Image credit: HBO/MAX
Like almost everyone else, I have been obsessed with the unexpected (at least by studio execs) hit Heated Rivalry—a Canadian show (woot!) about pro hockey rivals Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, who start a physical relationship and ultimately fall for each other while navigating their own views on sexuality and the homophobic NHL.
It’s based on Canadian author (woot! Sorry, we Canadians really like to celebrate each other’s successes) Rachel Reid’s Game Changers, an M/M (male-on-male) romance series.
Over the last few years, I’ve gotten into reading romance. I hadn’t heard of this series, but I was fully invested as soon as a friend sent me a picture of her TV screen featuring two men in a shower, their gorgeous butts fully on display.
Image credit: M. Constanda, aka Jane
Now, I’m not unfamiliar with finishing a romance novel and wishing I had that kind of love in my life. Or that I was having sex that good. Normally, I create a little fantasy in my head for a few days, get my fill of an imaginary, written-by-a-woman man, and then move on with my life.
With Heated Rivalry, however, I haven’t been able to let it go—and it has nothing to do with those asses.
I know this isn’t unique to me; my Instagram algorithm makes that very clear. Still, it took me a moment to figure out why this one stuck, or at least why it stuck for me.
It clicked when I tried to create that little fantasy in my head and just couldn’t get it going. At first, I thought maybe it was because it featured two men and I mostly read heterosexual romance, but I quickly dismissed that. I’m a creative person—I could think of a million ways to insert myself into that situationship.
The conclusion I came to was that it was due to another aspect of their relationship that felt even more foreign to me: there was no power imbalance.
This equality shows up early, when Shane and Ilya’s relationship is primarily physical. At no point does Ilya—who is more confident and sexually experienced—try to take advantage of Shane’s naiveté. He checks in. He reassures. He doesn’t push.
Is there anything that can make you feel more vulnerable, as a woman, than having sex with a man?
Unlike when a good friend of mine realized a guy she was about to sleep with was trying to take the condom off without her noticing. Or when an ex-boyfriend of mine regularly used guilt to manipulate me into doing things I didn’t want to do.
Between Shane and Ilya, there is also never a moment where either of them feels reduced to just a body or a means to an end. It’s purely physical, sure, but it’s never impersonal.
Not at all like many of the sexual experiences I’ve had with men. I’m not sure how to explain the moment when I’m being intimate with someone and the vibe shifts, and I suddenly know he does not give a fuck who I am. At best, this results in sex that’s really only about one person’s enjoyment. At worst, boundaries are pushed, basic tenets of consent are ignored, and the onus is placed on me to stop, correct, or ask for something different.
It’s not lost on me that, deep down, men know how hard it can be to stand up for yourself when you’re feeling vulnerable. And is there anything that can make you feel more vulnerable, as a woman, than having sex with a man?
But back to Shane and Ilya. As their relationship becomes more than just physical, we also see the respect they have for one another. When Ilya wins the Stanley Cup first and Shane watches with his teammates, he says Ilya is the best player in the league (to which his teammates strongly disagree), then later hides the emotions he’s feeling that betrays how proud he is of him.
Nothing like when an acquaintance of mine—whose husband had long been considered “one of the good ones”—learned that, despite them now having two young children, he wasn’t going to let that stop him from touring with his band for weeks at a time. He wasn’t willing to sacrifice that part of himself just because they had kids, even though it meant his wife had to suffer and give up more of herself.
This theme—women craving an equal love—hasn’t just come up because of Heated Rivalry.
In the second season of Nobody Wants This, Kristen Bell’s character says to her love interest, “Do you know what the dream is? Being attracted to someone who makes you feel safe.”
In the song “Wi$h Li$t” from Taylor Swift’s recent album Life of a Showgirl, she sings, “Please God, bring me a best friend who I think is hot.” Not the most eloquent phrasing, surprisingly, but it gets to the heart of the matter. I know I can’t be the only person who has wished they were sexually attracted to their best friend, because that—that—would be a fucking epic, life-altering romance for the ages.
Seeing the way actors Connor Storrie and Hudson Williams (who play Ilya and Shane, respectively) are affectionate, playful, and tender with each other does make me feel optimistic for younger generations. I think the tide is turning. When men are allowed to embrace their femininity, feel the full spectrum of emotions, and no longer feel pressured to perform a narrow version of masculinity, the potential for fulfilling, uplifting, equal relationships abounds.
But for me—someone born in the 1980s, sitting alone in a coffee shop, writing this and trying not to tear up too obviously—I literally can’t even imagine it.
And I’m fucking devastated.