Clothing and Sexuality - The Gay Agenda and Time in the Closet

Words by Marlowe Bjorklund, Guest Writer

How do you want to dress? I didn’t ask how you are expected to dress. If I gave you no budget, took you on a shopping spree, and told you that everyone’s preconceived notions of your style had evaporated, that societal expectations were out the window, and gave you full fashion freedom! … What would you do with it?

Some people don’t care about how they present themselves. Those people, while some are technically friends of mine, are not my soulmates. To me, dress and presentation are an important aspect of my self-expression, and when people don’t care about it, it feels as though they don’t care about a part of me. I spend some time every day looking over every article of clothing in my closet, thinking about what I haven’t worn in a while, which shirt or pants might feel neglected, and then I do my best to put together an outfit that screams “Marlowe!”. Why would I dress in a way that screams “Steve!”? I am not Steve, I am Marlowe, so I try to dress the part.

Fashion as a means of self-expression is a cornerstone not only to me, but it’s important to most (dare I say all) cultures. Traditional garb, rules about which metals are in vogue, which pattern indicates what clan you are part of, an earring subtly stating: “I swing that way.” Fashion presentation is gold (or silver if you’re Irish), and to me, this is most evident in queer circles.

Queer fashion has been a means of indicating to other members of the community that you are part of the same in-group. Throughout history being openly out was not an option for most, and therefore queer people expressed and communicated their identity in several different ways. One of the big signifiers is modes of dress. However, in the age of social media, and given the bottom-up means of cultural transmission, queer fashion and style are beginning to be adopted by non-queer people. Language, especially in the U.S., moves at a rapid speed, with much of the “hip-lingo” being taken from AAVE, or African American Vernacular English. Similarly, trends amongst queer circles are appropriated by non-queer circles over time. Once subtle signals to fellow LGBTQ+ peers have flourished into louder styles in environments where queer identity is not prosecuted. The lavender broaches and red ties have transformed into eccentric expressions of both gender and sexuality identity.

Luar ; Collina Strada ; Willy Chavarria // Getty Images // https://www.them.us/story/queer-fashion-chromat-aaron-potts-elliot-page-willy-chavarria

To me, bold fashion is somehow innately queer. There is something about being loud, outrageous, and pushing the expected boundaries that is… well… gay. When cultural representation is limited or fully lacking, when it is reduced to the notion of “good gay” rather than authenticity, when the community is still grappling with internalised and external culturally motivated homophobia, fashion can be a powerful medium of self-expression. Regardless of the presence of major designers and fashion companies headlined by queer people, lots of LGBTQ+ communities rally around clothes and expressive taste as a means of fighting to be seen in a world where queer identity is yet to be fully normalised. Despite this continued fight for cultural visibility, clothing is becoming less obviously demarcated along lines of sexuality. For instance: men in crop tops.

There used to be a certain safety within queer circles to dress in a way that clearly expressed identity. Sartorial choices used to mean more than they do these days. A man in suede shoes no longer suggests “I am gay” in the way he would have in the 1930s. How queer people dress does not carry the same significance in the age of social media. Queer style is boundary-pushing and uniquely interesting, and because of this, it is gaining wider cultural appreciation. How LGBTQ+ people style themselves to indicate their queerness to others is dying with every new appropriated trend.

How can the queer community continue to find safety in their identities and expression when historic fashion coding is no longer as visual or even as implemented as it was before? When principles of queer fashion get appropriated into the mainstream, it does leave room for risk. While queer identities are comparatively more accepted than they used to be, the threat of reception is still present. Many people perform cultural “wokeness” and continue to hold homophobic, and especially transphobic or anti-gender-non-conforming beliefs, even at a subliminal level. While there is an appreciation of a lot of queer fashion, in particular in fashion-focused circles, it becomes difficult to engage in uniquely queer fashion. This is because fashion and expression are not an innate trait, unlike the queerness it can be related to. As has been mentioned, one of the grounding principles of uniquely queer fashion was communicating in-group status. In a fashion landscape where that is no longer as important, it does beg the question: how will this impact queer communities? Similarly to the appropriation of AAVE by white people, styles that are LGBTQ+ in origin are becoming more prominent in the mainstream while not directly resulting in the acceptance of queerness within the mainstream.

For instance, when a cis-gendered heterosexual man paints his nails, he might receive a look or two but overall will not carry the burden of a queer identity. He is accessorising himself, playing with styles, and dabbling in expressions typical of LBGTQ+ self-fashioning without actually sharing the cultural implications of that identity. When a cis-gendered homosexual or bisexual man implements queer fashion, they run a greater risk of judgement, exclusion, and depending on cultural contexts, ousting from a pre-established “norm” they might have fit into. They cannot claim in-group status within a predominately white heteronormative culture. Furthermore, this is even more difficult for members of the queer community who do not conform to the identities and typical expressions established by a binary gender system. While there are negative cultural implications to being a cisgender and gay white man, the intersectionality of cisgenderism and whiteness allows for more cultural safety than is available to black trans-women and trans-men. Thus, how is it that non-queer circles can adopt modes of self-expression developed by the community regardless of social pressure and exclusion, with the exclusive aim of trendiness and without adequate engagement in the origins of the style they flaunt? It is important not to set strict rules in how people are allowed to express their unique sexual and gender identities. Everyone, regardless of in-group status, should be allowed to explore themselves. However, foundational to this must be an understanding of origins. It is the lack of understanding that often exacerbates social inequalities, as people can present themselves as culturally savvy and woke without themselves engaging with the legal and social fights that are an ongoing presence in the existence of queer and other minority groups.

I too fail at this. For instance, while I recognise that terms like “slay” and “queen” have been taken from the 1980s Ball Culture of New York, I don’t know how much of my youthful vernacular has been appropriated from AAVE, the vocabulary racial minority in-groups, or other slang. It’s not an easy topic to fully engage with, especially when the burden of understanding falls on those in the out-group. It is, however, important for members of majority or dominant out-groups to engage with the realities of minority in-groups.

Another significant aspect of queer fashion is and has always been gender. While binary-normative gender is on the out, the ideas of binary gender are still and will continue to be deeply entrenched to differing extents in our varied global cultures. In historically queer self-expression, men would play with typically effeminate styles. As mentioned, wearing suede identified one gay man to the other because it was considered an “impractical” article of clothing for men to wear. A lot of queer expression for men has been about embracing “femininity” and “impracticality”, which, in and of itself, is sexist. That notwithstanding, how gender continues to play roles in the expression, identity, and understanding of queerness is – to me – evident in how straight men are generally afraid of fashion as a means of self-expression because of its perception as feminine. Gender norms are restricting when embracing self-expression.

Simultaneously, being masculine is an important part of people’s identity, and gender manifests itself in three primary ways. These are gender identity, gender expression, and biological sex. Biological sex is the easiest to delineate, as it predominately falls into the categories of “Male” and “Female,” however, let’s not forget about the existence of intersex people. Gender identity and expression are where the social constructs of gender manifest. This is also the aspect through which people relate to gender – though gender is often assumed to unilaterally be based on biological sex. That is incorrect and limited in its scope and reality. The idea of gender as being defined by sex is one of the major fights in modern-day social revolutions. Being cis-gendered myself, I am inadequately informed and educated about the structures limiting expressions of biological gender-non-conforming peers. Therefore, I will instead focus on the relationship of cis-gendered men with fashion and gender expression as a lens through which to engage with the broader topic.

From a fashion perspective, much of this boils down to a fear of femininity in a patriarchal structure. Feminine is gay, is weak, is frivolous, is lesser, is other. Femininity is the strongest lens through which to define the masculine because those in power have not had to define themselves through the lens of the other. Cis-gendered men have not had to engage with the values core to them as an “in-group”, unlike other “in-groups” that face societal discrimination. To understand the masculine, you need to compare it to the feminine, which has long been subjugated to the notion of masculine prowess. Therefore, the levels of engagement with style actively chosen by cis-men are inherently defined in opposition to how “out-groups” engage with their identity through fashion. The styles that belong to queer communities and women, and even the notion of style as being worthy of genuine engagement, are ousted by “masculine” men out of fear and insecurity. To engage beyond the norms of masculinity, unless it can be defended by special privileges, like fame or money, must be a frightening concept to many cis-men. Among the cis-men I know who aren’t queer, their decision to engage in a unique style normally falls into the category of “historically acceptable masculinity,” “hipster masculinity,” or “impersonal style” – hiding behind nondescript outfits that don’t engage with or express their sense of self. However, the modern-day appropriation of queer fashion and styling provides more room to play around with styles that are in vogue. TikTok and Instagram show off the hot new style trends, with fashion influencers and OOTDs providing a template for a new look.

Importantly, when the origins of these styles are from within the queer community, cis-het men are neither engaging with the concepts nor seeking to understand the reality of the queer influences they are appropriating. Trending styles take from where they like, and empowered individuals can benefit without wearing the burden of queerness. Unlike other oppressed “in-groups”, there is no such thing as an inherently “queer” body. There are Black bodies, Asian bodies, Latinx bodies, female bodies, transgender bodies, and gender non-conforming bodies, where the oppression and societal disadvantages become physically evident in the bodies themselves (largely, again, not universally). However, take a group of a thousand people, strip them nude, remove their style, and you would be hard-pressed to choose an LGBTQ+ from a straight one. There is no such thing as a body type which indicates queerness.

So when straight and cisgender people play with the styles developed by queer people as a means of expressing themselves to other queer community members and members of society en masse, they can fall back on their straight identity. There are historical precedents for this: when Oscar Wilde was held at trial, he claimed his style to be one of aesthetics as opposed to one of sexuality. Thus, hiding behind the concept of “aesthetic” as a means to avoid the burden of queerness.

PHOTOGRAPH BY HERB RITTS. STYLED BY MARINA SCHIANO. https://www.vanityfair.com/style/1993/08/kd-lang-cover-story

Disguise and appropriation are not new things either. For instance, consider the Vanity Fair cover, depicting Cindy Crawford “shaving” KD Lang’s face and the overall rise of Lesbian Chic in marketing and advertising. The lesbian identity, following the rising prominence of the Lesbian Avengers, became a trend that could be played with. This normalisation of lesbian identities might have been helpful to some of their causes, but their social prominence never fully correlated to the acceptance or discussions of their political goals. Again looking through the lens of fashion, it is important to recognise how lesbian fashion dating from the 1930s has been hugely impactful for women’s fashion. The queer designer Yves Saint Laurent himself created Le Smoking, a woman’s smoking-jacket-inspired piece. The androgyny of queer fashion, both women’s and men’s, has been significant for queer expression. Of course, women playing with more typically masculine notions is more widely acceptable, whereas men playing with traditionally female fashion trends and styles is still more fringe and less universally accepted.

I am interested in the idea of claimed style and identity. That is, by wearing something, you define yourself. This aspect of culture and counterculture has been present for ages. How we define beauty standards is always going to influence how we define what looks good and contrast it with what looks bad. However, there is no universal truth to be found in the expressions of queerness because it’s just a layered aspect of an intersectional identity. What might be typical lumberjack-style may also be queer-coded fashion – the piece is not limited to a single aesthetic. The idea of flannel, sheer, cropping, skin, tight or loose – what makes an article of clothing gay? It’s up to the interpretation and the use. So, when you choose to engage in styles, understand that they – like you – are part of a broader context. Engage with style however you like, so long as you maintain respect and understanding.

My Gay Agenda is to get everyone to dress better. It would be more pleasing to the eyes if people put in 12% more effort every day. Go and do so yourself, and tell me it doesn’t help you feel better. Just be mindful of your role in society and how you can be doing more to support out-groups than just painting your nails, wearing a ring or three, and baggy clothes. Don’t simply appropriate queer expressions knowing that at the end of the day, you’ll take off that style and see a straight-cis person looking back at you in the mirror.

Styles as expressions of identity should not be a trend you play with until they fall out of fashion.

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