THE SOCIETAL FEAR OF THE FEMININE MAN

How was I supposed to be gay but not “act like it?”

“You can be gay, just don’t act like it.” These words have echoed throughout my mind ever since my parents first uttered them over five years ago. I was eating dinner at my dining room table when a commercial for Queer Eye came up on the television. As it was playing, I heard my parents converse in disdain.

“What’s wrong with the ad?” I asked.

“We have no problem with someone being gay, just don’t act like it,” they responded.

At the time, I did not fully understand the impact that these words had on me and my view on sexuality. I instead focused on their tone and took it as a warning that I could never be anything other than straight. So, I hid; I hid my sexuality, my true self. I spent the majority of my time in high school feeling lost. I convinced myself that I was straight, that I like women. I convinced myself that I would marry a woman, have children, and be perfectly content with it. However, as time went on, I felt myself being more and more attracted to men and to everyone else who did not fit society’s label of a woman. 

Eventually, I found the courage to admit to myself and to others that I was not straight, but bisexual. At that moment, I felt as if I was finally my complete, true self. This feeling was short-lived, however, as I encountered another obstacle: expressing my sexuality. After coming out, I heard the same phrase once again. “I don’t care that you’re gay, just don’t act like it.” Again, I found myself contemplating what this meant. How was I supposed to be gay but not “act like it?” At the time, I had a better idea of what everyone meant. “Don’t act like you’re gay” translates to “don’t act be overly sexual or be identifiable as a gay man.” But I still did not fully grasp the entire picture. That understanding would not come until my first semester in college.

Coming into college, I was excited to finally have a clean slate to express my sexuality without fear of judgment from those who were closest to me. I was able to wear crop tops around campus and paint my nails without the fear of being verbally and physically harassed. What replaced the harassment, however, was a general uneasiness and disinterest. I found that those around me, even those within my community, the ones that I was supposed to be able to relate and connect to, showed some resentment towards the men who expressed any form of femininity.

The men who wore more feminine clothing were shunned not only by other gay men who considered themselves masculine, but by others with other sexual and gender identities. Some even blatantly said that these feminine individuals were the “problem with the gay community.” It was one thing to hear the homophobia coming from cisgendere, heterosexual individuals, but it was something completely different to hear it from those whose identities fell within the LGBTQ+ spectrum. It is not uncommon to hear from gay men, myself included, about how they have been told at some point in their lives to “act straight” from cishet peers, but hearing other gay men tell me and others do the same felt as if I was not being gay in the right way.

After pondering these interactions in my mind, I felt the full weight of everything I had heard my entire life. As ironic or cliché as it might sound, I finally understood just how intertwined sexuality and gender were. I understood that homophobia bears similarities to misogyny, specifically effeminophobia, the fear of femininity, or womanliness, and the behaviors, gestures, presentation, and identifying traits that are associated with the female gender. That this can explain why society’s problem with the gay man, is superseded by the problem with the feminine one.

While films like Brokeback Mountain that showed the love and sexual chemistry between two masculine cowboys caused outrage, there is even more bitterness, almost hatred, for films or shows like Queer Eye that depict men showing an ounce of femininity. Masculine gay men who fit the standard of what a “man should be” are endorsed, while feminine gay men are considered a problem. Upon reflection, I found myself guilty of subconsciously falling into this pitfall. When I would wear masculine clothing to parties, I was romantically and sexually approached by women and men alike, but when I would dress more femininely, my prospects dwindled.

I always considered myself neutral on the topic of gender expression, neither too masculine nor too feminine. However, I found myself putting on a facade. I convinced myself that the weather was the reason that I was not wearing as many cropped shirts or that my nails were too short to paint. In reality, I was afraid to show femininity for the fear that no one would find me attractive. It took me longer than I would like to admit to consciously recognize the real reason why I was not doing these things. After doing so, however, I realized just how problematic this way of thinking was. How an individual chooses to express their gender identity should not determine their attractiveness or desirability. Why are we determining a gay man’s worth, whether he is allowed to marry someone, whether this marriage is accepted by society, based on how masculine or feminine he is? Why is femininity from men, considered such a problem, especially by other gay and bisexual men?

A better question I now ask myself is: why am I letting society dictate my worth based on how I dress or if I paint my nails? Why was I so concerned about appearing too feminine when interacting with others? Was it really the fear of being harassed or the pressure of society to fit into my assigned gender role? Although I still feel the remnants of my previous mindset imposed by society and the current pressure still faced to be masculine, I am consciously recognizing that my worth, my rights, and most importantly, my feelings should not be dictated by my gender expression. I realized that I do not need to fit society’s standard of a gay man to validate my sexuality. There are still times, however, when I am painting my nails, or when I am wearing certain clothing, that I feel the societal pressures working against me. When this happens, I remind myself that there is no one right way to be gay, to be a man.

AUTHOR: Trevor Tomlin is currently a first-year student at Brown. He currently has no idea what he wants to study, but hopefully it will come to him in one of my dreams. If anyone knows of anything fun to do in Providence, that would be greatly appreciated because he spends way too much time in his dorm.

ARTIST: Alaina Cherry is an illustrator in her junior year at Brown. She is probably somewhere sipping on a chai latte right now.