When None of the Pictures Look Like You

So, I came across a wonderful article earlier that talks about body image issues among gay men. Yeah, it wasn't quite there, but I agreed with its essence: Gay men are surrounded by images of 'perfection', ultimately an external illusion that others have better bodies (with the implicit assumption that they always will). We are at the mercy of a media that readily buys into the idea of the affluent, young, attractive, built (and mostly hung) gay man. But, let's add one more idea to that: White.
How often do you find men and women of color on media marketed toward LGBT people? How many times did Will on Will & Grace have a love interest that was not White and was not Taye Diggs? How often is an LGBT character on a tv show, in a movie, or in comics, not White? Don't worry; I'll wait.

That article hit on the issue of body image for gay men explicitly, but the issue of representation implicitly. I'm used to it. As a Black gay man, I'm used to not seeing faces that look like mine. I'm used to there being a severe lack of Black people in media in general that do not reflect the mythical (though people pretend it's reality) Black Monolith. I love comics, and I'm used to not having favorite Black characters, or having my favorite Black characters relegated to B-listed titles or phased from existence. Replace 'Black' with 'gay' in the previous statements, and then replace that with 'Black and gay', and you have one of my major dilemmas with consuming almost any media in America.

The pictures simply do not look like me.

I occupy the intersection of salient social identities, so this struggle is even harder. I've all but given up on seeing a Black gay face that I can relate to (hence why I created one: see, www.battlejeans.blogger.com). Representation is a very big issue. That's why under a list of heterosexual or White privileges, you have items that say 'If I pick up a magazine, watch tv, or play music, I can be certain my sexual orientation will be represented' (heterosexual privilege) and 'I can turn on the television or open to the front page of the paper and see people of my race widely represented' (White privilege).

This representation can make people feel invisible. It made me feel invisible for a long time. Not just that: it led me to treat other non-White LGBT people as invisible, too. I've talked about this before, but it's a lesson I'm still learning from and a dilemma I still see easily perpetuated in media and society. That sense of invisibility is dehumanizing. It means I and other LGBT people of color have less visibility, which results in less of a voice. HRC and GLAAD, two of the biggest organizations within the gay rights movement, seem to perpetuate the issue as well. What hurts worse is that Gay Rights has a White voice and a White voice.

So, where does that leave LGBT people of color? Where does that leave me? Am I left to contend with body image issues and homophobia as a gay man, then racism as a Black man? In short, yes, even if the words 'faggot' or 'nigger' are never shot my way.

What do you do when none of the pictures look like you? Luckily, we can create our own stories and therefore the representation we desire. Comics, movies, music, television, and other forms of media need more representative faces. I very seldom see Asian women in my InStyle magazines, and the amount of Latinas and Black women in those magazines isn't even great.

We have a long way to go, and representation still may not be what I want by the time I leave this Earth, but we still have something. Maybe I'll be one of those faces. Maybe Aaron will let a young Black gay boy know he can be a super hero, too. Maybe newer generations of LGBT people will be inspired not just by White names that find an easier route into history.

So, when none of the pictures look like you: You find some, you make some, or both. No one has to be represented by a face that isn't theirs, and everyone deserves the right and privilege of being represented.