Sunny Moraine said it best: “Don’t you dare claim that you’re doing something progressive on behalf of populations to which you don’t belong. Claiming that gay romance written by straight women is somehow “LGBTQ representation,” only makes things worse. My criticism of straight women co-opting gay bodies for their own pleasure is based on the belief that no person can ethically use other people, especially marginalized people, to benefit themselves. God knows I’ve done plenty of politically incorrect things, in and out of the bedroom. Now, far be it from me to pass judgment on someone else’s masturbation fantasies. Gay men, the stars of these romances, aren’t the intended audience. So where does that leave gay men? Again, supporting straight women’s desires. That’s right: gay men, the stars of these romances, aren’t the intended audience. She’s merely repeating the age-old trope of straight people controlling queer bodies, and she’s doing it to make money and titillate the audience of straight women who buy her books. When a straight woman decides to “redeem” the gay narrative by making her main characters mainstream-hot, cisgendered, able-bodied guys, and “gives them” a happy ending, she is not making progress. The we is queer people: those of us who traditionally occupy the supporting roles in straight stories. The first time I read a novel like this, from its sex scenes to its deep, emotional dialog, all I could think was, Is this what we are to you? The characters, who are labeled as gay, are only fantasies - -straight women’s fantasies, shared with an audience of straight women. She shoves the rubber faces together and smudges them against one another: Now kiss. The author handles her gay characters like dolls, using them to act out her desires. She censors his sexuality by filtering it through a heterosexual lens. In this dynamic, which I see enacted in gay romance novels, the truth of the man’s queerness is erased, because the character is gay only in the ways the straight woman author can imagine.
His identity is not defined by him, but by how well he props up her ego. He’s expected to be her personal shopper, fashion advisor, shoulder to cry on, sex therapist. A gay best friend is shown as the perfect accessory for any hip straight woman. “It’s just us girls,” they croon to each other, holding hands at the nail salon. Everywhere, the media gives us the gay-best-friend dynamic: straight women treating cis gay men like pets. The trope of the tame gay man is a favorite in straight culture. How could straight women feel that they have the authority to write gay romance? Because they’ve been told so by a culture that has long treated gay men as a neutered, fetishized object of curiosity.
I may not be a gay man, but I know appropriation when I see it. The first time I noticed this, I flipped the book over in my hands, back and forth, looking at the ultra-gay cover art, and then the author’s photo on the back. Straight, white women who, in their “about the author” sections, talked about their husbands, children, cats, chickens, and love of artisanal cured meats. The vast majority of gay romances are written by women. I was surprised to find that some LGBTQ-focused stories were reflecting not me, but a straight person’s imagination of me. But I was surprised to find that some LGBTQ-focused stories were reflecting not me, but a straight person’s imagination of me. As a queer, trans reader, I looked forward to seeing myself in their pages. But outside the industry, these distinctions are elided, and most people think of all male-male romance novels as “gay.”) I was excited to see more indie presses focusing on LGBTQ stories and choosing romances that were complex, interesting, and dealt with issues like domestic violence or adoption. (Technically what I’m talking about is called “male/male romance” “gay romance” is written by gay men for gay men, may not focus on a romantic relationship, and doesn’t guarantee a happily-ever-after. When I started working as a book reviewer in 2009, gay romance was exploding as a popular romance genre. In gay romance novels, it’s both, and straight women writers are responsible. So often, though, for queer people, the options are either super whitewashed or rooted in hurtful stereotypes.
Seeing yourself, whether it’s on the screen or on the page, is a powerful experience. Sign up for our newsletter to get submission announcements and stay on top of our best work.