【by Jacob Kaplan】
Hey Girlies!
I’m deeply honored to have been awarded the title of your Gay Best Friend. I’d like to
thank RuPaul Charles, Harvey Milk, Antoni from Queer Eye, and so many other gay icons.
Without their incredible trailblazing efforts, I wouldn’t be standing here today: a young, geeky,
queer man, dumbstruck in the middle of the Trinity College cafeteria. The best part about this
label is that no work is required at all! For once in my life, simply being my fruity self got me
something. For that, all I can say is thank you.
I’m not sure if I’m the first person you’ve called your GBF, but I’m positive that I
won’t be the last. I’ve seen the way that you talk about queer people, whether that’s other
students at school or celebrities in movies and magazines. I have witnessed firsthand your oddly
intense crushes on the gay actors we watch together on TV. I’m sorry sweetie, but in case you
haven’t figured it out yet, Jonathan Bennett1 can’t like you back! I’ve heard how “slay queen”
and “werkkkkkk” roll off your tongue, although that’s a bit of a generous description for the
stilted, slightly-too-loud way you say them. Who knew you were such an expert in the queer
lexicon?
When you called me your GBF, I was unsurprised, to say the least. After years of small
comments and microaggressions, this felt like a natural progression of things. Ever since I came
out to you, and you responded with “Yeah. I mean, obviously,” you have sought to take
advantage of my sexuality at the expense of the rest of my identity. I became the gay friend,
rather than just another friend.
I’m sure you mean well when you tell me I’m “looking snatched today.” Or when you try
to set me up with every gay man within a 25-mile radius (not that that’s the largest pool in the
first place). Plot twist! We don’t all like each other! I guess in your mind, this is how you’re a
good #ally? It clearly doesn’t require much work on your part.
But regardless of your intent, all that these words and actions do is fetishize and
dehumanize me. Defining me as your GBF erases every other aspect of my identity as an
individual. I would never deny that I’m gay (okay, ignore the first fourteen years of my life), but
I do take issue with the premise that it is my entire personality. I’m a son and a friend. I’m a
talented baker (if I do say so myself), a hardworking student, and a mediocre piano player. I am
funny (I think?), stubborn, and incredibly socially awkward sometimes.
I am constantly fighting against the boxes society attempts to put me in. Does my voice
sound too gay? What am I allowed to wear? (I guess my outfit and speech were ‘gay enough’ for
you to have guessed my sexuality). The list goes on and on. When you use exoticizing,
demeaning language like this, you’re constructing a cage around me—making the closet seem
not so bad after all.
I’m sure that treating me as an accessory is fun. You probably think I’m the perfect thing
to complement those questionable skinny jeans you always insist on wearing. But I have more
value than a new pair of platform Converse or one of those last-season purses you love so much.
I am a human being, but you’re acting like I’m your lap dog. I refuse to be the Brutus to your
Elle Woods (if anything, I’m Reese Witherspoon and you’re Jennifer Coolidge, obviously).
Your speech and behavior are clearly in conflict. You claim to be a #ally, but you
objectify all of the queer people that you know. You love to watch RuPaul’s Drag Race,
Heartstopper, and Queer Eye, and you’re “obsessed with voguing,” yet you fail to demonstrate
any tangible acts of support for the LGBTQ+ community. Putting a rainbow filter on your
Instagram profile photo is not enough. Simply having a gay friend is not enough. You cannot
continue to appropriate queer culture—particularly culture created by queer women and people
of color—while failing to advocate for that same community at a time when your voice is
desperately needed. You can’t pick and choose when to support people like me.
In case you’ve been living under a rock (who am I kidding? We both know how
chronically online you are) we are experiencing a wave of legislation in the United States
targeting LGBTQ+ people, especially drag performers and transgender youth. In the first two
weeks of 2023, over 100 bills targeting queer people were introduced in state legislatures
nationwide. More than half of these bills attack trans children specifically. Republican
lawmakers are working harder than ever to take away the rights of transgender youth to utilize
the bathroom that corresponds with their gender, play on the athletic teams they want to, or
access the gender-affirming care they need to survive. Kentucky just passed a bigoted law
banning all affirming care for transgender minors. Terrifyingly, legal experts believe that in
2024, if the GOP gains control of the federal government, legislators could pass a national ban
on healthcare for transgender individuals. These policies have fatal consequences. A majority of
transgender and non-binary youth will consider suicide in any given year, and those rates will
only become more drastic when gender-affirming healthcare is unavailable/inaccessible.
Where have you been as our queer brothers and sisters are under attack? Where have you
been when Black transgender women are murdered every year? Where were you when Florida
passed the “Don’t Say Gay”2 bill? You couldn’t even be bothered to post one of your shallow
Instagram infographics. Does my existence as a gay man only matter when it’s convenient for
you? Your silence on these issues is deafening and completely negates any empty claims of
#allyship you may make.
I am overjoyed that you want to be an #ally. To use your words: “Oh my gosh, slay
queen!” But I, and LGBTQ+ people everywhere, need you to do more. As a cisgender,
heterosexual—not to mention white and upper-middle class person—you have an incredible
amount of privilege on this issue, just as I have privilege on issues of race and gender as a white
man. Gasp! Yes, I did just call you privileged. We owe it to each other to use our privilege to
support marginalized communities. I’m not asking you to hide the fact that you’re cisgender or
straight (that would be ironic, wouldn’t it?!), I’m simply asking you to use those identities for
positive change.
There is so much that you can do to fight for queer people in this country. You can
donate to crucial causes like the Trevor Project. If you’re feeling adventurous, you can even
volunteer there with me! You can go to protests on behalf of queer people. Call your politicians,
write letters to prospective voters, and sashay your way to the polls. Just do something. I’m not
going to sit here and detail an extensive guide on how to be a #ally, although I’m sure you would
love that. It’s not my job to teach you. If you truly care about me (which I believe you do), you
will figure this out.
Perhaps most importantly, if you’re in a situation where someone is being homophobic to
any of your gay friends, stand up for us. Use your power to create a safe environment for queer
people. Call out others when they make fun of the way we dress, the way we talk, or the way we
walk. Yes, you heard correctly, someone once told me I walked too gay, whatever that means (I
know what it means, I shimmy my hips when I walk).
On behalf of queer people everywhere, we are not your toys. We are not your pets or
your accessories. We are human beings, just like you. We are complex, with a million different
intersecting identities. Our sexuality is just one important component of our character. But it is
not all of who we are, just as your gender or class alone is not the entirety of your humanity.
Why are you trying to limit us to our queerness?
I know this letter may be difficult for you to read, but I’m writing these words with love,
and with a cautious hope for change. I value our friendship too much to stay silent any longer.
Selfishly, I know that to secure true equality for myself and all other LGBTQ+ Americans, we
will need the support of allies like you. Real allies.
With Love,
Your Gay Best Friend