Questions & Queeries
When I was young, I found myself in stories of isolation. The characters I related to most were those who were different or othered. I didn’t know why, other than the fact that I myself felt different and othered. In my teen years, I realized I was gay. Not just a lesbian, but something deeper than that– queer. Then, suddenly, I could read all of these characters I related to as gay. It’s not a hard thing to do. Queer people have always gravitated towards these kinds of stories. We’ve always had to find ourselves in between the lines, hidden in softened words and quiet nods. For most of us reading these other characters as queer, not only allows us to relate, but gives us solace.
Maybe this is why LGBTQ+ studies gave way to a new form of philosophical thought: queer theory. This framework allows for stories that may be entirely heterosexual or cisgendered on the surface to be read as queer. It defines queerness as not just sexual orientation or gender identity, but a way of being and a culture of its own.
I first discovered this concept in my sophomore year of college in a class titled “Fairytales and Folklore.” Our final project was to find an academic book about fairytales or folklore, and write a review of it. I was really inspired by my own queerness at the time and by that of my community. So, I decided to review a book all about queer fairytales. Of course, the brothers Grimm would’ve never written a lesbian knight falling in love with a princess. No, the queerness was found in stories that would otherwise be read as completely benign to straight audiences. The researchers for this collection of essays–entitled “Transgressive Tales: Queering the Grimms” had to dig into the meat of these fairytales to find the queer readings.
Queer theory is, quite simply, making everything gay–so, exactly how it sounds. Suddenly, these characters aren’t as we know them anymore. Relationships that might’ve once been seen as brotherly or sisterly are now read as something deeper: something gay. The concept of being different is now the equivalent as a concept of being queer. Which, I suppose, it always was. Queer does mean odd. And, I think, this way of reading text, of fairytales, of watching movies is beautiful. I enjoy using the methodology in my own media experiences. It allows me to find myself within sources that may not otherwise want me to find myself. It allows me to feel seen. It allows me to feel a sense of community and I feel like it allows me to feel included.
Some people might see this is silly they might ask why do you have to make everything gay and I think that’s part of what makes queer theory so special so coveted because really nobody can’t understand it but us straight people have decades centuries of stories to look back on and see themselves as to cisgender people a queer folk we’ve always had to get our hands dirty to dig through mud through gravel down into the dirt just to feel an ounce of normality not that we need normality so it does bring a sense of comfort.
To these people, I pose the question: why not make everything gay? Why not allow us this small form of joy of comfort? Why not take a little bit of what you hoard so efficiently for ourselves? Instead of surviving off of crumbs, we make it a feast. We take what others do not see and we make it reality. Queerness is no longer a theory to me, it is existence.