
As human beings, we tend to make a lot of assumptions based off of our first impressions. When we first meet someone, we are innately tempted to categorize them in some way, to place them in a single box that makes sense to us. However, a person’s identity is more than one, straightforward category; rather, a single identity is composed of many different varying and intersecting identities of sex/gender, race/ethnicity, class, sexuality and many other aspects that reflect personality, upbringing, and surroundings.
When someone first sees me, they perceive that I am a cisgendered, white, twenty-something woman. Although all of these things are true, there are many other less obvious facets of my identity. They will not immediately see that I am middle class, that I am American (please ignore the crumbs of Cool Ranch Doritos on my face), or that I am not differently-abled. Most significantly to me, they will almost never perceive that I am gay.
Although this is usually one of the last parts of my identity to be revealed to new acquaintances, my queerness is–to me–one of the most important parts of my identity. I think it is because I have not had an easy journey of acceptance when it comes to my queerness; I struggled with internalized homophobia for a long time and found it challenging to come out to my family. I have never exactly read as queer. I am actually rather “straight passing,” so when people do not easily recognize this part of my identity, it feels like an act of erasure. Because of the complicated and trying emotional journey that I have had to complete, I now feel extremely proud to be gay. I have a deep love of television, which often conflicts with my identity as a queer woman. Although the media landscape is rapidly improving in terms of representation of diverse sexual orientations, there is still a lot of room to grow. As a teenager, I remember searching for representations of myself on my favorite shows and coming up with almost nothing. When I did magically stumble upon a queer female character, she was often over-sexualized or trivialized, her orientation turned into a joke. Almost without fail, this character would be killed off within the next few episodes. Later when I was conducting research in college, I realized that this occurrence was significant enough to have earned a name: the “Bury Your Gays” trope. A popular website for LGBTQIA+ women even compiled a list of gay ladies who perished before their time. These characters’ deaths were always played for drama and high ratings, but to a scared, closeted young women, it almost felt like they were being punished for something. I needed multidimensional queer characters who could give me confidence, but instead I got stereotypes who died too soon and only left me more afraid.

Over time, this has changed. Due to public outcry over the Bury Your Gays trope, more queer women are coming onto the screen and staying there. Teens now have Riverdale’s unapologetic Cheryl Blossom, Everything Suck’s nerdy Kate Messner, and The Bold Type’s outspoken Kat Edison. Although there are many more queer women on TV today, representation is still extremely limited. A majority of queer female TV characters are white, cisgender young adults and twenty-somethings. There are very few representations of queer women of color (like One Day at a Time’s Elena), masculine-of-center queer women (Vida’s Eddie), or older queer women (Tig Notaro in One Mississippi). I am lucky; I can now see my own queer identity reflected on the TV screen. However, I am wary for my fellow members of the LGBTQIA+ community who are not afforded the same privilege.



