Redefining the Gay Lifestyle

There’s this scene in Modern Family I always remember. Cam, Mitch and Lily are in the car. Lily says, almost offhand, “I don’t like Beyoncé,” then cranks up heavy metal. Cam turns pale. “She’s going to kill us someday,” he whispers.

That moment. Quietly iconic. Because I saw myself in her.

I’m gay. I’ve seen Paris Is Burning. I own a harness. But I don’t wear designer, I don’t care for glam, and my favourite colour is black. You’d be surprised how often that seems to confuse people.

The gay lifestyle today feels curated. All sharp cheekbones and expensive moisturiser. Pool parties in Mykonos, a shrine to pop divas. Nothing wrong with any of that. The problem is when it becomes the only version we see.

Once, on a date, I mentioned I didn’t like Beyoncé. The guy blinked like I’d said something unspeakable. “But… you’re gay?” he asked.

That moment stuck. Because queerness, apparently, comes with conditions. You can like Drag Race, but maybe not doom metal.

My life doesn’t sparkle. I used to like parties. Now I’d rather be in a hoodie at a gig than dressed up for brunch. I still watch RuPaul, but I do it in trackies with a cup of tea. Because being queer isn’t a look. It’s not a moodboard or a playlist. It’s just how I exist.

Still, the pressure lingers. To be camp, stylish, effortlessly social. To perform queerness, not live it. And if you don’t? You’re out of the frame. Or out of the group.

A Stonewall report from early 2025 reveals that 39 percent of LGBTQ+ employees feel they must hide their identity at work. That pressure to perform often extends beyond queer venues and into our nine to fives.

It shows up in small ways. The “masc only” bios. The filtered bodies. The silent rules of who gets seen and who stays on the edges.

But queerness was never meant to be neat.

Some of the most grounded queer people I know don’t care about brand names or follower counts. They care about chosen family. About loving and surviving in a world that still asks them to shrink.

I don’t wear makeup. I’ve never owned designer. I feel awkward at Pride. And sometimes I’d rather be home, alone with a book, than dancing with strangers under a disco ball.

That doesn’t make me less gay.

It just makes me honest.

Maybe the most radical thing now is not performing at all. Not chasing a spotlight, not dressing the part. Just living queer, quietly and fully, whatever that means to you.

So no, I don’t like Beyoncé. And I’m still here.

Still queer.

And maybe that’s enough.

_{Views expressed are those of the writer and may not represent the official stance of the magazine. At Flicker, we believe in sharing a range of queer voices, and this is one of them.}