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Does Gay Hollywood Have Room for Queer Kids? Does Gay Hollywood Have Room for Queer Kids?
(4 months later)
As an undergraduate at Duke University, I was something of a campus unicorn. I was anything but quiet about my sexuality and my gender identity. I’d hold my head high sporting bright red lipstick and a full beard; dance on the bar, unshaven legs exposed by a miniskirt; strut unashamed across gothic stones in four-inch heels. I wasn’t just gay — I was a total queen. And for half of the gay men on campus, I was something of a goddess, an inspiration, a friend. As an undergraduate at Duke University, I was something of a campus unicorn. I was anything but quiet about my sexuality and my gender identity. I’d hold my head high sporting bright red lipstick and a full beard; dance on the bar, unshaven legs exposed by a miniskirt; strut unashamed across cobblestones in four-inch heels. I wasn’t just gay — I was a total queen. And for half of the gay men on campus, I was something of a goddess, an inspiration, a friend.
But for the other half, I was embarrassing. I was that flamboyant gay kid who made everyone else look bad by association. Many gay men on campus were so unsettled by me, so vicariously ashamed of my gender expression, that they’d avoid eye contact, wouldn’t even talk to me. The irony is that it was these very gay men who were allowed to be “normal” because I was the campus freak. My unabashed femininity was what paved the way for gay men in, say, fraternities to come out without jeopardizing their masculinity. I was the shameful femme foil to their butch pride. At the same time as they disavowed me, they profited from my existence. But for the other half, I was embarrassing. I was that flamboyant gay kid who made everyone else look bad by association. Many gay men on campus were so unsettled by me, so vicariously ashamed of my gender expression, that they’d avoid eye contact, wouldn’t even talk to me. The irony is that these very gay men were allowed to be “normal” because I was the campus freak. My unabashed femininity was what paved the way for gay men in, say, fraternities to come out without jeopardizing their masculinity. I was the shameful femme foil to their butch pride. At the same time as they disavowed me, they profited from my existence.
I had flashbacks to my campus years this weekend when I went to see the movie “Love, Simon.” From what I’d heard, it was a revelation: a film that effortlessly normalized the queer experience in a touching, quirky and beautiful way, a film so important that celebrities were buying out theaters in their hometowns so that gay teenagers could see it free.I had flashbacks to my campus years this weekend when I went to see the movie “Love, Simon.” From what I’d heard, it was a revelation: a film that effortlessly normalized the queer experience in a touching, quirky and beautiful way, a film so important that celebrities were buying out theaters in their hometowns so that gay teenagers could see it free.
I walked out at the end in a shambles, a veritable genderqueer mess.I walked out at the end in a shambles, a veritable genderqueer mess.
For over a decade, the unspoken rule of gay cinema and television has been that gay men can be sexy protagonists — as long as they are masculine gay men. Feminine or gender-nonconforming gay men, on the other hand, are desexualized comedic relief. Masculine gay men are central characters, understood as attractive, powerful, interesting and dynamic. Feminine gay men, gender nonconforming folks and trans people are, at best, guest stars, denied real plots, romantic story lines or central positions in the story. For over a decade, the unspoken rule of gay cinema and television has been that gay men can be sexy protagonists — as long as they are masculine gay men. Feminine or gender-nonconforming gay men, on the other hand, are desexualized comedic relief. Masculine gay men are central characters, understood as attractive, powerful, interesting and dynamic. Feminine gay men, gender-nonconforming folks and trans people are, at best, guest stars, denied real plots, romantic story lines or central positions in the story.
Worse, across mainstream movies and television, gay protagonists often gain their status as protagonists and palatability by distancing themselves from femininity. Take “Will & Grace”: Will Truman is acceptable in part because he is not Jack McFarland. Or “Queer as Folk”: Brian Kinney is acceptable in part because he is not Emmett Honeycutt. Or even the reboot of “Queer Eye”: Antoni Porowski and Karamo Brown are the heartthrobs in part because they’re more masculine than Jonathan Van Ness.Worse, across mainstream movies and television, gay protagonists often gain their status as protagonists and palatability by distancing themselves from femininity. Take “Will & Grace”: Will Truman is acceptable in part because he is not Jack McFarland. Or “Queer as Folk”: Brian Kinney is acceptable in part because he is not Emmett Honeycutt. Or even the reboot of “Queer Eye”: Antoni Porowski and Karamo Brown are the heartthrobs in part because they’re more masculine than Jonathan Van Ness.
If “Love, Simon” didn’t follow this trope outright, it certainly flirted with it. Early on, the film is careful to establish all of the ways that Simon is not that kind of gay. He’s not very good at musical theater. He participates in gender policing, deriding a straight classmate who chooses to wear a dress to the Halloween party by telling him that he looks like a “drag queen who rolled around in refrigerator magnets.” He fantasizes about what being gay in college will be like, imagining choreography and dance, only to retreat: “Well, maybe not that gay.” If “Love, Simon” didn’t follow this trope outright, it certainly flirted with it. Early on, the film is careful to establish all of the ways that Simon is not that kind of gay. He’s not very good at musical theater. He participates in gender policing, deriding a straight classmate who chooses to wear a dress to the Halloween party as looking like a “drag queen who rolled around in refrigerator magnets.” He fantasizes about what being gay in college will be like, imagining choreography and dance, only to retreat: “Well, maybe not that gay.”
But the most frustrating story line comes via the character Ethan. A black, femme gay guy who wears ascots and keeps his hair long and straightened, Ethan has been out at Simon’s school since sophomore year. He is the gender-nonconforming queer kid who blazed his trail ahead of everyone else and bears the brunt of the bullying and harassment because of it. He is openly bullied in front of Simon; he retorts in powerful, queenly fashion to his tormentors as Simon remains silent, watching and cringing. But the most frustrating story line comes via the character Ethan. A black, femme gay guy who wears ascots and keeps his hair long and straightened, Ethan has been out at Simon’s school since sophomore year. He is the gender-nonconforming queer kid who blazed the trail and bears the brunt of the bullying and harassment because of it. He is openly bullied in front of Simon; he retorts in powerful, queenly fashion to his tormentors as Simon remains silent, watching and cringing.
As a genderqueer kid who has always been too femme for their own good, Ethan was the only character in the film that I could relate to. And he is relegated to narrative obscurity for most of the movie. He is a sideshow, a subtle foil to show how palatable and masculine Simon is. He is the narratively irrelevant queen to Simon’s well-adjusted gay boy. Simon’s palatability hinges in large part on Ethan’s presence, and the film never really does anything to acknowledge that. As a genderqueer kid who has always been too femme for my own good, I found Ethan to be the only character in the film I could relate to. And he is relegated to narrative obscurity for most of the movie. He is a sideshow, a subtle foil to show how palatable and masculine Simon is. He is the narratively irrelevant queen to Simon’s well-adjusted gay boy. Simon’s palatability hinges in large part on Ethan’s presence, and the film never really does anything to acknowledge that.
A message that gay young people receive over and over again throughout our adolescence is that you need to be the “right type of gay” — masculine, not flamboyant, a man’s man — to be respected, to be affirmed by your family or to be romantically desirable. These messages hurt. They sting. They linger. And they don’t end with adolescence, evidenced by the many online dating profiles proclaiming “no fats no femmes.” A message that gay young people receive throughout our adolescence is that you need to be the “right type of gay” — masculine, not flamboyant, a man’s man — to be respected, to be affirmed by your family or to be romantically desirable. These messages hurt. They sting. They linger. And they don’t end with adolescence, evidenced by the many online dating profiles proclaiming “no fats, no femmes.”
I spent the entire movie waiting for Simon and Ethan to reconcile, to have a moment where Simon owned up to being embarrassed to be around someone as feminine as Ethan. I kept waiting for the scene when Simon said something like: “I’m sorry. I was embarrassed by you because I was working on myself. I struggled to affirm your femininity because I was acting from a place of personal shame. Your courage has paved the way for my life to be easier, and I wish I would’ve stood up for you.” But it never happened.I spent the entire movie waiting for Simon and Ethan to reconcile, to have a moment where Simon owned up to being embarrassed to be around someone as feminine as Ethan. I kept waiting for the scene when Simon said something like: “I’m sorry. I was embarrassed by you because I was working on myself. I struggled to affirm your femininity because I was acting from a place of personal shame. Your courage has paved the way for my life to be easier, and I wish I would’ve stood up for you.” But it never happened.
It’s important to acknowledge that — in 2018, with a $17 million budget — “Love, Simon” is trailblazing, that for L.G.B.T. teenagers, it is the only thing like it out there. But it’s equally important to acknowledge that — in 2018, with a $17 million budget — the “Love, Simon” team reiterated the trope of the queenly, femme supporting character with no real plot. As femme gay men, gender nonconforming people, and trans folks, we too deserve better than to be caricatured by Hollywood. It’s important to acknowledge that — in 2018, with a $17 million budget — “Love, Simon” is trailblazing, that for L.G.B.T. teenagers, it is the only thing like it out there. But it’s equally important to acknowledge that the “Love, Simon” team reiterated the trope of the queenly, femme supporting character with no real plot. As femme gay men, gender-nonconforming people, and trans folks, we too deserve better than to be caricatured by Hollywood.