I recently came across a video of Spencer Pratt (yes, the one from MTV's The Hills) lip-syncing to Taylor Swift's "Look What You Made Me Do" while shirtless, and I thought to myself, "Oh, is Spencer Pratt...hot?"

I mean, technically he is—he has nice eyes and he works out, etc. etc. But from the character that was painted on The Hills, the version of Spencer Pratt I "know" is unhinged and Not A Nice Guy (he came between Heidi and Lauren, after all). Still, all it took for me to question my opinion of him and share those thoughts on social media was to find him vaguely attractive for about 45 seconds. Essentially, I was sucked into a thirst trap.

Here's the tea, though: thirst traps aren't necessarily a bad thing. Prolific among us gays on social media, these fleshy posts are all about getting coveted likes and soliciting public admissions of affection. I'm all for people using social media to express their sexuality and to give themselves an ego boost, be it a totally NSFW video of you bottoming on Tumblr or some less than subtle bulges on Instagram stories. What's LOL-inducing are the Instagays with thousands of followers who share shirtless sponsored posts about protein powders and dating apps with inspirational quotes. "Believe in your dreams," they’ll caption a picture of themselves standing naked, covering their genitals, on top of Machu Picchu, and it'll rack up 50,000 likes. And yet I compulsively continue to follow these people. Why?

According to Lisa Brateman, a psychotherapist and relationship specialist based in New York City, thirst traps are all about instant gratification. "They stimulate fantasy without ever needing to leave the house," she suggests. "It offers a window—however limited—of legal snooping into what you want to see and offers the ability to fill in the blanks of what that person is like."

These stimulating and fleeting injections of fantasy can, as has been widely stipulated, cause the viewer a sting of self-doubt over his own appearance. But many of us, Brateman argues, "are captivated, since this is something they would never do themselves and are fascinated that others do this."

It's true. I'd never take a shirtless mirror picture of myself like a lubed up Jonas (hello, Nick, we're talking to you). And it's also true that pictures online of "social media influencers" (not a thing) like the gay press' favorite professional thirst trapper Max Emerson and Younger actor Nico Tortorella do leave me feeling significantly lower in the self-esteem department (not to mention that both of them further my belief that I'm morphing into a potato).

Dr. Stefan Walters, a professional psychotherapist based in London, believes that this is all part of an online industry designed to make people feel insecure and is also symptomatic of the pressures within the gay community to look good. It's not, however, comparable with reality. "[These posts] are tailored to be a highlight reel of the best moments of someone's life," he says. "Whereas reality isn't a highlight reel, and not every moment can be as glamorous as the photos we see online."

We’ve known this about celebrities since the advent of gossip mags, but with the proliferation of Insta-famous hotties and the continued blurring between who is and isn't a celebrity, it can be hard to create a disassociation. Is that guy who dated a friend of mine and who has 30,000 followers and more abs there are letters in the alphabet famous? What about that beardy cub with the tattoos whose self-deprecating captions don't quite align with the thousands of likes and comments of "Sit on my face" cascading below his perfectly filtered near-nude selfies? Where, in this new-fangled age, do the power dynamics lie—with the trapees, or the trappers?

According to Brateman, neither really come out on top. "The posting of provocative pictures suggests a sense of control of how one wants to be perceived and of controlling one's virtual identity by what one expresses about themselves online," she says. "Often there is an incessant desire for external validation and the comments on social media fills that need temporarily. This cycle of need requires continuous feeding. The attention is a distractor from loneliness which makes one feel valued and admired, something they do not feel often enough."

Who'd have thunk that gay people might have self-esteem issues, and an intense craving for external validation? Fret not: There's an escape plan, if you're looking for one. It's all about noticing something that Dr. Lisa Orban, a clinical psychologist, calls a hook.

"It's important to understand exactly what might be drawing us in," she says. "Whatever the reason, see if you can identify other ways you might be able to meet some of these desires offline. If you do get hooked, see if you can notice that you've gotten sucked in and try to step away and take a breather."

All of this, unfortunately, is easier said than done, especially given how ingrained social media usage is in our day-to-day lives. Are we then forever destined for a perpetuating cycle of low confidence, a crawling need for validation, and voyeuristic pleasure? Dr. Walters doesn't think so.

"Practice regular self-appreciation," he says. "Start noticing small things that you like about yourself, or that you feel you did well and can be proud about."

It's true that social media is what you make of it, and we queers have mutated it for our own whims. But our digital selves aren't immune to the problems of our IRL counterparts, and there is an embedded and dangerous problem with self-esteem and validation in the LGBTQ community thanks to society's heaped spoonfuls of castigation. (Thank you, society; we love you, society!). It's understandable that social media would then become yet another avenue for us to explore our own insecurities.

But I also think that social media and thirst trapping creates safe space for LGBTQ people to express their desires and fantasies without being politicized, and away from fears of retribution. LGBTQ people being able to say how hot they find someone and to showcase how hot they are is no bad thing. Sure, the faux-deep Instagay posts are eye-roll inducing and those twinges of self-doubt might never go away. But if Spencer Pratt lip-syncing to Taylor Swift gets your rocks off (only me?), or if sharing snaps of your oiled-up body is something you're okay with, then keep it up. Just be careful that thirst traps aren't doing more damage than the desire on offer.

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