavior suddenly felt like the freedom had been taken away. The mask was off and someone had seen the truth that even I hadn’t come to grips with. Thinking about why I was playing this dating game on more than a surface level made me uncomfortable. I had to finally face the truth about who I was and what I was doing. I came out two years later. Having the truth pushed in my face was eye-opening, but I still wasn’t ready to act on it. I thought about it, anguished over it, spent nights up crying about it. And then, finally, I was ready to deal with it.

I guess the whole moral of this is that I just can’t forgive those who dismiss the internet as something frivolous, or that makes us less social. Without it, a lot of queer people might not even be here, or be the people they are today. I certainly wouldn’t be. Being honest, the internet can (and usually is) a ridiculous cesspool, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worthwhile. Great things can come from the silliest of places, even a virtual igloo filled with googly-eyed puffballs.