Kill Your Darlings

There is so much queer representation in media these days–good, bad, and painfully stereotypical. I'm not looking for it anymore, though. I haven't been since college. I guess you could say I gave up. I see it as being the representation I wish I could have had growing up, but I suppose it's a matter of perspective. As a child, I used to look for myself in media. Desperately.

Ellen was the first celebrity who came out as gay during my childhood. At least, the first one I knew about. It was 1997, and I wasn't interested in watching her show, but I was interested in the gay stuff. My mom liked it until the gay stuff came into play, so she quickly switched her loyalties once Dharma and Greg premiered that same year.

I'm sure we're all fairly aware of how things turned out for Ellen after she came out and after her celebrated return to television over a decade later. Fallen from grace for being open about her sexuality, blacklisted, and humiliated, only to make a comeback that would last for years before losing credibility for being a bully on set. Most people I know are not fans of hers anymore. "Hypocrite," they say. "How could she?" They wonder. I did my share of fastidious judging, too.

Upon Ellen's departure from the closet, I became more intent on uncovering my family's stance on gay people. I remember having a conversation with my dad about the "homosexual issue." I already knew how I felt; I was worried about how my family would react if their child came out to them. I wanted to know what they thought of other people coming out so I could gauge their potential response toward me.

His answers to my questions left me with the sense that he cared less about how people lived than my mother did. He had religious reservations but felt it wasn't his place or the government's to pass judgment or create policy preventing it. I felt safer with this response. My mother had strong reactions to the show so I didn't bother to ask her any questions. I knew to stay hidden around her. I leaned into my dad's opinion and parroted most of his sentiments so my mother wouldn't suspect anything. I figured if she had a problem with my position, she would have to have a problem with my dad's words, not mine.

It wasn't too long after the end of Ellen that Will and Grace aired. My mother tried it, thinking it might be akin to her beloved Dharma and Greg, but she was sadly disappointed. She thought Karen was entertaining, Grace was whiney, and Will was well-adjusted for someone in his "condition." Jack offended her the most, though. Too effeminate, he must be an embarrassment to his community, she would muse while still watching. "A train wreck," she would say, "I can't look away."

I caught her laughing at jokes I didn't understand.

I'd watch it later as an adult, sometimes with her, usually not. I didn't see myself in a single one of the characters, but I appreciated that the media acknowledged queer existence. I thought it was nice the executives let the show continue to run, even if I thought the representation sucked. I see now that this was the issue– that the show continued despite its limited character development and stereotypical renderings.

Some years later, I hopped on the Calzona bandwagon. For those who are unfamiliar, this refers to the relationship between Callie Torres and Arizona Robbins in Grey's Anatomy. It's fine as far as representation is concerned, as long as you don't mind your representation rife with unrealistic and toxic soap opera-esque drama. I didn't see myself in these characters either, even when Tumblr would ask which of the two you were, I didn't have an answer.

I'd go through a string of fictional characters that were either queer-coded or that I identified as queer because I saw myself in them. Matilda, Korra, Harriet, Xena, the list went on. None of them were meant for me, though. Not the non-binary, trans-masculine kid. Maybe the lesbian, but only if you looked at them just the right way.

In college, I stumbled upon an author who changed my perspective on the function of sex and gender within society, Marge Piercy. I knew she wrote from a feminist perspective, but as I read more, I learned that her writing was from a queer, Detroit-born-and-raised, and Jewish point of view. I was mesmerized and moved. Woman on the Edge of Time was my bible for quite a while. I found myself unable to think about anything else for an entire semester. It was my focus for an independent study and a personal obsession.

I had not only identified with the world, the values, and the characters but with the creator.

This impacted me more than the televised portrayals of queerness or queer-adjacentness I had seen thus far. I felt inspired to write and live more authentically, which meant becoming softer with myself and the world around me. I wanted to live more collectively and in alignment with my true, trans self. I made dramatic changes after reading that and a handful of other books that college year.

I learned recently that Marge Piercy is a Zionist. I had made many assumptions about her political leanings based on her works and acts, but after realizing there was a resounding silence on her socials about the ongoing genocide in Palestine and now Lebanon, I became concerned that perhaps I had been slightly off. I decided to do a deeper dive. Her website has a blog she updates regularly, so I checked back in the archives. She's a proud member of J Street and posted in November 2023 about her belief in a two-state solution. I felt crushed by the passivity with which she referred to the genocide against Palestinians.

Yet another queer beacon that failed to live up to their reputation.

I appreciate the lessons I was able to cherry-pick from each, and since we are but the phantom media influencing us, I cannot deny the impact each character and creator has had on my queer little journey. However, I can't help but think that the friends in my life, the ones I consider my family, are the ones who have developed my healthiest sense of self. They have shown me what it means to be queer in a political and personal sense. They have shown me what it takes to be good and do good. They have shown me how to build community and live my values. That's the representation I look for these days.