The percieved deviancy of onscreen queerness
A conversation occurred this week regarding Pretty Dudes that was triggering in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
A particular actor was circling a role in the upcoming season and communicated that they loved the role and the scripts and would accept the part. Their manager, however, took one look at the series and said it could be "perceived as porn" and advised the actor against taking it, so they withdrew a few hours after signing on. Without going into more detail about that situation or how poorly it was handled on their end, I will express that executives and managers and "teams" always respond puritanically when the content is queer-focused. Most of prestige television is full of swinging dicks and gore (look at the content from the most recent Emmy- and Oscar-winning projects for a comparison of bias and start with Poor Things), but queerness is so quickly equated to deviancy. I'd be a great porn director. I'm not a porn director. And for an actor to have read all of the scripts and understand the messages and intention behind the show and then lose all backbone with a manager's ignorant comment... Just what the fuck, man.
I’m fully aware of the bias against queer content (be homophobic with your chest!), especially independently made queer content. What makes certain, shall we say industry responses sting so much is that I’ve already proven what I’m capable of. I’ve already shown my skills and my growth and the types of stories I can craft. Nineteen episodes over seven months on a shoestring budget. Three short films, a music video, and a few accolades for Xavier Avila, Gerardo Maravilla, the full show, and myself, including one award that’s sitting on my bookshelf next to the broken iPhone that I wrote all of season one on.
Artists from minoritized spaces, identities, and backgrounds are consistently trying to tell stories that represent them and other underserved audiences. I’m tired of trying to prove to teams and executives and out of touch money-chasers that my work—my identity—has value. If you don’t see it, move out the way. Those are the same people who support and uplift homogenous cishet white male-centered stories, make allowances for even the least of them, while easily dismissing or degrading the rest. This is why I’m over asking for a seat at the table. That house is funky anyway. I don’t even want to stand on the porch.
I’ve tried to walk away from this industry many times, because of this type of bullshit. It is painful to invest so much of my time and emotional/financial currency into a project that gets shit on by people who would never watch it anyway. I don’t make it for them. I make it for people like me, who want to laugh and feel challenged and feel seen and find new paths of empathy and understanding. And if you want a little skin, we got that too and there’s nothing wrong with that. Let them eat ass. Just because they’re queer bodies doesn’t mean the camera needs to pan to the window and fade to darkness.
There’s a powerful quote from Dr. Ibrahim Abdurrahman Farajajé, writing as Elias Farajajé-Jones in the the anthology, Male Lust: Pleasure, Power and Transformation. Emphasis mine.
So much has told us that we are evil because we do not have sex for the sole purpose of reproduction; so much has told us that we are incarnations of evil because we like sex. As Black queer male bodies, we struggle against the image of us as too libidinal, too lust driven, too sexually criminal, and this struggle has given us other ways of viewing sex and bodies. We know that our Black bodies have always blurred the public/private split, have always blurred the boundaries of personal/political. When your body is on the line, you know that you are transgressing the public/private split by your very existence. When you can be arrested because of the color of your skin, you know that your body is political. When the dominating culture expends incredible amounts of time, money, and energy controlling and policing our bodies and the ways we decide to use them, then it is clear that our bodies are political. And that brings up back to the primacy of the body, the centrality of sex in our life experiences.
Even though our show uses various bodies, Black and otherwise, queer and otherwise, the message is still the same since Pretty Dudes is non-white and queer-centered. We’re told, explicitly or otherwise, to tone down the parts of us that are furthest from straight whiteness. I’ve talked about it before but a producer wanted me to make season one’s Zario white. Season one was often called “too Asian” and, hilariously, both “too gay” and “too straight.” These dangling carrots are simply gatekeeping tools. We chase the homogeny and are still dismissed. Fuck that now and forever.
Clearly I was not going to feel okay until I expressed this, and loudly. There are authentic reasons to not want to work on a show just like there are authentic reasons to not want to watch one. And not everyone is going to feel passionate or comfortable with the same things. But bullshit is bullshit and sometimes it needs airing out.
Thank you to everyone who has supported our show, lifted us up, shared us with your friend group, wrote articles and recorded TikTok videos about us. Thank you for the kind, heart-warming messages many of you have sent me and the cast members about what Pretty Dudes has meant to you. Whenever I find myself wondering why I continue to put myself through this ringer, the answer is you. I hold so many of your comments close to my heart, and it’s hilarious many or you confess that you initially only clicked for the hot men, but stuck around because you fell in love with the characters. I know what the algorithm does. Why do you think I chose this title? 💅🏾
Much love to all of you. See you in The 626.
