*bangs head on wall*
Here’s the cycle, as it keeps repeating, almost ritualistically:
First comes projection. Fandom sees a man who is gentle, emotionally literate, aesthetically soft, or convincingly in love with another man on screen. That sparks recognition and hunger. People aren’t just enjoying representation, they’re looking for proof that it’s real. So desire quietly turns into ownership.
Then comes assumption-as-solidarity. Calling an actor queer starts to feel “supportive,” even radical. But it’s not actually about protecting queer people, it’s about proximity. If he’s queer, fans feel closer. If he’s queer, their investment feels justified. If he’s queer, they get to claim him as “one of ours,” whether he consented or not.
Next is silence laundering. The actor doesn’t label himself publicly, maybe because he’s private, maybe because he’s questioning, maybe because it’s none of anyone’s business. That silence gets rebranded as confirmation. “He hasn’t denied it.” “Everyone knows.” “It’s obvious.” Suddenly rumor hardens into canon, and anyone who questions it is accused of being regressive or unsafe.
Then comes enforcement. This is the ugliest part. If the actor dates someone unexpected, pulls away from fandom, sets boundaries, or god forbid says “I’m straight” or “I don’t label myself,” the knives come out. Disappointment gets moralized. The actor is framed as betraying the community rather than exercising autonomy.
We’ve already watched this exact thing happen to Kit Connor, and the lesson somehow still didn’t stick. He was pressured into coming out under a microscope, and people still framed it as a “win.” It wasn’t. It was coercion with a progress flag taped on.
Why does this hit queer-adjacent men so hard, especially ones with female-dominated fandoms?
Because there’s an old dynamic being re-tooled. The “gay best friend” trope didn’t disappear, it evolved. Instead of being desexualized and ornamental, queer men are now instead hypereroticized, fetishized and curated. Still not autonomous. Still not allowed to just exist without serving someone else’s emotional or fantasy needs.
And here’s the part people don’t want to say out loud: some fans feel entitled to queer men because they see them as safe, consumable, and non-threatening. That entitlement doesn’t magically become ethical just because it’s wrapped in representation discourse.
Also, queerness has become social capital online. Being adjacent to it, claiming it, “recognizing it” in others, that’s currency. So people rush to label, to announce, to be first, to be right. The human being in question becomes secondary to the post.
Coming out is not a fandom event. Sexuality is not crowdsourced. No one owes the internet a label so others can feel validated.
