Your Trusted Advisor.  "Wise men don't need advice; Fools won't take it" -Benjamin Franklin

Dear Uncle Gary, I just started an amazing job as an assistant to a very successful hairstylist in Newport Beach. He’s super busy, well-known, and I was thrilled to be hired. About a month in, he asked me out. I froze. A few days earlier, he’d asked if I had a boyfriend, and I said no, I honestly thought he was gay, so I didn’t think anything of it. I panicked and said I like girls, mostly because I was afraid that saying no would cost me the job. Now I’ve heard he’s been asking clients if they knew I like girls, and I feel like I’ve created a mess I don’t know how to clean up. What should I do? Signed, Mess-Maker Dear Mess-Maker (and I say that with love), First, congratulations on landing the job. Newport Beach, high-profile stylist, fresh start, that’s no small thing. You earned it. Now, about the deer-in-headlights moment. You were caught off guard, and you did what a lot of people do when they feel cornered: you said something to deflect, to protect, to buy time. That doesn’t make you dishonest. It makes you human. But now the moment has passed, and the story you told is walking around the salon without you. That’s the part we need to fix. Here’s the truth: your boss crossed a line. Asking if you have a boyfriend is one thing. Asking you out when you’re brand new and working under him? That’s a power imbalance. And now he’s chatting with clients about your sexuality like it’s salon gossip. That’s not just inappropriate, it’s unprofessional. You don’t owe him a romantic explanation. You don’t owe him a label. What you do owe is yourself a little clarity and a lot of self-respect. If you feel safe doing so, pull him aside and say, “I want to be clear, I’m here to work. I’m grateful for the opportunity, but I’m not comfortable with personal questions or conversations about my private life being shared with clients.” You don’t have to explain the panic. You don’t have to revisit the lie. You just have to reset the boundary. And if that feels too risky, document what’s happening. Keep notes. Talk to someone you trust. Because if this escalates or affects your job, you’ll want a record. You’re not the problem here. You’re the professional trying to navigate a tricky situation with grace. And that’s something to be proud of. Best Regards, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, I met my wife when I was 18, married her at 24, and we had our daughter at 25. Life felt full, with good careers, a happy kid, and what I thought was a strong marriage. But at 35, my wife told me she wasn’t happy. We divorced, stayed friends for our daughter’s sake, and a few years later, she remarried. Her new husband adopted our daughter with my blessing. Since the divorce, I’ve stayed single and started exploring my sexuality. I’d never been with men before, but I’ve grown more comfortable with that part of myself, even though I’m not officially out. I travel a lot for work and meet people when I’m out of town. One of them is Mike, he’s 26, I’m 38, and we’ve been seeing each other when I’m in California. I haven’t told him everything about my life, and I’ve kept him separate from my world in Chicago. Then came the twist. My daughter recently got married, and at the rehearsal dinner, Mike walked in. Turns out, he’s my daughter’s fiancé’s brother. We were both shocked. When my daughter and her new husband asked how we knew each other, I lied. Mike followed my lead and lied too. Now it’s a month later, and I’m sitting with the fallout, the secrecy, the awkwardness, the missed chance to be honest. Signed, What do I do now? Dear What Do I Do Now, Well. That’s a plot twist worthy of a standing ovation and a stiff drink. You walk into your daughter’s rehearsal dinner expecting chicken or fish, and instead, you get Mike, the man you’ve been quietly seeing in California, is standing there like the universe just threw a pie in your face. Let’s take a breath. You didn’t do anything unforgivable. You did what most people do when they’re caught off guard: you reached for the nearest exit. In this case, it was a lie. Not ideal, but understandable. You weren’t ready. You hadn’t told Mike everything. You hadn’t told your daughter anything. And suddenly, your two worlds collided in a room full of white linen and family expectations. Now you’re sitting in the aftermath, wondering how to clean it up. Good news: you can. But it’s going to take a little courage and a lot of clarity. Start with Mike. He deserves a conversation that’s honest, not dramatic. Something like, “I didn’t expect our lives to intersect like that. I panicked. I wasn’t ready to explain everything, and I’m sorry I put you in that position.” That’s not a weakness. That’s respect. Then, if your daughter or her husband brings it up again, and they probably will, you don’t need to give them a full autobiography. You just need to own the moment. “Mike and I met while I was traveling. We got to know each other. I didn’t realize he was part of the family until that night, and I wasn’t sure how to handle it.” That’s enough. That’s honest. That’s adult. Now, let’s talk about the bigger picture. You’ve been exploring your sexuality quietly, privately, and with care. That’s brave. You don’t owe anyone a label. You don’t owe anyone a coming-out party. But you do owe yourself the freedom to stop treating your truth like a liability. You’re 38. You’ve lived. You’ve raised a daughter. You’ve built a life. And now you’re discovering a part of yourself that was waiting patiently in the wings. That’s not something to hide. That’s something to honor. So what do you do now? You stop lying. You start talking. You give Mike a little grace. You give yourself a little credit. And you remember that the people who matter will care more about how you treat them than who you’re dating. And if anyone gives you grief, just smile and say, “Life’s full of surprises. I’m one of them.” Oh, and please consider going to therapy. It doesn’t mean you’re weak or crazy. It’s just what smart adults do when they need a little clarity. Best Regards, Uncle Gary

I'm recently out of a twelve-year relationship. I'm a fifty-five-year-old gay man, and I don't know where to start. I used to have a nice body. I think I'm still good-looking, but when I go out with friends, I never meet anyone. Everybody is so young. Signed, Need A Bear Hug Dear Need A Bear Hug, First of all, I’m going to gently suggest we retire that nickname. You’ve been through a twelve-year relationship, that’s a lifetime of shared routines, inside jokes, and probably a few arguments about where to eat. Coming out of that kind of bond isn’t just a breakup. It’s a full-body recalibration. So let’s start there: you’re not broken. You’re in transition. And transitions are messy, confusing, and often lonely. Now, about the body. You say you used to have a nice one. I’m going to bet you still do, maybe not the same one, but one that’s lived, one that’s earned its stories. And if you’re still good-looking (your words, not mine), then let’s not bury the lead. You’ve got something to work with. As for going out and not meeting anyone? That’s not a failure. That’s data. You’re showing up. You’re trying. You’re noticing. And yes, the crowd might skew young, but that doesn’t mean you’re invisible. It just means you’re in the wrong room for the kind of connection you’re craving. So where do you start? You start by remembering that you’re not auditioning. You’re not trying to be twenty-five again. You’re trying to be fifty-five with grace, humor, and maybe a little flirt left in the tank. You start by finding spaces that feel like you , not like the version of you your friends are chasing. That might mean skipping the loud bar and trying a gallery opening, a queer book club, a volunteer gig, or even a dating app that lets you filter for grown-ups. And while you’re at it, be kind to your body. Feed it well. Move it in ways that feel good. Dress it in something that makes you stand a little taller. Not because you need to impress anyone, but because it reminds you that you’re still here, still worthy, still very much in the game. Loneliness isn’t a permanent state. It’s a signal. It’s your heart saying, “I’m ready for something new.” And that’s not sad. That’s brave. Best Regards, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, I'm 23, still living at home and going to school, taking a full load and working part-time. Is it selfish to want space from my own family? Signed, Leave Me Alone Dear Leave Me Alone, You’re not selfish. You’re human. You’re juggling school, work, and the emotional weight of figuring out who you are and where you’re headed. That’s a full plate. Wanting space doesn’t mean you don’t love your family; it means you’re trying to breathe while carrying all that. Now, depending on your family dynamics, asking for space might feel like asking for the moon. Some families hear “I need time” and translate it as “I don’t care.” That’s not on you. That’s just old wiring. You can love people and still need a room of your own, physically, emotionally, spiritually. So what do you say to Mom and Dad? Try this: “I’m not pulling away. I’m just trying to build something for myself, and I need a little quiet to do it.” Or: “I love being here, but I’m stretched thin. I need some time to recharge so I can show up better, for school, for work, and for you.” Or even: “I’m not shutting you out. I’m just trying to hear myself think.” You don’t have to make a speech. You just need to be honest without being dramatic. If they push back, stay calm. You’re not asking for permission to love them less. You’re asking for space to love yourself more. And if anyone tries to guilt you for that, just remember: you’re not asking for distance out of resentment. You’re asking for it out of respect, for yourself, for your goals, and yes, even for them. Because when you take care of your own energy, you show up better for the people you care about. So no, it’s not selfish. It’s self-aware. And that’s something to be proud of. Best Regards, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, How do I forgive someone who isn’t sorry? Signed, Disappointed Dear Disappointed, Let me start here. Forgiveness is not a performance. It’s not a handshake, a ceremony, or a public declaration. It’s not about letting someone off the hook. It’s about letting yourself off the hook. When someone hurts you and never apologizes, it’s tempting to hold on to that pain like it’s proof. Proof that they were wrong. Proof that you were right. Proof that you’re still waiting for justice. But here’s the thing: that proof gets heavy. It doesn’t just weigh on your heart. It starts to shape your days. Forgiveness, in this case, is not about them. It’s about you deciding that their lack of remorse doesn’t get to define your peace. You don’t need their permission to heal. You don’t need their apology to move forward. You don’t even need them to know you’ve forgiven them. Now, I’m not saying you have to invite them to brunch. You don’t have to send a card or pretend nothing happened. You can forgive someone and still keep your distance. You can forgive someone and still say, “I’m not putting myself in that position again.” Forgiveness is not forgetting. It’s remembering without reliving. It’s saying, “That happened. It hurt. But I’m not carrying it anymore.” And if you’re waiting for them to say sorry, let me gently suggest you stop holding your breath. Some people will never say it. Not because they’re evil, but because they’re incapable. They don’t have the tools. They don’t have the courage. They don’t have the self-awareness. So you forgive them anyway. Not because they deserve it, but because you do. And if that feels too big right now, start small. Forgive them for one thing. One moment. One sentence. Then see how it feels. You don’t have to do it all at once. You just have to start. Forgiveness isn’t a gift you give them. It’s the one you give yourself. Best Regards, Uncle Gary

This picture means more to me than I can put into words. That’s my nephew, who we lost too soon, and my niece, who still lights up every room she walks into. They’re the reason Ask Uncle Gary exists. See, when you’ve been “Uncle Gary” long enough, you learn that advice isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about showing up. Listening. Offering a little perspective, maybe a laugh, and reminding folks they’re not alone in whatever they’re facing. Every time I sit down to write, I think about the conversations we had, the ones I wish we’d had, and the ones I still get to have. That’s the heart of this column. I’ll keep showing up for you, the way I did for them. I’ve worn a lot of hats, on stage in NYC in my twenties, I was a fitness Trainer to celebrities in Los Angeles in my thirties, behind the chair as a hair & makeup man in my forties and fifties, and in university classrooms in my sixties. But for forty‑five years, my favorite title has been “Uncle Gary.” Here, I take your questions, the deep, the light, and the “you can’t make this stuff up,” and hopefully send you back into the world with a little more clarity, a little more courage, and maybe a laugh you didn’t see coming. Every Monday, you’ll get a new column. Along the way, we’ll build a crew that’s here for each other, because nobody gets through life alone. Let’s do this… Me. My niece Lindsey, and my nephew, Phillip