First up in our editorial collaboration with Versus, Jake ‘Snake’ Denton reflects on the lasting impact of homophobic chants, football heteronormativity and his “love affair” with the sport.

WORDS BY SNAKE DENTON
IN COLLABORATION WITH VERSUS
HEADER DESIGN BY JACK ROWE

TW – Mentions of suicide and depression.

“Dad, what’s a rent boy?” It was a question that my father probably didn’t know how to answer. Not that he had strong opinions about young male prostitutes, one way or another. There were just some things you’d rather not explain to your eight-year-old son (especially when you’re 1-0 down against Southampton). 

“Dad,” I asked again. “Did you hear me?” It was 2004. My first year as a ‘real’ Chelsea fan, who was allowed to stay up past his bedtime to watch the Champions League, wear his replica shirt to bed, and name the family goldfish, ‘Zola’.

Stamford Bridge seemed like the most exciting place in the world. In the first weeks of the season, I’d seen grown men hug and kiss, been twirled around in the air by complete strangers, and learned naughty new words and phrases like “wanker” and “fucking-bald-tosspot-REF”. But I’d never heard the words “rent boy” before. 

The chant started a couple of moments after Southampton’s forward volleyed the ball into the roof of our net; first as a smattering of jeers from the away end, then as a wall of noise – like the roar of a crashing tidal wave. “Chelsea-rent-boys! Chelsea-rent-boys!” 

I didn’t know what the chant meant, but even then, I could tell it had a strange power because the sixteen-stone bloke, who sat in front of us, was looking at the floor and grinning. The chant was an accusation, and it was directed at us. “Chelsea-rent-boys! Chelsea-rent-boys!” 

Over the years, hearing that song became as normal as getting a burger with fried onions, or watching John Terry clatter a striker on the edge of the box. 

My dad eventually explained the chant’s alleged meaning and origin. Depending on who you ask, the song originates from a tabloid story about a Chelsea hooligan who was caught in bed with another man, or, from the area’s reputation as a gay hotspot in the 1960s and 70s. 

His explanation still didn’t make much sense to me. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be gay, and I definitely didn’t want to be a gay prostitute (in case these things were ever used against me by a chorus of sweary men).

Now, let me shock you: I didn’t come out until later in life. Like a lot of queer people, I had to confront a lot of difficult feelings and internalised homophobia before I felt ready. I’m glad to say that, these days, I’m more comfortable with my sexual identity, but it took a lot of time – and a lot of therapy – to get to where I am now. 

When I think back to my early years – going to The Bridge on a Saturday and playing for my local club on a Sunday – I can’t help but wonder if my love affair with football, and particularly my love affair with Chelsea FC, drove me deeper into the closet. Maybe things would have been easier if I fell in love with tennis or golf, or if my dad had taken me to one of those tinpot football clubs in North London. Maybe then, I wouldn’t have waited as long to start being myself. 

Growing up, I was never one of those kids who always knew they were different. I didn’t like to think of myself as different. After all, I loved football, and what could be more “normal” for an 8-year-old boy than that? For me, it was more than just my favourite sport. It was a way of blending in, avoiding the bully boys, and being accepted (in the eyes of the lads brigade, if you’re decent with the ball at your feet, then you’re alright). 

So, thanks to my left peg, I was able to pass as straight which is a privilege that not all queer kids have, but it does come with its own set of complications. Football was a brilliant disguise, and by the time I reached adolescence, I had started to fool myself.

As a teenager, I perfected my performance as a straight, ahem, football lad: I started hitting the gym; I got my haircut like David Beckham; I even put up a racy poster of Cara Delevingne above my bed. In hindsight, these were three of the gayest things I possibly could have done. Most damaging of all, I dated girls obsessively. Jumping from one dysfunctional relationship to the next, never really grasping (or not wanting to grasp) why I found the sex so confusing and unfulfilling. 

I feel sad that I put myself through that for so long and that I didn’t have the courage or self-knowledge to be myself. But I was only doing what I thought “someone like me” was supposed to be doing. After all, beers and boobs were all anyone talked about in the dressing room. And it probably didn’t help that I was going to watch Chelsea, of all clubs, on the weekend.

In case you don’t know much about the fan cultures of different Premier League teams, my Blues have a chequered past. The National Front used to recruit outside of our stadium in the 70s and 80s, and despite the best efforts of the club hierarchy, our match-going fans still aren’t exactly known for their tolerance and acceptance.  Just last season, Stuart Mathews, the chair of Brighton’s LGBTQ+ fan group Proud Seagulls told The Independent Newspaper that the homophobic abuse he received in the fixture versus Chelsea was “the worst I’ve heard from any club”.

You might wonder: why would any straight-thinking gay boy want to support a club like that? Following a football team is a bit like joining the Mafia – once you’re in, you’re in for life. I should also say that, thankfully, I’ve never been the target of any homophobic abuse at Stamford Bridge (again, straight-passing), but that’s not to say that I don’t hear the same offensive crap at every match. 

Let me tell you some of my favourite micro-aggressions that I hear at football grounds. If a player has the temerity to wear gloves in the winter that makes him a “fanny” or “fairy”, and if (God forbid) one of the strikers does a fun little dance after scoring a goal he should “stop mincing about!!”. 

And yes, whenever I go to Chelsea, I still hear the ‘rent-boy’ chant. Sometimes it feels like the away end have been hired to do a private rendition, and are pointing and singing, specifically at me. But then I remember I’m just one boy in a sea of thousands and thousands of blue shirts. 

Some fans tell me they’re surprised that there’s not a single ‘out’ footballer in the Premier League in 2024, but I’m not surprised at all. Men’s football is a hostile and unsafe environment – not just for LGBTQIA+ people – but for anyone who doesn’t conform to a prescribed set of gender norms.

You’d have to be exceptionally brave or mad (or both) to stick your head above the parapet – as Justin Fashanu (the UK’s first and only top-flight men’s footballer to declare his homosexuality) did on 22 October 1990. The tragedy of Fashanu’s career after coming out – the tabloid monstering, the abuse from fans, his tumble down the divisions and escape to America – and eventual death by suicide in 1998, casts a long shadow over the men’s game.

I don’t want to end this story on a depressing note. I really do believe in the day when husbands and boyfriends (HABs) become tabloid sensations and England’s captain is a lionhearted twink. That day can’t come soon enough. I know I would have found my own sexuality so much easier to navigate if I had grown up with a queer footballing idol in men’s football.

After all this strife and confusion, you might expect me to say that, since coming out, I’ve turned my back on this stupid, homophobic kicky-ball thing and finally taken up tennis or golf. But just like with Chelsea, I’m in it for life. And the really good news is that I’ve found a community of queer people who are as mad about the beautiful game as I am. 

Next season I’ll be lining up for Stonewall FC, the UK’s top-rated LGBTQIA+ football club. And while I’ll probably never fulfil my childhood dream of playing for Chelsea, maybe, one day soon, I’ll get to see one of the boys in blue come out – something I could never have envisioned as an eight-year-old in the stands with my dad all those years ago. 

You can read Jake’s article on Chelsea FC at Versus here. 

Jake ‘Snake’ Denton is a journalist and presenter working in the worlds of fashion and culture. If he isn’t roaming around the streets of London with a mic in his hand, he’s watching his beloved Chelsea.

The post “I’m in it for life”: How being gay shaped my relationship with Chelsea appeared first on GAY TIMES.

First-time novelist Oisín McKenna discusses his heartfelt vignettes of London, queer love and Millenial life

WORDS BY ZOYA RAZA-SHEIKH
PHOTOGRAPHY BY DAVID EVANS

As I type this, it’s unusually warm in London – a setting that feels apt for Oisín McKenna’s glorious debut novel Evenings and Weekends, a strikingly beautiful portrayal of friendship, queerness, and relationships in the city. Within this captivating Sally Rooney-style novel, the Irish author walks us through the complex, tangled-up lives of four main characters: Maggie, Ed, Callum and Phil, who each harbour secrets, feelings and longing for something greater in this bustling, late-capitalist British urban landscape. 

And while Evenings and Weekends could easily be described as a love letter to the capital, it’s not always a healthy relationship and, instead, feels variously toxic and one-sided. Drawing out striking vignettes of murky orange horizons bending under the heat of summer, McKenna traps you in an immersive description of the city: from the cloying humidity of the commute, to the animated post-office atmosphere, to the black mould spread across the walls of a rented flat. Undercutting the characters’ personal autonomy is the financial burden of living in a city where the cost of living shoehorns and stifles personal freedom and autonomy – whether in work or love. 

GAY TIMES speaks to McKenna about the inspirations behind his characters, what modern-day love means to him and what he learned from writing Evenings and Weekends. 

I thoroughly loved Evenings and Weekends and it got me thinking, if you had to make a playlist to represent this book, which songs and artists would you include?

Thank you! I think of it as quite a trance-inflected soundtrack. DJ Sammy’s ‘Boys of Summer’ is the song that best captures the mood of the book, I think. Or ‘Better Off Alone’ [by Alice Deejay] or ‘For An Angel’ [by Paul van Dyk]. Basically big, euphoric, sad dance tracks that used to get played in teenage discos in the 2000s. Also some contemporary pop by the likes of Sophie or Charli XCX, karaoke classics by Cher and ABBA, and plenty of Lana del Rey. 

Evenings and Weekends is an incredible debut novel. It’s intricate, complicated and reflective of how messy real life and relationships can be. How did you get under the skin of each character and creatively craft their perspective?

It was different for different characters. Some characters, like Maggie and Phil, are similar to me and my friends in lots of obvious ways, and their perspectives and opinions are similar to mine. Other characters, like Ed or Rosaleen, outwardly have very different lives from mine. With those characters, I started by finding points of commonalities between our perspectives and working from there. Rosaleen, for example, is an Irish migrant, is quite shy and ill at ease in her body, and in those ways, is like me, which was helpful for getting into her mind.

Your book examines the consequences and outcomes of love, lust and romance in London. We hear a lot about relationships that emerge out of nowhere, some on apps, others IRL and by accident. What are your feelings about the state of modern love? 

I’m not sure. I’m in a very lovely relationship, and I have friends and family who I love, and I’m lucky that my life is not short of love. It’s not that this isn’t fraught or complicated, but the complications of the love in my life don’t feel strictly related to its modernity.

Dating apps, and social media more generally, have often had a pretty disastrous impact on my happiness and peace of mind, and I try to limit my use of them. Many people obviously have a difficult, tedious, tiring time trying to find love or sex or romance or companionship through apps, but lack the resources or broader social context to meet potential partners in person, which I know can create a painful impasse for those who really desire the sense of security that can come with having a partner, particularly if they feel precarious in many aspects of their life. 

There’s a beauty in how you portray the business and eccentricity of urban life in London — it’s buzzing, sweltering in stuffy heat and can go any which way. What did you enjoy most about writing and portraying these vignettes of the city? 

These are some of my favourite passages. They’re intended to be propulsive, and led by rhythm, and capturing the way the rhythms of a person’s internal emotional life interact with the rhythms of the city was very pleasing to me. 

What are the queer hotspots you gravitate to in London?

I’ve got pretty varied tastes. Sometimes I go to the gay part of Walthamstow Marshes, sometimes I go to Adonis, I like 2CPerrea. I love Central Station, the gay bar near King’s Cross station. It’s quite old school and has really fun karaoke every Friday and Saturday. There are some bars I love which definitely aren’t queer bars but which queers often end up at. Lots of nice queers live around Haringey and South Tottenham and hang out in pubs around there – Mannion’s in Seven Sisters, The Langham Club on Green Lanes, KK McCool’s on West Green Road. 

You choose to set Evenings and Weekends in the blistering heat of London. Having grown up in Drogheda, Ireland, did you bring in any inspiration from your home town?

There are things in the book loosely inspired by my upbringing there. Lots of the book is about moving from small places to big places, also about the psychological damage caused by growing up queer in homophobic contexts – certainly, a lot of that stuff was inspired by my upbringing. 

A lot of this book is about seeing one another — in our pain, heartbreak and complexities — what advice would you share for those navigating their own layered Evenings and Weekends–style lives? 

Probably to be generous, gracious, and open-minded in how you think about others, and how you think about yourself. 

There’s a thoughtful moment where Ed ruminates on the best day of his life. What’s yours?

There’s no one day that straightforwardly stands out as the best one because of any big, remarkable event. Most of my happiest days were probably days on which nothing particularly remarkable happened, which may have even passed in a sort of forgettable way. 

Lastly, what did writing Evenings and Weekends teach you? 

It took a long time to write, and for most of that process, I felt quite certain that it was never going to work. There were glimmers of promise, but it needed so much work and felt completely insurmountable. Every project feels like that at a certain point. The lesson I try to take from writing Evenings and Weekends is to stay calm in those moments of disillusionment and remind myself that I’ve been here before. 

Evenings and Weekends by Oisín McKenna is published by 4th Estate and is available now.

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Language is, understandably, pertinent to the queer experience — words affect how we present ourselves and perceive others. Here, two writers go head-to-head to debate the term. 

WORDS BY NICK LEVINE AND JORDAN PAGE
HEADER DESIGN BY YOSEF PHELAN

In another week of LGBTQIA+ on-goings, the internet has, yet again, struck up a fresh new debate. Following the appointment of Gabriel Attal, France’s youngest-ever PM, a conversation has opened up online about the phrase “openly gay”. 

We’re never short of online discourse but this conversation seems to have something to it. Language is, understandably, pertinent to the queer experience — words affect how we present ourselves and perceive others. For many of us, the commonly used binary of being either out or closeted is not reflective of our reality. Our choice of language is vital for how we choose to convey our identity, whether in public or private. For some, as Andrew Scott recently criticised, we would never use the term “openly gay” in a conversation. However, others have argued the term could be a helpful distinction as not everyone has the luxury of just being out: what if you’re comfortable being out with your friends but not in your workplace?

So, where do you stand on the phrase? Two writers go head to head to debate the term. 

AGAINST [NICK LEVINE] 

New year, same old reductive coverage of queerness in the mainstream media. When Gabriel Attal was announced as the new Prime Minister of France this week, publications including the New York Times, CNN and the BBC called him the first “openly gay” person to hold the position. While these outlets were right to draw attention to the historic nature of Attal’s appointment – he is only the ninth out LGBTQ+ person globally to serve as a head of state or government – their choice of language was bitterly disappointing. To label someone “openly gay” in 2024 isn’t just anachronistic; it also carries the stale whiff of stigma.

Irish actor Andrew Scott made this point strikingly during a recent roundtable hosted by The Hollywood Reporter. “I’m going to make a pitch for getting rid of the expression ‘openly gay’,” he told a panel of actors that included Robert Downey Jr., Mark Ruffalo and Colman Domingo – the latter, like Scott, is an out gay man, “It’s an expression that we only ever hear in the media,” Scott continued. “You are never at a party and say: ‘This is my openly gay friend.’ You never say it. Why do we put ‘openly’ in front of that adjective? You don’t say you’re openly Irish, you don’t say you’re openly left-handed.” 

“You are never at a party and say: ‘This is my openly gay friend.’ You never say it. Why do we put ‘openly’ in front of that adjective?” 

Scott then went further, pointing out that “openly gay” comes loaded with a subtle sense of judgement. “There’s something in it that’s a little near ‘shamelessly’. You’re open about it? I’d nearly prefer shamelessly,” he said. Scott is absolutely right: the phrase “openly gay” is a sad hangover from a time when discussions of queerness in the media tended to be tacitly or even overtly disapproving. “Openly gay” feels a little like a rebuke from a homophobic relative: “We know you’re gay, but do you have to keep rubbing it in our faces?” 

Generally, progress has been made since the early noughties, when it wasn’t uncommon to read about people in the public eye “admitting” to being LGBTQIA+. Back then, some British tabloid newspapers viewed closeted pop stars as scoop material. Shortly after he won the talent show Pop Idol in 2002, Will Young learned that a tabloid was planning to “out” him, at 23, as gay. Recalling the difficult decision he had to make at the time, Young said in 2022: “Homophobia was still happening to me in public. It was a real patriarchal system run by straight white guys, so it was rife in the media, in the music industry.”

Thankfully, tabloid “outing” is now seen as completely unacceptable. In 2022, the Sydney Morning Herald was criticised when it emerged that Rebel Wilson had gone public about her relationship with Ramona Agruma because a columnist was planning to write about it. Outlets have become careful about the language they use to describe coming out – we don’t expect to read about someone “revealing” or “confirming” that they’re a member of the LGBTQIA+ community. Instead, coming out stories tend to be framed as someone “sharing” or “telling fans” about their gender and/or sexuality.

Hopefully one day it won’t be considered “news” when someone with a public-facing job speaks about being LGBTQ+. As writer Damian Barr pointed out this week on X, formerly Twitter, “the phrase ‘openly gay’ wouldn‘t be necessary if we didn’t live in a world where everyone was assumed to be straight”. But until then, our choice of language matters. At best, “openly gay” implies an act of bravery: it suggests that coming out is a risk someone has weighed up and deemed to be worth taking. 

Our choice of language matters. At best, “openly gay” implies an act of bravery: it suggests that coming out is a risk someone has weighed up and deemed to be worth taking. 

Sadly, in many parts of the world, coming out really is a risk – not just to a person’s public image, but also to their personal safety. But this doesn’t mean “openly gay” should be attached to Gabriel Attal, a successful politician in a relatively liberal Western country. According to a 2023 poll, 84% of people in France agree with the statement: “There is nothing wrong in a sexual relationship between two persons of the same sex.”

In most cases, simply describing someone as “gay” or “LGBTQ+” does the job. When we want to celebrate someone for being the “first” in a certain role, “out gay” or “out LGBTQ+” is a solid compromise: it means we don’t inadvertently erase someone from a previous generation who never spoke publicly about their gender and/or sexuality. The LGBTQ+ community has worked hard and is still working hard to gain equal rights and greater acceptance. We don’t deserve to have that progress undermined by a lazy phrase that harks back to less enlightened times. So, “openly gay” is out in 2024 – just “gay” is in.

FOR [JORDAN PAGE]

Queerness is made up of layers. For some of us, these may be few and far between as we feel empowered, assured and safe to share this part of our identity freely. For others, it’s complex. Whether it’s cultural or religious pressures, outright bigotry or fear for our safety, deciding when and where we disclose our sexuality and gender identity – and to whom – can be an exhausting task. Now, more than ever, language is one of the most important tools for LGBTQIA+ people to navigate this process. 

While language is important, so is context – especially when it comes to referring to someone as “openly gay”. Say we’re talking about one of our friends to another – it’d feel redundant to describe them in such a way, right? But when it comes to, say, the reporting on the appointment of Gabriel Attal, the phrase feels natural. Why? It’s not about shame, guilt or embarrassment – I’d argue that it’s loaded with a historical sense of both recognition and respect.

Whether a politician, sportsperson, or musician, referring to someone as the “first openly gay” figure recognises an undeniable milestone for the LGBTQIA+ community. History may be plagued with the suppression of queer voices and experiences, but to an extent, so is the world we’re in today. Although the “more accepting” country you live in may appear lightyears away from those where homosexuality is illegal – or even punishable by death – the statistics don’t lie: queer people still face discrimination and violence daily across the world. With a legacy of feeling suppressed, or closeted, why shouldn’t we take every opportunity to celebrate being “open”?

Not only that, but affixing “openly” before denoting someone’s sexuality is a marker of respect. Why? The distinction nods to the fact that throughout time, LGBTQIA+ people have held important positions, broken records and made important contributions to the world. Using “openly” doesn’t erase these achievements, instead, it honours them. As people on X, formerly Twitter, have noted regarding Attal, it “simply means the media can say he’s the first gay PM without knowing the inner thoughts of every previous one”. 

We’ve grown to encourage each other to use the terms that we feel reflect ourselves most accurately – who are we to judge and dictate other people’s self-expression? 

As time evolves, so does language. Just because now some feel that “openly” isn’t needed, let’s not forget the older generations of queer people – many of whom will still be reading these headlines – who fought to be seen, to be heard, and who have earned the right to use the terms and phrases of their choosing to describe how they operate in a heteronormative society. Much like our sexuality and gender identity, the words we use to describe these facets of our identities are just as personal. We’ve grown to encourage each other to use the terms that we feel reflect ourselves most accurately – who are we to judge and dictate other people’s self-expression? 

Yes, in some ways, the society we live in today is improving its treatment, acceptance and representation of LGBTQIA+ identities. But holistically, society is still pretty straight. Whether we like it or not, it’s this world that the very headlines in question cater to. There are still plenty more of these firsts, like Gabriel Attal, that will – and need – to happen. But with dangerous legislation, hate crimes and complete erasure facing our community at all angles, is fueling further division between us, over something ultimately positive, really the hill we want to die on? 

The post Is there a problem with the phrase “openly gay”? appeared first on GAY TIMES.

Gay and bisexual men over the age of 70 tend to continue having an active sex life with multiple partners, according to a new study.

Researchers from the University of East Anglia (UEA) sought to understand how many sexual partners people typically have as they get older in order to improve mathematical models of sexually transmitted infections (STIs).

They found that 79 per cent of heterosexual women aged 70 and over had no partners in the last three weeks, while 17 per cent of gay men in the same age bracket had more than one sexual partner in the same timeframe.

Approximately half (50 per cent) of all heterosexual men involved in the study said they had one partner in the last three weeks – though this was increasingly likely to decrease to no partners as they got older.

READ MORE: Syphilis: 5 things LGBTQ+ people need to know about the STI

For example, 50 per cent of men aged 70 and over who had sex with a woman in the last three months did not report having a female partner in the last three weeks.

“Models of disease spread shouldn’t assume that young people are necessarily most at risk”

“Before this study, many models about sexually transmitted diseases assumed that everyone over a certain age — say 40 or 65 — stopped being sexually active, or at least stopped having multiple partners,” Dr Julii Brainard, from UEA’s Norwich Medical School, said.

“Or there might be an assumption that young people have the most sex.

“But the answer is more nuanced — and it partly depends on people’s sexuality.”

As part of the study, participants were asked their gender, sexual identity and how many sexual partners they had been with in the last three weeks and three months.

People having more than one recent sexual partner was uncommon in the wider population, but common among those who were recruited for the research via social media.

READ MORE: ‘I was diagnosed with HIV after being refused PrEP – now I want to raise awareness’

Approximately 52 per cent of men found on Grindr reported having at least two recent male partners, a figure slightly lower (42 per cent) for those found via Facebook or Instagram.

In contrast, only two per cent of straight people over the age of 70 had multiple partners.

“Models of disease spread shouldn’t assume that young people are necessarily most at risk, or that having multiple partners just stops happening at a strict age threshold,” Brainard continued.

The study’s sample was made up of almost 3,300 people from the general population and 1,036 men who have sex with men.

It was conducted by UAE researchers in collaboration with King’s College London and University College London during the 2022 outbreak of mpox (formerly known as monkeypox).

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Edgars Rinkevics has been elected Latvia’s new president by the country’s parliament, making him the European Union’s first openly gay head of state.

The 49-year-old, who currently serves as the Minister of Foreign Affairs, will take office on 8 July.

He will also make history as the first openly gay president in the Baltic nations.

Rinkevics received 52 votes from Latvia’s 100-seat Saeima legislature, one more than required to win the presidency.

“I am honoured and humbled to be elected as President of the Republic of Latvia, I will do my best to serve the people of Latvia well,” he wrote on social media on 31 May. “I thank Members of Parliament for their trust.”

READ MORE: Trans rights gain ground despite rising European rhetoric

Rinkevics previously served as a state secretary within the Defence Ministry and, in the 1990s, worked as a journalist, among other things.

He has been well received by the Latvian public during his time as Minister of Foreign Affairs for his support of Ukraine and tough stance towards Russia.

ILGA-Europe’s annual ‘Rainbow Europe’ index ranked Latvia 37th out of 49 European countries based on where the best place to be LGBTQ+ is.

Part of the report said: “In November, the social opinion polling agency SKDS and Mozaika’s poll found that 49% had a neutral stance towards ‘homosexual’ people, 25% were accepting, and 23% condemned ‘homosexuality’. A third of the respondents said they did not know an LGBT person.”

READ MORE: Ranking reveals the best and worst places to be LGBTQ+ in Europe

Rinkevics, who “proudly” came out as homosexual in 2014, previously rebuked suggestions that he has a “hidden agenda”.

“I do not believe that something fundamental should change in people’s attitude toward me or other people,” he explained during an interview several years ago. “It is time for us to be more open and honest. Believe me, such decisions are not easy to make and can take a long time.

“I contemplated all the positive and negative consequences that may arise due to my decision and decided that it is better to be honest and to speak frankly, as well as to urge a discussion about these matters, including registration of partnerships, which is a complicated topic.”

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Daniel Harding talks to GAY TIMES about family, fitting it and finding himself in his debut book, Gay Man Talking.

WORDS BY ZOYA RAZA-SHEIKH

Daniel Harding has been having difficult conversations. From discussing his identity with friends to reliving his experience of coming out as gay, Harding has thought about it all. So, what was the purpose of these conversations? Well, as Harding puts it, it’s to make LGBTQ+ people, and allies, feel less alone. 

Set among Harding’s hopeful intentions, the journalist-turned-author has chosen to share anecdotes of growing up in the shadows of stereotypes, the pressures of gay culture, and his evolving sense of self. Gay Man Talking journeys through chapters dedicated to parents, friends and more. 

Now, after the success of his debut book, Harding is taking some time to reflect on how Gay Man Talking has fared and how far he’s come. “Do you know what, it’s been such a whirlwind! I’m sort of used to a bit of buzz and working non-stop, but [Gay Man Talking] has been so well received”, he shares. Plenty of biographical books cycle through trauma, but Harding is looking to do something different; he wants to unite a community. 

As Harding puts it, “the amazing people that have reached out and actually read it and fed back and shared their stories or how it’s helped or changed their conversations,” he shares. “It’s been so good – I couldn’t actually have hoped for a better response.”

With Harding’s book in mind, we lined up a conversation with the author to chat about Gay Man Talking and how openness can redefine relationships. 

What has it been like to switch from a career in broadcast journalism to life as an author? 

That’s a really interesting question. As a journalist, you put so much into facts and you’re often reporting on subjects or news about other people. But, to flip that and then do a whole book which takes a lot from my personal experience, has been a completely different experience. I don’t think I was ever fully prepared for how much of myself is now out there. 

A lot of people have said that they feel like they’ve read my diary and I think that’s a really great way of describing it. As a journalist, a lot of the time you’re reporting an angle and trying to give a fair representation and a lot of my book shares that, but there’s a lot of intimate details and personal stuff that are now for the world to see.

A lot of this book centres on big questions. How do you feel since having written this book? 

The whole process was cathartic. It was very much a journey that I went on. I never knew the book that I created would be the book that sort of has come out. In my head, I had how these conversations would go and how I would write about them but that changed with each discussion. Each one shared something new. I never knew how my parents had felt, how my sister had felt, or my friends. I thought I had an idea but it moved me, changed me and made me more accepting of who I am. Since being published, it has allowed me to facilitate far more conversations with different people in my life and that is because I’ve opened the narrative to have these discussions.

What was the moment that inspired the direction of Gay Man Talking?

I’m very well accepted by my family, and friends so opening up that box and sort of talking about it again can have negative outcomes, so I was a little bit nervous.  I did a feature for Cosmopolitan around the stigma of being the “gay best friend” and it brought back so many memories from my childhood, because I absolutely hated the phrase “gay best friend”. It can be quite internally toxic for a person and I got chatting to a publisher. There are so many conversations that I feel that we don’t have because we’re scared of reopening wounds or not understanding and that sparked the book.

What’s the biggest lesson you’ve taken from this book? 

The biggest thing that I learned from the book is that I had judged during a time when I didn’t want to be judged for being a gay man. I had judged other people and their reactions without asking how they feel or, perhaps, what they might be thinking or going through themselves. I learned, from Gay Man Talking, that we are so quick to judge and we forget, even in our quest to find acceptance, that other people are going through their own things. 

So, you sought out the value and lessons from those conversations?

I’ve been inspired by reading in the past and seeing people put themselves in these awkward positions and it inspires you to do it yourself. I had an opportunity to make people feel seen and have a bit of reassurance. I thought if I could help one person, or inspire one person to have a conversation, that’s what I would want. I felt so often that I didn’t have representation, or I didn’t know where to look. It was really important to write this book so that hopefully it connects or resonates with someone who perhaps is going through something and they need that hope. 

And, in that representation, your title is very to the point…

That’s such a fascinating question because so often I was I deliberated over the title and the fact it’s very there on the front cover. I was adamant about having these conversations and putting them out in the open was important, and trying to break my own fear. I’m that person scared to sort of hold hands or read queer fiction out of the house. It was important for me not to be scared and to put something on the cover that’s direct, but also says what it does on the tin.

I’m still scared in different scenarios. I perhaps wouldn’t take this book out in certain situations and I think that’s a survival feeling. The best thing I can say is that you have to judge a scenario and hope that you’re accepted n it. The more we normalise seeing someone with a queer book or a title with the term ‘gay’ in it, we’re just normalising the community. 

How have your relationships changed since the release of Gay Man Talking?

The majority of them have changed for the better. A lot of my friends have read the book (and the friends chapter) and apologised which I did never want from them. I’ve explained to them that it was never about what they did was wrong, it was about my internal feelings. I hope that it encourages other people to just check themselves and be and ask their friends whether something makes them uncomfortable or not. It’s just made us all more aware and have more conversations and be more honest. Since coming out, I’ve not been so honest with the people around me. I put up a front because I felt like I had to. With these conversations, you can be yourself and it’s a breath of fresh air. 

We can all empathise with moments about identity. Your book is called ‘Gay Man Talking’. What would you say to readers interested in this book who fall outside of that demographic?

It’s such an interesting one because I know it says ‘Gay Man Talking’ on the front cover, and it seems very much directed to gay men. However, a lot of people within the community and outside have read this book and found relatability in different moments whether that’s coming out, talking to their parents about coming out, finding role models or finding your own people who are like-minded. I wrote this book hoping that it would touch allies and LGBTQ+ people. These conversations aren’t just about encouraging gay men to have these conversations, they’re for anyone in our community and anyone who’s an ally to our community. 

Gay Man Talking is out now and available to buy here. 

The post Gay Man Talking: Inside Daniel Harding’s honest new book appeared first on GAY TIMES.

We ask younger voices of the LGBTQ+ community what the ‘Q-word’ means to them and if it can truly be reclaimed.

WORDS BY ZOYA RAZA-SHEIKH

There has been a lot of debate about the term queer. Many have spoken out in defence of the word or, in the opposite direction, have called for its use to come to an end, likening it to racist terms that simply have no place in society. 

The history of the term itself is loaded, particularly with how it was colloquially used as an offensive slur. Terminology and phrases within the LGBTQ+ community are often changing and evolving and the Q-word seems to be next on the radar. For those growing up in the late 1990s, our experience and witnessing the use of the term greatly differs from the generation before us. What arrived as a term defining something unusual or different in 1513 has since faced quite the etymological shift. 

Now, in today’s age, plenty of people in the community fondly use the term as a descriptor for their identity. However, the idea of queerness, or the term ‘queer’ itself, isn’t a brand new Gen Z-ified concept. In fact, the reclamation of the term (and its uptick of usage) occurred here and overseas across the 1980s and 1990s. Notably, in the United States, Queer Nation, an LGBTQ+ activist group armed with non-conformist forms of expression and a political manifesto of fighting prejudice and homophobia, came into the spotlight. Borrowing tactics from AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power (ACT UP), which was fighting to draw attention to the AIDS pandemic, Queer Nation aimed to rewrite the associations made with the term ‘queer’. 

In a more contemporary lens, the term queer has cropped up in TV show titles such as the 1999 British series Queer As Folk (as well as its American counterpart) and the long-running US reality show Queer Eye. Elsewhere, BROCKHAMPTON released a track titled Queer, while non-binary artist Sam Smith explores love in their “queer love hymn” on their latest album, Gloria. The point is: the sentiment of what it means to be ‘queer’ has continually been under change and, to some degree, reinterpretation. 

Our queerness brings us all together and without something denoting that relationship, I feel that our community would be much more divided.

As the discussion continues to unfold, new perspectives continue to chime in, sometimes even with their own well-known attached chants: “We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it.”

A similar response is echoed by Josh Osman, 20, who has sought out comfort in the ‘Q-word’ label. “I see it as an umbrella term for a cluster of microlabels that I don’t always find myself fully aligning with. For a long time, I used the term ‘gay’, but I now feel like ‘queer’ is looser and allows for a less rigid definition,” he tells GAY TIMES. This is, notably, a call in favour of the term. 

The choice of the label ‘queer’, Josh explains, has allowed him to navigate gender and identity on his own terms, and not be held back by the confines of a label. “Our culture, whether that’s our music or our language, is often used as an identifier between us, but I’m also aware that ‘queer’ feels broader for me – that it tells someone that I don’t experience or interact with gender in the way that most cisgender or heterosexual people do, without me feeling boxed into a set of preconceptions.”

In some cases, as Seema Sharma, 18, from Toronto, Canada, explains to GAY TIMES, ‘queer’ is a powerful reclaimed term that appeals to younger generations. “To be queer means to have a relationship with your gender or sexuality that deviates from the one that society tells you to have,” they say. “It means breaking down the harmful values of heteronormativity and creating a sense of safety and belonging with other people like you.”

The evolutionary use of the ‘Q-word’, Seema says, has allowed a younger audience to find sanctity and relatability in its meaning while being aware of its loaded history. “I believe that removing ‘queer’ could have negative effects on the LGBTQ+ community. There’s a certain sense of belonging that comes with being surrounded by other queer people,” they explain. “The internal issues of the LGBTQ+ community would be amplified without this commonality. Our queerness brings us all together and without something denoting that relationship, I feel that our community would be much more divided.”

Vega, 20, identifies as lesbian but interchangeably uses the label ‘queer’ as, she says, it encompasses her identity in a way that’s easily understood. Agreeing that people may still perceive ‘queer’ as a “pejorative” term, Vega believes positive use of the label can overwrite its past meaning. “For me, being queer is fighting so all queer members have rights and can live without fear, but it’s also important to remember our history and to listen and to honour queer elders,” she tells GAY TIMES. “Community is also a big part of what being queer means for me. It’s important to support each other and learn from the experiences of others.”

For Rhys James, 22, the term ‘queer’ cements a sense of community and “endearment” for the Gen Z LGBTQ+ community. “We understand the different connotations that come with the use of the word depending on age and personal experience, but I don’t think that should stop LGBTQ+ individuals from claiming it,” he says. 

Rhys adds that having an awareness of the term’s derogatory use and the pained history shouldn’t prevent younger generations from forging their own connection with the label. “Speaking from personal experience, ‘queer’ was never used in the same context so its meaning is different altogether,” he says. “In the same way, the word ‘gay’ was used to berate a lot of LGBTQ+ people of my generation, it’s no surprise that we have found comfort in a less traumatic term.”

As Joshua Gamson reflects in his essay Must Identity Movements Sef-Distruct? A Queer Dilemma, the debate over the term ‘queer’ has marked a “process of boundary-construction and identity negotiation”. And seemingly, the discourse (and its affiliated areas of queer theory) has carried over into today’s society. 

While, we, as a younger generation, may not have felt the physical harm or the ostracism brought on by this language – this doesn’t mean the history is removed from our experiences. What may be viewed as a mild linguistic tactic to drain the venom out of slurs angled at the LGBTQ+ community, is an act of anti-oppression and acceptance of derogatory language. Queerness, and the label itself, challenges the “norm”, as well as pre-existing categories, and attempts to incorporate an inclusive common identity. 

The modern result of this conversation around the use of ‘queer’, for younger generations, has strayed into a new direction — one that debates both language and presentation. The complexities of queerness and how it’s perceived recently came to attention after a tweet that went viral argued: “being queer is not just about who you fuck or which gender you identify as it’s much more complex than that and it’s a whole different culture.” 

being queer is not just about who you fuck or which gender you identify as, it's much more complex than that and it's a whole different culture, it's normal that queer people can spot other queer people and if you think that's weird maybe you're the weirdo

— gemm☄️ (@wildestlesbian) January 7, 2023

While discussing identity online is not the best idea, particularly one with a character-limiting format and, often, a woeful lack of nuance, Rhys agreed that the tweet held the right sentiment, arguing queerness is not identified based on the label, but broader distinguishable factors. “This is due to the physicality that is used to indicate a queer identity. Queer people don’t announce themselves as queer through the word itself, but through an array of visual indicators, [which] is why fashion and personal style play a big part in queer culture.”  

Instead, Rhys argues that queerness is evolving as mainstream culture and queer culture begin to overlap: “There’s an element to queerness that feels like a mentality and set of beliefs, than something that focuses primarily on sexuality and gender – it’s less about who you are attracted to or have sex with, and more about who you relate to and feel safe around.” 

Gemm, who also interacted with the viral post, came to its defence. “I’ve seen many people online saying that it’s wrong to think that someone, who hasn’t directly come out to you, is queer,” she says. “There’s a very big difference between outing someone and queer people spotting each other. Assuming that everyone is straight until they come out is a dangerous take and that’s why I interacted with that tweet.”

There’s no doubt the discussion of labels and their inclusivity won’t end in our lifetime, and they shouldn’t. There have been plenty of moments language has been expanded to include identities, as James Grieg notes, that aren’t an appropriate fit. 

From my own perspective, ‘queer’ is a label that I, for a while, used while mindful that I didn’t endure the belittling and abuse that previously came with it. While some argue the label is some quasi-national shorthand, Josh has a simpler answer. “This word is ours to reclaim. If it’s been used in a derogatory way in the past, and we’ve taken that and turned the negative power of that word into something celebratory, that is our way of moving forward and evolving our understanding of queer culture. 

“To me, being ‘queer’ is about how I identify with, engage with and understand gender. It isn’t something binary or just about who or how I love – it’s more. It’s a way of existing, it’s like a rebellion against the rigidity of the culture that conditioned us growing up.”

The post We’re here, we’re queer: Here’s what Gen Z really think about the term ‘queer’ appeared first on GAY TIMES.

A cinema was forced to stop a showing of Halloween Ends after a gay couple were subjected to homophobic abuse by a large group.

The incident, which took place on 15 October at the VUE Bury the Rock cinema in Bury, Greater Manchester, occurred during the 10:15pm showing of the movie.

Staff had warned the group about their behaviour multiple times after they repeatedly disrupted the screening, eventually being asked to leave by security.

Prior to the movie being allowed to continue after the customers left, one gay couple, who have asked to remain anonymous, said they were verbally assaulted with homophobic slurs by the group.

The pair, who went to the cinema with one of their friends, “went to a later showing” than they had originally planned.

“We initially noticed a group of young males, I’d say they were teenagers, gathering at the entrance milling around, but didn’t think too much of it at first,” one of them told the Manchester Evening News.

“When we went inside, they were sat on the row in front of us. Before the film even started the security guard said there had been a complaint about their noise and if he had another they would be kicked out.

“After this, a girl sat in front of them asked them to stop kicking her chair, and one of them swore at her. Then another woman on the same row as them got into a verbal disagreement with them, but we decided to leave it as there was a big group of them and we didn’t want any trouble.

“For the first hour they weren’t too bad, they had been chatting but it wasn’t too distracting. It was then that one of them got a phone call and answered it, prompting a couple to move seats.”

Tensions reportedly escalated around an hour into the movie, with the couple and their friend eventually opting to move seats because of the rowdy group – which is when they claim one climbed over the seats to the back row.

The couple’s friend told them they should not be sitting there, which is when some of the group are said to have began hurling homophobic abuse at them.

“It all became a bit out of hand, and more staff came in before the film was switched off and the lights came up. We had been told the film had stopped and they would offer us a refund,” one of the victims further explained.

“I was at my wits end, it was almost laughable. They kept bouncing around, jumping across different chairs and then said to me, ‘what are you laughing at, you f***ing f*****’.

“They kept using slurs – but it just sadly washes over you as a gay person. You sort of come to expect it and almost prepare yourself when there are a group of young people. We have heard it all before. They were just being vile with everyone and anyone who challenged them.”

Greater Manchester Police confirmed that the incident has been logged as a hate crime.

Enquiries into what happened are ongoing and a spokesperson for VUE said: “A group of customers was ejected from a screening of Halloween Ends on Saturday evening following complaints that they were causing a disturbance and impacting the experience of other guests. We are sorry to hear of this customer’s experience and will assist in every way possible during the police investigation.”

The post Cinema stops film after gay couple is bombarded with homophobic abuse appeared first on GAY TIMES.

Daria Kasatkina has bravely come out as gay and shared that she is dating Russian Olympic figure skater Natalia Zabiiako.

“Living in the closet is impossible,” the star, who is Russia’s highest-ranked female tennis player, told blogger Vitya Kravchenko.

“I believe it is important that influential people from sports, or any other sphere really, speak about it,” the 25-year-old continued. “It is important for young people who have a hard time with society and need support.”

As well as sharing that she has a girlfriend, Kasatkina spoke out against attitudes in Russia.

“So many subjects are taboo in Russia,” she explained. “This notion of someone wanting to be gay or becoming [gay] is ridiculous. I think there is nothing easier in this world than being straight.”

“Seriously, if there is a choice, no one would choose being gay. Why make your life harder, especially in Russia? What’s the point?” she also asked.

 

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A post shared by Daria Kasatkina🐬 (@kasatkina)

Passed in 2013, Russia’s ‘gay propaganda’ law bans the promotion of all “non-traditional” sexual relationships among minors.

It has been used as justification to stop Pride marches, prevent minors from watching content with LGBTQ+ themes and to detain activists.

Senior lawmakers in the country are currently attempting to extend the legislation to all adults.

During her interview, Kasatkina also condemned Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, calling it a “complete nightmare” and stating that what she wants most in life is “for the war to end.”

She also expressed fears that she may not be able to return to Russia because of the interview.

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Brazilian referee Igor Benevenuto has come out as gay, making history as the first FIFA-ranked one to do so.

“Soccer was for men, and since an early age I knew I was gay… there was not a more perfect place to hide my sexuality,” Benevenuto shared on the Nos Armários dos Vestiários podcast.

“I am 41, and 23 of those years have been dedicated to the whistle. Until today I’ve never been the real me. Gays are used to not being themselves.

“There are many gay people in soccer. We exist and we deserve to speak about it, live normal lives.”

In a statement to GloboEsporte, FIFA expressed its support for the referee: “FIFA welcomes and supports referee Igor Benevenuto and his decision to come out. As highlighted at other times, FIFA strongly believes that football is for everyone. And Igor striving to be true to himself is an important moment for football in Brazil and in other countries around the world.

“We hope this decision will encourage others and inspire greater diversity and inclusion in the “beautiful game.”

Benevenuto sharing that he is gay comes just a few months ahead of the 2022 FIFA World Cup, which is due to take place in Qatar from November to December of this year.

The tournament has been marred with controversy since it was announced that it would take place in the country, where homosexuality is illegal and the LGBTQ+ community is subjected to discriminatory laws.

Amnesty International also released a 48-page report which concluded that certain harmful practices still take place in Qatar, such as withholding migrant workers’ pay and charging them money to move jobs – something the government there has denied.

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