When you cross the border into Vermont from New York, the road widens and the Green Mountains appear on the horizon. Once you reach Grafton (population: 645), your mobile phone coverage will be almost non-existent. On a recent day, Danny Roberts was standing in the doorway of his modest house in the woods, where he and his 6-year-old daughter reside in a remote part of the country. His eyes are crinkly now, and his sandy hair seems to be unsure of where it is going. He has grown a full beard over the last several months.
Mr. Roberts said that his daughter was absent for the day. His mother, who had come to stay for the week, was keeping an eye on her.
During the ninth season of the reality television show “The Real World,” he was young and naive, and he put himself out there for the first time. Now, at the age of 44, he’s doing it all over again, for reasons he can only partially articulate.
When he found himself crammed into a home in New Orleans with six other young people who — with the assistance of a few narrative contrivances — were taking their first steps into adulthood, the word “reality television” had only just entered the common vernacular.
He and his other players continued to stumble when they left “The Actual World” for the real world, and Mr. Roberts discovered that the television version of himself had transformed into a shadow that followed with him everywhere they went. Danny Roberts had a special meaning for many individuals.
You may not be aware of Mr. Roberts’ existence if you are not a descendant of the microgeneration who can recite the chorus to the Spice Girls song “Wannabe” from memory, as is the case for most people today. However, for a large number of homosexual senior millennials who grew up with an MTV soundtrack, his emergence as a cast member on a streaming return of “The Real World” on Paramount+ is likely to elicit the classic zig-a-zig-ah response from them.
During the year 2000, Mr. Roberts was a novel concept in pop culture: a homosexual sex symbol that was zapped into the basement rec rooms of youngsters who had never seen anything like him before. At the time, gay individuals were becoming more prominent on television, owing in large part to previous versions of “The Real World,” but none had the wholesomeness and self-assurance that Mr. Roberts, then 22, projected with every flash of his Mona Lisa meets Backstreet Boy grin.
However, observant viewers couldn’t help but observe that “Will & Grace,” another comedy, had about as much bite as “I Love Lucy” when it came to depicting a homosexual man’s relationship with his straight best buddy. When “Survivor” was in its first season in 2000, it introduced Richard Hatch, an openly homosexual (and, at times, publicly naked) antihero who plotted his way to a million-dollar win on the island of Tonga. However, he was a fairly ominous and Machiavellian character.
Although “The Real World” had featured L.G.BTQ people since its 1992 debut — most prominently, Pedro Zamora, a young activist from the third season, who died of an AIDS-related illness a day after the season finale — Mr. Zamora’s impact was complicated by his death, which occurred a day after the finale.
Mr. Roberts, who was born and reared in the little Georgia town of Rockmart, was a refreshing change from his television predecessors. Rather than portraying a jester, a villain, or a de-eroticized Ken doll, he was calm and confident in his own skin, and he exuded an unabashed sex appeal that was unapologetically sexual.
For homosexual teenagers growing up in an era before social media, who depended on television for glimpses of their peers, the image of him bopping about the “Real World” digs in his black boxer briefs was both an awakening and a signal of new possibilities for their future lives.
Mr. Roberts, in contrast to Mr. Zamora, was not initially driven by a desire to be a member of the activist movement. During the production of “The Real World: New Orleans,” his lover, an Army soldier named Paul Dill, participated on the programme using just his first name and his face was obscured in order to protect his identity from being revealed. Mr. Dill might have lost his employment if his sexual orientation had been discovered during the period of “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” the Bill Clinton-era policy that enabled L.G.B.T.Q. individuals to serve in the military on the condition that they remained in the closet.
The pair decided to take the risk of appearing in front of MTV’s cameras not because they disagreed with the policy, but because they couldn’t handle the thought of being apart. When Mr. Dill made multiple appearances, his face was blurred out, and his face became an enduring symbol of the unfairness of “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” as well as the liminal area that LGBT people lived.
There would be ramifications from this choice. As soon as he was out of the spotlight, Mr. Roberts returned to his normal life, only to find himself thrust back into a new sort of closet as he attempted to save the relationship.
Being fired in a dishonourable manner In addition, I had my own fears. He was stationed in North Carolina, so we were in the South, and every child out there knew who I was.” He was stationed in North Carolina, so we were in the South.”