In some respect, 2022 was a terrible year. To put aside personal achievements, it was difficult to open up a browser, turn on the news and discover a rise in homophobia. This isn’t to say that it’s new. Anti-trans legislation has been on the rise for several years now. What has been disheartening is how succinctly everything just fell apart. Everything that activists within the LGBTQIA+ community had fought for was at risk of being taken away. Supreme Court Justices overturned Roe vs. Wade, leading to concern over interracial and homosexual marriages. Harmful rhetoric began to reemerge with conservatives vilifying gays with those familiar predatory terms. Any celebration, such as Amy Schneider’s phenomenal Jeopardy! run, was delegitimized with “I don’t know why they need to shove it in our face” excuses. The expression “Love is love” became weaponized, where to be gay risked being seen as a pariah because you “Don’t say gay” anymore. We were moving backwards to a time even before my Mid-00s high school days when Monkeypox was labeled “the gay disease.” There’s so much and all I can do is applaud those with the strength to advocate for positive change, especially in the wake of a Floridian Governor potentially running for president with one of the most harmful agendas imaginable.
The week of November 20 was an especially difficult one. While there’s plenty to celebrate for Trans Week of Visibility, I don’t think anyone was ready for the tragic finale. In Colorado Springs, CO at Club Q, a mass shooting took place. Five were murdered and 25 others were injured. Thankfully there were some who had the compassion enough to interfere and disarm the shooter, but even one death would’ve been too much. It was a heartbreaking day reminiscent of the Pulse shooting in 2016. How does one find any optimism in this terrible moment? Certain corners of the media were quick to suggest, falsely, that the drag queens there were “groomers” and demonized them. It was a far cry from 2016’s more generic but better intentioned “thoughts and prayers” rhetoric. Still, it got more despairing to follow the story and having a preconceived expectation on every reveal. The shooter “was” non-binary. His father was homophobic. It’s very gross to connect the dots from there.
So how did I cope? That week was Thanksgiving and I had a few hours to myself. I took to my room and finally read Alice Oseman’s “Heartstopper.” It didn’t stop the pain, but it restored some hope.
I think one’s engagement with media is inherently different when you’re queer. The smallest things suddenly hold a deeper meaning. Having someone make a film that feels genuine to their internal desires, romantic or platonic, suddenly becomes overwhelming. It could be the most trivial plot imaginable, but suddenly the ability to see someone in an empathetic (as opposed to the good intentioned sympathetic) light just makes you notice the potential of the world. Something as disposable as hearing Bowen Yang sing Britney Spears’ “Sometimes” in Fire Island (2022) brought a tear to my eye. It was beautiful to see such authentic expression, especially in comparison to my youth where gay characters were a chock-a-block flamboyant lisp if male and sexy kissers if female. Without strong media literacy, seeing something like the t.A.T.u. kiss in middle school felt more performative than sincere. It’s the type of disingenuity that made it difficult to really see queerness as more than an act.
To shift focus back to “Heartstopper,” I think the success it had in 2022 perfectly reflects something I don’t take for granted. Reports have been suggesting that Gen-Z is more likely to be part of the LGBTQIA+ community. More people feel comfortable coming out as transgender and non-binary. There is a freedom of identity that I don’t feel was common when I was most of these people’s age. I am overwhelmed with joy because part of my fairly new journey is a sense of remorse and regret for missing those formative years. I do sometimes wonder how waiting until my 30s to begin questioning things hindered me. Don’t get me wrong. I have felt happier with this understanding, but sometimes seeing queer joy just makes me feel like the next generation will have it better – which isn’t that what’s important?
I latched onto “Heartstopper” largely because of what Alice Oseman as an author represented. As an asexual, knowing that an aro-ace creator not only had this critically acclaimed comic series that was sold at major retail chains but adapted it into a Netflix show gave me so much pride this year. To hear elders discuss watching it is to see that I’m not alone in feeling that this seemingly milquetoast teen drama was revolutionary. I was used to Brokeback Mountain (2005). We were supposed to bury our gays and leave their lovers in tears by the grave. Someone had to physically assault them out of some intolerance. We were supposed to accept this as representation. I know the tides have changed way before I finally tuned into Heartstopper, but listening to Tuck Woodstock (Gender Reveal) discuss how overwhelmed they were by its happy, conflict-free plotting only confirmed why this resonated with so many. This was a love story just like any other. Many were queer, but it wasn’t a deterrent or, like Atypical with autism, a season-long journey of self-acceptance. This was just a meet-cute of teens being teens.
I suppose part of me wonders whether having a show like Heartstopper in 2005 would’ve made a difference for me. I definitely think it would’ve been painfully more controversial to the point of some shame, but I’m confident something would’ve clicked eventually. The show is so genuine and earnest to the point that Verilybitchie made a video decrying it as boring.
And yet here I was turning to a copy of Oseman’s original book that kicked things off. For anyone who knows that it’s a series about romance, the issue is very predictable. When it’s not introducing characters, it exists within the “will they/won’t they” mentality that you’d expect. There’s all the small moments of falling in love. It’s there in the awkward conversations or the text message conversations where a turn of phrase will make your heart flutter for hours. There is a sense of hope in knowing that there’s someone in your world who connects with you on a deeper, more physiological level. Your friends are great, but knowing that you’ve found someone who you’d want to spend the rest of your life with is a feeling like no other. Oseman does a fantastic job of capturing this goofy, sincere joy of awkward teens experiencing that emotion for the first time. With that said, even those expecting that jolt-of-life kiss that ends things are likely to feel something deep inside just because of how genuine the writing feels.
By the end, the world was still awful, and yet here was something that made me believe in the world. From a story perspective, it made me believe that there were 16-year-olds who read this and felt validation. There was recognition that their emotions weren’t silly for being gay or bisexual. If “Heartstopper” could be sold in retail stores, then the future of queer media stands to be more accessible, even in the face of some terrible legislation and all-around bigotry. Sure sometimes you get Billy Eichner complaining about Bros (2022) failing, but the fact that there’s diverse options for media makes me optimistic for the future. I don’t believe studio cinema is necessarily doing anything that interesting, but having LGBTQIA+ creators at least in control of their stories is a start. I imagine that by the time that the 16-year-olds reading “Heartstopper” grows up they’ll have an easier time pitching and getting their work seen outside of underground markets.
It's the amazement of turning on the news to find Billy Porter giving his Hollywood Walk of Fame speech and talking about how proud he was to be a “queer elder” without mincing words. It’s in Elliot Page discussing their transition on The Umbrella Academy in such raw and honest language. There’s something thrilling about watching The Tony Awards and finding non-binary and agender nominees in the mix. To go further, A Strange Loop is a breathtaking achievement that I can’t wait to see on tour. Watching The Seattle Storm’s Sue Bird give a farewell speech where she was cheered on while talking about her experience at a lesbian bar is astounding. I love non-binary filmmaker Jane Schoenbrun’s We’re All Going to the World’s Fair (2022) and how it captures life on the internet. As I mentioned here, I am a big fan of Ethel Cain’s “Preacher’s Daughter,” who I swear I didn’t know was trans until several months later. To go on a much smaller scale, I am grateful for Jessie Earl (Jessie Gender) and her YouTube reporting on trans-related matters that have made this year a tad better.
I choose to mention these names alongside “Heartstopper” not necessarily because they’re similar but because there has been something comforting about not feeling alone. I think when you’re discovering yourself, it’s easy to feel like your experiences are unlike anyone else’s. When you go on social media and hear about things like Club Q’s shooting, it’s easy to feel like nobody is out there able to express themselves in a meaningful light. “Heartstopper” is a reminder that love is out there for all of us and that it will be super awkward at first. Still, we want to aspire for that comfort, that feeling of connection and it’s what I responded to in the middle of those pages. I still haven’t read Oseman’s aro-ace magnum opus “Loveless,” but I promise the day is quickly approaching.
While I don’t believe that I am interested in the “conventional” queer narrative, there is something about discovering art that feels like it’s trying to say something more meaningful and honest. I think in some ways, it made me a cliché to watch Crush (2022) and feel like it was a fantasia of how I’d wish life was, where things played out in the most boring, predictable, but ultimately charming way. There was comfort in Something Somewhere showing a queer community living in the midwest past their 40s. There were other shows like Heartbreak High and High School that took more interesting angles on the premise and even old hats like Euphoria and Riverdale kept the spirit alive. The fact that this year featured lesbian Cheryl Blossom able to save the world from a meteor with her witchcraft while singing a chummy song means that we’re moving in the right direction.
With all that said, I still think that the world is getting worse. I pray that someone somewhere breaks this trend because it does feel like a cynical trend. If we get to the end of next year and find the escalation of “Don’t Say Gay” reach some nihilistic new level, then certain things will be clear. At least those with power will seek to undo years of progress. Sure, there’s been some compassionate cooperation from The Joe Biden Administration, but it’s not until everyone just accepts gay people as humans that things can begin to change for the better. I am thankful to everyone who has made my tough days easier, and that the rainbow flag has come to bring more comfort than the old stars and stripes. I want to believe I will see the joy in “Heartstopper” projected into the world, and it’s probably there (it got a renewal after all). What I hope is that everyone else notices it before it’s too late to make the future a brighter, friendlier place.
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