Christian Weissmann

With his poetry book "Her, Him & I," writer and actor Christian Weissmann is helping others understand their feelings.

It was the great director Orson Welles who said “A film is never really good unless the camera is an eye in the head of a poet.” Acting, painting, dancing, and every other creative career, whether aware of it or not, is influenced by the works of writers — specifically poets — and their musings. It’s apt, then, that Christian Weissmann found strength in the written word. Although he’s mostly know so far for his acting work, his ability to delicately and deftly spin tales and experiences through his prose is what sets him apart. His poetry book, Her, Him & I is the culmination of everything Weissmann has been through; a moving collection of prose that explores everything from coming out and queerness to toxic masculinity and the roles we play. Naturally, everything is under the lens of love and heartbreak — the two themes that poets just can’t stay away from.

It’s a sticky hot summer day in Soho in London and Weissmann is riding the release of Her, Him & I. As the title infers, the book is told in three parts. The first born out of a breakup that happened at the start of 2020. “It wasn’t until two weeks before the pandemic that I decided I was going to try and date men,” he says as he sips a coffee. “I was incredibly nervous and anxious about dating because of my sexuality. When I finally came out as queer, I thought that once I went on a date with a guy or hooked up with a guy for the first time, all that anxiety would disappear. But it didn’t. Initially, I thought I would just figure out that I was gay, align with this binary, and my anxiety would float away because the issue was women. However, once I started dating guys, I realized the issue was that I wasn’t in tune with myself. It had nothing to do with the gender of the person I was dating or being intimate with, emotionally or physically. That was a huge eye-opener for me.”

After seeing a man for two weeks and getting ghosted, the then-20 year old Weissmann used the experience to figure out who he is. “I genuinely thought I loved him after just a week,” he laughs. “He was six years older than me, so it was all very new and exciting. He said, “Nobody’s ever made me wait to have sex this long.” I was like, “Oh, I’m sorry. I just came out of the closet about 14 minutes ago, just got out of a long-term relationship, and I’m so scared of physical intimacy.” It felt like the unrealistic standard of gay male Hollywood came to life. I didn’t think it was real until I met him. I was happy it ended, but I had put a lot of my self-worth into that guy in just a week and a half. He was this very good-looking, well-experienced, well-rounded gay guy who made it seem like he knew his way around the world. He made me feel like he could guide me into this new magical world.”

Instead, Weissmann figured out the new world himself. Although he had the knowledge from first long-term relationship with a girl, as soon as he came out of the closet, everything seemed to go back to square one. “I became this bright-eyed, bushy-tailed person, fully opening myself up to get hurt because I didn’t have the same armor I did before. It was super exciting at first, but also a little reckless because I wasn’t preparing myself.”

One way he reckoned with that? Coming out — via an essay for the LA Times. “The first writing piece I ever did was an essay about coming out of the closet right before the pandemic, dealing with a breakup, and understanding my sexuality,” he remarks. “As soon as it happened, I thought, “It’s all downhill from here,” because nothing good was going to happen to me in writing. I remember writing all these thoughts and feelings, writing poems, and then one day, I just wrote a stream of consciousness for two hours about being sad over my breakup, wondering if I made the right decision, understanding my sexuality within the confines of my own bedroom, trying to go on dating apps, and figuring that out. I transcribed it, put it into Word on my computer, and thought, “This is kind of fun. I enjoy this.” I was being sarcastic and cheeky, really getting a kick out of it.”

Shortly after, he submitted to a general form on the LA Times’ website and an editor replied. “They paid me $300!” he laughs. “Best $300 I ever made. I was like, “Oh my god, I’m about to come out via the LA Times. I told my mom, and she was like, “What? You just came out to me, and now you’re going to come out to the entire world? Everyone in Los Angeles and Chicago is going to see this.” I said, “Yeah, I’ve already signed the contract. So, it’s happening whether we like it or not.” 

The word gumption is thrown around a lot in Hollywood — a place full of creatives trying to make their dreams into a reality. When chatting with Weissmann, it’s clear he’s had it since he was young. He left home early, moving in with his Aunt and Uncle to try to make it as an actor in Los Angeles. He got his first credit in 2014 and booked a recurring role on Saved by the Bell. That same tenacity is clearly brimming through the pages in Her, Him & I and between the lines in his LA Times article, titled “How quarantine — and a bad breakup — healed me.” It came out during Pride Month, on the last Saturday in June. “Waking up that day, going to the newsstand, and picking up a physical newspaper to read my piece was maybe the most exciting feeling I’ve ever had. To be validated as a writer and as a queer person during Pride Month made me feel like I was on the right path in my life. Regardless of the response from random people all over the country, I felt really proud of the work I put into that piece. It felt like an introduction to the world, and I knew this was for me. It was incredibly self-fulfilling.”

Like a true poet, he didn’t stop writing or feeling. Slowly, he began chipping away at the experiences he went through in his past, diving into his own psyche to better understand his own self and feelings. Although the title suggests there are two major relationships in Weissmann’s life, he believes the poems could be applied to a few different people and situations. “I would say these two relationships were like the main “her” and the main “him.” But since then, there have been a lot of other “hers” and “hims” that also fit into those pockets, into those pronouns. There are poems in the book about girls who are not my main long-term girlfriend at the time. Similarly, there are poems about guys that are not about that main long-term boyfriend. I find it interesting because I don’t necessarily specify each relationship, but you can tell there are shifts, very subtle shifts, in the different acts and poems. Some poems reflect very short-lived situationships. If you read closely and pay attention, you can tell which ones were transitional.”

For those who are open and honest with what they’ve been through and create art out of it — think Taylor Swift, Cheryl Strayed, and the like — sometimes those they write about can turn into characters of sorts. Does he think he’s almost created “him” and her” into characters in a way? Weissmann believes his work exists in the middle. “The story is told from my perspective, so there are at least three versions: the way I see it, the way they see it, and the way it actually happened. My perspective is biased; it’s how they made me feel and how I perceived I made them feel. While some poems are very accurate in explaining certain situations, others are meshed together into an exaggerated, fantastical story that isn’t necessarily accurate. For instance, there’s a poem in the book called “The Divine Sacrament,” which talks about having gay sex in a church. It’s not literally about having gay sex in a church, but it includes moments of truth, like how forbidden it felt for me. There was an intimate experience I had at a party in an abandoned church, which contributes to the poem. So, there are moments of truth, humour, and joy that put an interesting twist on the story.”

As an actor, playing characters comes with the territory. It’s someone else’s vision, someone else’s words. Writing — especially something as personal as poetry — is exposing one’s heart on their shoulder. But it’s not something that made Weissmann buckle at the knees. “I felt like I had autonomy with the poetry book,” he states. “That’s what I didn’t realize was the through line until I got dumped by that boyfriend. I had been shopping around this book since I came out of the closet because I had enough poems, but it was just a very different version of the book. It was shaky and I had this urgency to get it done. I don’t know why. I think it was because things were starting to go well for me in the writing world, and I felt I had to capitalize on that. Maybe it’s my conservative upbringing from a family of business people who believe you have to capitalize and jump on opportunities, staying one step ahead. I struggle because I have that type-A mentality, but there’s also the soft, creative part of me that understands things come naturally sometimes. You can’t force or expedite it.”

Instead, Weissmann tweaked on the book for two years, pitching it to over 100 publishing houses and different poetry prize contests. After not getting much interest, he went through a bit of a spiral (“I was thinking “I’m not getting this. It’s not happening. Nobody wants it. It’s not good. I don’t have a strong enough theme in the book.”) Like any good catalyst, a breakup ushered in a new chapter for him. At the beginning of June in 2022, his long-term, long distance relationship ended. He was travelling back and forth to New York for six months and, a week before he returned to Los Angeles, he had a lingering feeling that he wasn’t going back to New York. “He called me and ended things. I was devastated. I thought I should have done it first, but of course, I didn’t. I basically sat on my floor for two weeks, catatonic, not knowing what to do. I was wearing his sweatshirt, listening to “Last Kiss” by Taylor Swift, not eating. It was really sad. It was summer, and I just started thinking, “Oh my God, I want to die.” My best friend, Brielle, worked at a crystal shop, and she told me, “You need to come to work. You’re not working, you’re haemorrhaging money. Get off your ass and come to work.”

In what can only be described as an LA stereotype coming to fruition, Weissmann worked for a few days a week at a crystal store, finding the structure and purpose that gave him the best distraction from the breakup and the devastating cancellation of Saved by the Bell. “The show I was relying on got cancelled, and then I got dumped. I had this book that nobody wanted. So, I went to work at the crystal shop with the rose quartz and amethyst. If I wasn’t going to a traditional church, the metaphysical crystal store became my church.”

After working at the crystal shop, he’d go home exhausted and sit in his living room, pouring over every page of the book, laying them out in a way that represented different acts. Then he had a breakthrough. “I realized the issue with the book was that it ended with me being in a happy relationship, which didn’t fit the theme of individuality. I had written a few poems after the breakup, but I was too sad to write much. It wasn’t until I looked at the book and saw that it didn’t make sense that I got inspired. The book needed to end with me being alone, putting the pieces back together myself. That “get your ass up and work” mentality kicked in, and I wrote about the breakup all summer, pouring every ugly thought and insecurity onto paper. I reprinted the last act, cut out many poems, and made the story clearer. It ended with me alone, and the only person putting the pieces back together was me. I finished that version towards the end of summer 2022, and within three or four months, it got accepted.”

Following the release of Her, Him & I has been a lesson in becoming reborn. Weissmann declares that there’s a version of himself that he’s discovering. “It’s scary, but I feel like this is the most vulnerable and fearless I’ve ever been,” he admits. “There’s this younger version of me that I’ve embraced. For example, a few weeks ago, I bought a Hannah Montana festival t-shirt from 2007, and I’ve been wearing it to bed every night. It makes me feel so good! When I’m feeling down, I put on “Rock Star,” look in the mirror, and dance like a psychopath. And honestly, this is me at 24.”

Sitting with Weissmann in a bustling restaurant, it’s apparent how much the process of writing Her, Him & I has shaped him — so much so that it’s made him navigate both the world and relationships differently. He seems to be assured in both his craft and the person he’s unfolding into. It’s the type of calmness that he credits to giving himself the space to be vulnerable and accepting of the present moment. 

“From January to June of this year, I went through the most busy and stressful six months of my life,” he says. “In February, I screen-tested for a show and thought I was going to move to North Carolina for a year. When I didn’t get it, I was really sad. While working on the book, I started to appreciate the present moment. I realized I’d always felt like I was waiting—for the next job, the next relationship, the next situation to make me feel enough. There was a moment around my birthday this year when I was sitting on my couch, looking around my apartment with a cup of tea in hand and Gilmore Girls on the TV. I thought, “I feel happy.” If I were to live like this for the rest of my life, sure, a nicer apartment or more money would be great, but I realized: this is good. Happiness is nice. It wasn’t an insane high or a low; it was this middle point where I felt safe, and my mind felt quieter.”

Her, Him & I doesn’t end with a fairytale — Weissmann doesn’t end up besotted with a lover or swept off his feet. Instead, he ends it on a note where he feels at ease. “I think once I gave myself the grace and patience to recognize that some people aren’t meant to stay, things became so much more enjoyable. With my book, I ended it on a note where I felt immense moments of joy, but they were fleeting. Now, in the past couple of months, those moments have become much more frequent. I’ve been manifesting this happy ending for my independence.”

Looking ahead, Weissmann is keen to see what other facets of himself he can explore through art. He recently started seeing someone and is enjoying the slow burn while learning to be content on my own. These are new themes for him both to figure out and write about — like Nora Ephron once said: everything is copy. “When they [exes] left, and I was alone, I didn’t think, “Now it’s time for me to be vengeful or petty,” Weissmann says, when asked about how his perception of himself, “him ” and “her ” changed through the writing of the book. “Instead, I realized I could explain my experience and share how I felt — not just focus on what they did that was wrong. I wanted to reflect on my own experiences as an individual, rather than thinking, “We feel this way.” It’s scary [to be vulnerable] but it’s made writing the book so cathartic.”

Christian Weissmann’s book Her, Him & I is out now. Learn more at christianweissmann.com.

Interview Kelsey Barnes
Photography Luke Fontana