To exist in the limelight is to understand that you will be pictured in a homoerotic relationship. 

This is one of the commandments of the internet, which, while not inherently homophobic, tends to spawn certain pieces of media that certainly feel so. To cater to the queer community is to attach a figurative rocket launcher onto your ass and send yourself into the star-studded stratosphere.

However, to exist as a queer person in the limelight is to either be reduced to your queerness or be ignored. And so comes the great dilemma of queer media: What is queer media? Is it media made by queer people? For queer people? Or the media that queer people consume? Honestly, it’s hard to say. 

The existence of “queerness” in media is intensely commercialized. Celebrities often toe the line of ambiguity. They’re queer enough to host a queer audience, but cling to the hetero label that allows their fame to exist in the mainstream. It is inevitable that throughout the career of such a celebrity, accusations of queer-baiting will rise, which, in itself is inherently flawed. To “queer-bait” is the marketing technique used in fiction in which queerness is hinted at, but never executed. The operative word being fiction. It is impossible for real people to queer-bait. Sexuality is personal for all and difficult for many, there is never an obligation to share or give an explanation, even when you enter the limelight. And so, the dilemma continues to unravel.

In recent history, I see the rise of queerness in popular media as due to fans themselves. Not queer fans alone; straight fans and particularly straight women seem to find joy yassifying their celebrities of choice (these straight women, however, tend to gravitate to the more explicitly sexual elements of queerness – such is a discussion for another day). This fan-bestowed queerness serves as the gateway for the celebrities themselves to exploit the starvation of queer audiences. Their sexuality is defined by the vagueness it utilizes to manage their bottom line. 

I continue to question whether it is possible to simply exist queerly. To exist without the implication of existing for someone else. Can queerness ever be more than a commodity? In the media, certainly not. To exist in Hollywood as a queer person is to exist as a QUEER PERSON! HEY! THERE IS A QUEER PERSON HERE! YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO THIS PERSON BECAUSE THEY! ARE! QUEER! It is not a facet of their identity, it is their identity. This can be applied on a personal level to an equal degree of effectiveness (“the gay cousin” is a very real reduction of identity for many); there is an expectation that when you label yourself as queer, it must become the forefront of who you are. 

Such is part of the reason queer people identify with these non-queer, queer-attracting celebrities. They, unlike actual queer people, are able to exist as more than their supposed sexuality. There is wishful thinking from the consumer. To exist in this manner is unattainable for them, and they can live vicariously through these pseudo-queers. 

For many queer people, there is then a guilt in consuming this pseudo-queer media. Are they not doing their duty as a queer person? Are they failing their fellow queers in supporting someone else? To support someone purely because of how they exist feels dismissive of the actual work they produce. On the other hand, it’s not unheard of for queer artists to tell people to consume their work “because they’re gay.” This leaves the consumer in an awkward position – is anything being truly accomplished when shamed into consuming media?

This isn’t to say that people who advertise in such a  manner are doing anything morally wrong; they are chasing the bag as it were. I don’t mean to demean them and this isn’t a critique (not of them at least — I’ll get into it soon). I wonder more about the queer consumer, and what the future of queer media will consist of.

I’ve come to realize that all anyone wants is to be known, and this is why pseudo-queer celebrities have been allowed to exploit this loophole for so long. Queer people are so achingly deprived of media that they will settle for crumbs of acknowledgement. 

I have no interest in pretending that I am better than any consumer. I understand the appeal. If I must speak to others, I must speak equally to myself. I only see and know you because I see and know myself. I know how good it feels to be seen, to be understood, even when it’s not necessarily real. 

Say someone tells you to do something, or tells you that you are something, and you go along with it. Here’s a reflective question: do they have the right to get mad at you for doing or being so? 

I want to reiterate that this is not a critique of queer people. Rather, I am condemning the pseudo-queer celebrities, but to condemn them solely feels too harsh. The distribution of guilt continues to puzzle me. The grey zone in which it exists is complex: queer people create a need in the market that these mainstream celebrities are able to fulfill. But in doing so, genuine queer artists are left behind; their specific niche (being gay) is filled. For queer media to include queer creators, we as consumers must assume responsibility to seek out queer media, without creators guilting us into it. 

I want us to be better than taking the easy way out.