Every June, corporations unabashedly participate in rainbow capitalism by putting out rainbow logos and pride product lines without taking any meaningful action to support LGBTQ+ causes. We have grown quick to call out such corporations for their performativity, so why don’t we call out other forms of rainbow-washed oppression — especially when it comes to justifying the mass murder of an entire populace?
Lea was already late, running down the sidewalk like a marathon sprinter in the last leg of a race. She dodged around screaming babies in strollers, men in ironed suits in the midst of an argument, and bright yellow fire hydrants. She yelled a quick “Sorry!” or an “Excuse me!” as she weaved her way through the crowds of people hustling to enter the sanctity of their cars after work. Los Angeles at five in the afternoon was not a friendly place.
Lesbians have never looked as hot as when they are covered in the blood of football jocks like the characters of “Bottoms,” the instant classic lesbian rom-com movie of the year. “Bottoms” — directed by Emma Seligman — follows Josie (Ayo Edebiri) and PJ’s (Rachel Sennott) attempt to woo their respective love interests, Isabel (Havana Rose Liu) and Brittany (Kaia Gerber), with a faux all-women’s self-defense fight club. The film screams of a dark humor and irreverence rarely seen in LGBTQ+ media — a refreshing new take that presents audiences with queer, gray morality, or what I lovingly call ‘Gay Wrongs’.
In late June, eight armband designs were revealed that 2023 FIFA World Cup players could choose to wear on the pitch, including “Unite For Indigenous Peoples,” in partnership with United Nations Human Rights, and “Unite For Ending Violence Against Women,” in partnership with UN Women. However, despite the tournament’s theme of “Football Unites the World,” FIFA banned the “OneLove” armband or any armbands including Pride Flag imagery. This is ostensibly without reason; unlike Qatar which hosted the 2022 World Cup, the 2023 host countries Australia and New Zealand don’t criminalize LGBTQ+ people. Players receive a yellow card — a warning that could bar future participation — for wearing rainbow armbands, as was the case at the 2022 World Cup in Qatar.
Coming out is hard in so many ways. I came out to myself when I was 18 years old — well, I didn’t “come out,” rather I abruptly clarified it to myself that I like women. Big deal. I hate categorizations and boxes and lists, yet it also relaxes me to put things and ideas into categories, boxes, and lists. The LGBTQ+ spectrum is mindblowingly expansive and, as I’m sure you already know, it is so beautiful.
Leslie Feinberg’s historical novel “Stone Butch Blues” voices the experiences of many butch and transmasculine individuals. In a transformative exploration of queer recognition and the way it damns and redeems us, the novel unearths critical queer history and underlines the importance of intersectional solidarity. Courage, loneliness, and understanding echo through the story of the butch protagonist, Jess Goldberg.
In the broader scheme of American history, the Satanic Panic was one of many moral panics that got mainstream culture whipped up into a frenzy about the supposed threatened integrity of the ideals they held near and dear to their hearts. These moral panics were often a misdirected reaction to underlying issues; the public’s reaction to this was often to scapegoat other groups to deflect from the true cause of these issues. In America during the 1980s, the sexual abuse of children was finally being confronted after years of being ignored; and the public’s response to that frightening prospect was to turn to an equally frightening cause (to deflect from the more uncomfortable idea that it was really people they knew and trusted that were sexually abusing their children): Satanists.
Created by Zoë Collins This collage was originally published in our Fall 2022 print issue “Satanic Panic.“
The queer messaging of the Acclaimed — the two tag team champions for the professional wrestling company All Elite Wrestling (AEW) — veers in enough different directions that it’s hard to pick out a unified message. The fictional world of wrestling, whose staged theatrics and over-the-top characters often shade towards campiness, complicates the real-world impact of that message even further.