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Resting on Pretty: How Digital Media and Aesthetic Values Killed the ‘Gay Icon’

Resting on Pretty: How Digital Media and Aesthetic Values Killed the 'Gay Icon'

The term “gay icon” has taken on multiple meanings in the
last decade or so. With an increase in queer visibility, “gay icon” has become
any cultural figure (from sports, music, film, television, etc) who champions
equal rights for the LGBTQ community. Yet in a more culturally specific connotation,
a “gay icon” is any female entertainer who has been appropriated by the gay
community. Such figures as Judy Garland, Barbra Streisand, Diana Ross, Liza
Minnelli, Cher, Cyndi Lauper, and Madonna have become gay icons not solely
because of their liberal politics, but because of their personas as well. They
are talented and fiercely independent women who challenge the aesthetic norms
of beauty and overcome adversity in their personal/professional lives. However,
these younger queer generations seem to be lacking their own gay icons. The
influx of new pop singers, actresses, and TV stars provide a stable of great
and talented female entertainers, but none stand out as a figure whose persona
rivals that of any of the aforementioned women. This lack of gay icons is a
result of the means by which younger generations are consuming popular culture.

With any iconography, there is an
element of fetishization at practice (as misogynistic as that sounds). Our
culture is dominated by fetishistic practices, whether it is skimming through
porn for the “money shots,” or rewatching a 12 second clip of a funny segment
from Family Guy. Older LGBTQ generations endured the stigmatization of their
sexuality, which is why they looked for more subtextual (aka campy) readings of
popular culture. When they didn’t see positive images of themselves reflected
on the screen, they either identified/found pleasure in the queer characters (even
if their representations were fraught with problems), or they clung onto campy actors,
actresses, singers, entertainers, etc. This is not to say that LGBTQ youths are
incapable of fetishizing gay icons, but their fetishization comes prepackaged.

With information being at our
fingertips, our attention is divided amongst a multitude of digital platforms.
We have the power to control how we view/listen to media, which is why our
relationship to these icons and queer figures is only tangential or second
hand. We can skim through a film on Netflix and look up the synopsis on
Wikipedia as opposed to sitting in a theater (where a film cannot be rewound of
fast-forwarded). We can pick and choose which songs we want to buy on iTunes as
opposed to purchasing an entire album on vinyl/cassette (which cannot be
shuffled). Our relationship to gay and queer icons is no longer intimate, but
fragmented. We are no longer creating a gay icon out of the full embodiment of
an entertainer, but we are actively breaking the persona into aesthetic parts
and pieces.

Many friends have tried to argue
with me that this generation has gay icons like Nicki Minaj, Katy Perry, and
Lady Gaga. The problem with these queer figures is that they are cultural
billboards (they routinely change their looks, but their public personas are
paper-thin). My issue with Lady Gaga (whom I adored when she first caught the
public’s eye, but who has since became another exercise in post-modern excess) is
that she is all look and no depth. For instance, in the “Snatch Game” segment
of RuPaul’s Drag Race in which Drag Queens impersonate celebrities, two contestants
(Sonique and Phi Phi O’Hara) were criticized for their inability to make Lady
Gaga anything other than a mannequin for crazy outfits. The truth of the matter,
as RuPaul and Michelle Visage would argue, is that in spite of Lady Gaga’s
talent (I will admit that she knows how to sing), her public persona is not a
three-dimensional character. Lady Gaga, like many pop singers, has yet to
transcend her aesthetic. Once the shock of her outfits and set pieces wears
off, she will fade into obscurity (as evidenced by the plummeting sales of “Art
Pop”). She does not have the longevity of Madonna, Cher, or Barbra Streisand,
and her 15 minutes of fame have been stretched as far as they can go.

It is a pity that there are not
more contemporary gay icons with cultural longevity, but in an age of
postmodern consumption (as I openly criticized in my comparison of Ryan
The Normal Heart to Norman
Longtime Companion),
postmodern pastiche is the new vogue. We don’t need to adore these gay icons of
the past because we have their aesthetic heirs. These younger queer generations
are taking these postmodern figures and texts at face value and ignoring that
they are born from a history of queer predecessors. This generation is
worshipping false idols who claim to be the “real thing,” but who are also
recycled at a moments notice.  I myself
will keep praying to the Church of Tilda Swinton and hope that her mystical
queer power can give her the longevity and “gay icon” status that she so
rightfully deserves.

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