guiem

Always the Observer: Queer Adolescence and Emotional Delay in Conan Gray’s “People Watching” by Guiem Muñoz Suau

Queer love often unfolds from the sidelines. In adolescence—where straight peers openly navigate crushes, first kisses, and hallway hand-holding—queer teens are left watching, imagining, craving. This dynamic is not just social invisibility; it becomes an emotional practice: hypervigilance, silence, longing. Conan Gray captures this precisely in his song “People Watching,” where love is always happening to someone else. His lyrics echo a common queer reality—not just being left out, but learning about love through observation, envy, and quiet hope. While the “shy gay boy” or the “closeted bi girl” might be fetishized in pop culture, most queer youth are simply trying to catch up—to feel what they’ve only ever seen from a distance.

As a queer individual, adolescence often becomes a time of observation—of quietly developing oneself and one’s relationship to love through the lens of our straight peers. As said by Owens, “the idea of adolescence raises questions about identity and the self, about what it means to be in the world and to experience ourselves and others in relation to language and meaning” (2020). These formative years are crucial for emotional growth and transition into adulthood, yet “queer individuals often don’t have the opportunity to experience this fully […] due to societal, cultural, or familial pressures” (Queer Relationship Institute 2024). Rather than participating openly in love and desire, queer youth are often relegated to the role of observer. As a result, many carry the sense of being emotionally delayed—always watching, rarely included.

Conan Gray’s “People Watching” serves as a powerful reflection of how queer adolescents often rely on the emotional stories of others as a means of survival, connection, and longing. As Ehrlich (2021) writes, “piano builds and Conan sounds hurt. He’s withheld closeness and comfort with others around him, so he’s come to rely on the experience of learning through observation.” Gray’s dependence on observing love rather than living it encapsulates a familiar queer experience: watching from the sidelines while craving emotional intimacy. Yet this vicarious living, while a necessary coping mechanism, does not lead to emotional fulfillment. As Ehrlich notes, “[h]e continues to live an existence regrettably encumbered by a longing for human contact” (2021). Gray remains hypervigilant and emotionally guarded, his yearning for connection shaped by the very silence and exclusion that define many queer adolescent experiences.

Silence and life on the sidelines often grow into a quiet longing—a subtle jealousy for what could have been ours. Gray sings, “I wanna feel that love and emotion […] But for now, I’m only people watching” (2022), openly expressing his yearning to participate in the love he so often observes. This emotional transparency reflects the common queer experience of being a constant outsider. As Polo (2021) notes, “there is a tinge of melancholy to be found in Gray’s role of the constant outsider.” It is the bittersweet pain of admiring connection from afar while remaining unseen—reduced to the role of the watcher. Through lyrics like, “I cut people out, like tags on my clothing / I end up all alone, but I still keep hoping” (2022), Gray captures a tender emotional immaturity and guardedness that often parallels queer adolescence: a defense developed in response to exclusion, yet one that doesn’t extinguish the hope for love.

Repetition in “People Watching” deepens the emotional tension between longing and self-denial, capturing the quiet struggle of queer youth navigating feelings they are rarely allowed to express. When Gray repeats the line, “And I’m happy for them (and I’m happy for them),” the echo feels like self-persuasion—an attempt to convince himself that he’s content watching others fall in love, even as he aches for the same experience. This kind of repetition mirrors the internal dialogue many queer adolescents face: telling themselves they’re fine on the outside while carrying unmet desire within. Later, the background vocals softly repeat “I feel love, emotion,” suggesting that while he hasn’t lived these experiences firsthand, he still possesses the emotional depth they require. This subtle layering implies that Gray, like many queer individuals, doesn’t lack capacity for love—only the opportunity to express it safely and openly.

In “People Watching,” whether intentionally or not, Conan Gray gives rare and meaningful visibility to the emotional experience of queer adolescence—a life lived on the outside, watching others receive the love we quietly crave. His repetition of “And I’m happy for them (and I’m happy for them)” carries the weight of self-denial, the familiar script queer individuals learn to recite while internalizing their own invisibility. The line “I’m only looking just to live through you vicariously” is particularly revealing. To live vicariously—through the experience of another—speaks not only to Gray’s emotional distance but to his unwilling participation in that distance. It’s a longing not just for love, but for permission to experience it firsthand. Queer people often grow up hyper-aware that their emotional development is delayed or distorted by having to watch instead of participate. This makes emotional life—connection, vulnerability, intimacy—feel more difficult later in life. “People Watching” reminds us that queer individuals do not lack the capacity for love, only the space to express it. And that craving—for the real thing, for love that is mutual, safe, and open—is not a spectacle. It’s a basic human need. What Gray offers in this song is more than melancholy observation: it is a quiet reclamation. A movement from watching others be seen, to the beginning of being seen ourselves.

In exploring Conan Gray’s “People Watching” through the lens of queer adolescence, this essay has traced how emotional observation, longing, and invisibility shape the development of queer identity. The song offers more than a personal lament—it mirrors the broader reality of queer youth who are often denied the freedom to experience love openly. By analyzing Gray’s lyrics and emotional cues, we see the deep need to witness love and live it. Queer emotional life deserves visibility, not in the margins or through others, but in its own right—as valid, ordinary, and essential.

Works Cited

Ehrlich, Helen. “Conan Gray Releases Hit ‘People Watching.’” Affinity Magazine, September 12, 2021. https://culture.affinitymagazine.us/conan-gray-releases-hit-people-watching/.

Gray, Conan. 2021. «People Watching.» Republic Records, a division of UMG Recordings, Inc., 2021. Spotify. https://open.spotify.com/track/3TFoEJe5zNuHZStRboWPxg?si=afa80d83d0a64ec3

Owen, Gabrielle. A Queer History of Adolescence: Developmental Pasts, Relational Futures. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2020.

Polo, Maxamillion. “Conan Gray’s ‘People Watching’ Sees Him Turning His Deeply Personal Songwriting Outward.” Ones to Watch, July 16, 2021. https://www.onestowatch.com/en/blog/conan-gray-people-watching.

Queer Relationship Institute. The Second Queer Adolescence: Navigating Identity, Growth, and Authentic Relationships. 2024. https://www.queerrelationshipinstitute.com/blog/the-second-queer-adolescence.