Back in the early days of the internet when I first started watching porn, I noticed something. After watching several films, I saw that a lot of white porn stars were able to play a wide range of roles in films, but a lot of black characters were limited. For instance, white pornstars could play cowboys, doctors, bankers, football coaches, mechanics, etc. Most of the black pornstars were limited to robbers, rapists, or just generally bad people. Not only were they limited in the roles played, but most of them were tops, quite aggressive and super masculine. Whereas most of the white men in the film ranged from masculine to feminine to somewhere in between. Little did I know, I was hitting the tip of an iceberg when it came to black men, masculinity, and the gay community.
As a twenty-seven-year-old black gay man, I have grown accustomed to using hook-up sites and apps for much of my twenties. Sex has never been more quick and convenient. I once told a friend of mine that I could probably get a blowjob quicker than a pizza delivered. I feel as if that statement should be more telling of the time we live in than my appearance, but I digress. From the early days of Manhunt to even today with Grindr, I notice commonalities between the men on these sites. First, there a lot of people who don’t find black men sexually attractive. And those that do find them sexually attractive limit their attractiveness to physical appearance only.
I soon noticed more and more just how much black people didn’t fit into the gay culture; it was almost like we were invisible. Every time I went to a gay bar or club most of and sometimes all of the bartenders, waiters and go-go dancers were white or white-looking Latinos. Even the videos, posters, magazines and pamphlets scattered throughout featured white men. At one point, I remembered wondering to myself if I was even welcome there because I saw no representation of who I was.
How can you be yourself if you can’t see yourself?
Here in Atlanta during Labor Day weekend, the city is host to the annual Black Gay Pride event. When I first heard of it, I wasn’t sure how I felt. Mostly because I had a diverse group of gay friends and we all seemed to enjoy the “regular” pride just fine. I had been out for quite some time and I just didn’t understand why anyone felt the need to branch off and have their own. Now that I’m older and ‘woke’ as they say, it all makes much more sense. Those that branched off and started their own pride did it because they got tired of not seeing themselves represented accurately in mainstream gay culture, and I can’t say that I disagree.
Representation is extremely important in influencing the minds and ideas of others, especially young people. I remember watching the show Queer as Folk when I was young and being mesmerized at the life these gay men lived. And then I remember feeling angry because the show hardly depicted any black characters. When they did appear they were usually used for sexual objectification and nothing else. That was it, that was the only thing that I had to represent who I was or who I was to become. Where were the shows and characters that depicted us as the beautiful, well-rounded, flawed human beings that we want to be seen as?
After years on hook-up sites and apps, I found that black gay men had a place in gay culture after all, but it wasn’t a place I, nor anybody else, would feel comfortable being in. Every time I logged onto a site I would get the same messages. “Can I suck your big black cock?” “I need a masculine thug to manhandle me” “Would love to see that big Mandingo dick” or my favorite “How hung?” I’m not the most masculine guy ever, but I’m also not the most feminine. I don’t think anyone has ever described me as a thug and even though I’m somewhat muscular I wouldn’t feel comfortable manhandling someone, especially during sex. I felt like I was missing something. Did I miss Ebony Sex 1101 in college? Why do gay men have unrealistic ideas for sex with black men, to which none I can subscribe myself to? Some of this answer has to do with the environment a lot of black men, gay and straight, grow up in, and some of it has to do with the culture itself.
In gay culture, black men have been marginalized and stereotyped into being hyper-masculine, always top, well-endowed, aggressive thugs who have nothing more to add to society than sex. If you watch any porn featuring a black actor, this will quickly become apparent. This marginalization is horrifically sad because being gay and black are so much more than those things. The even sadder part is that we’ve already been marginalized and stereotyped by not only the general public but our own community beforehand.
In the black community, men are taught to hide emotions, pride and any sense of vulnerability, at a very early age. We are taught to ‘man up’ about things that would break even the strongest of people. With that, any sign of femininity is often regarded as less than human. Micro-aggressions and slurs such as ‘sissy,’ ‘f*ggot,’ ‘p*ssy’ and ‘queen’ were thrown around in casual conversation over the dinner table. All uttered by preachers, community leaders, politicians, and fathers; even at times my own. What that does is breed a culture of men with hyper-masculine qualities, no range of emotional stability, and a distinct fear of being themselves because every male (and often female) figure in their life has already told them what they should be.
I was lucky to have parents who didn’t put that kind of pressure on me. I’m sure they could tell at an early age that I was gay, but my masculinity and femininity weren’t something that I felt I could control. I was just being me. Thank God that was good enough for them. That doesn’t mean I didn’t grow up around a ton of homophobia — because I did. It broke my heart to hear people that I love and respected talk about people just like me as if they were less than an animal. At times, it made me question my own sexuality, but it was something I accepted quickly and I wear my homosexuality proudly to this day. I also know not everyone was that lucky.
Some gay and bi men never let go of the pressures and homophobia formed during childhood. Some wind up marrying women and cheating with men behind their backs. That’s where we get the ‘Down Low’ from. Even today, in 2016, gay men can legally marry one another but we still have men living on the Down Low. For What? The sad thing is there a ton of men perfectly happy living a double life as such. That might be part of the reason for the underrepresentation of black gay men in gay culture. We just won’t come out of the closet.
Another issue lies in the fact that lots of gay men still hold masculinity up on a pedestal as the prototype for all things gay. Log on to any hook-up and it will be all over profiles. “Masc4Masc” “Masculine Only” “No Fems” add to that the use of pictures depicting them doing the most masculine thing imaginable to project the image of masculinity. There is nothing wrong with being masculine and wanting your sexual partner to be the same. The problem is when you feel as if that masculinity should be superior to other forms of gayness because gayness, just like blackness, isn’t just one thing; it’s a spectrum of many. Every time I open a hook-up app I can’t help but feel bad for anyone who isn’t masculine because that’s all I ever see. When are we going to stop being ashamed of who we are?
Carrying that shame over your head for being yourself can leave black men, and any man in general, feeling horrifically isolated and alone; I know first hand how it feels. Even when they do get the courage to come out and assimilate into the gay culture, they find themselves right back at square one. You’re supposed to be masculine, top, aggressive, no signs of any emotions, and absolutely no signs of femininity. Sounds familiar doesn’t it? As a black gay man, living in a city with a very large gay population, I run into this problem constantly. I do not fit the prototype of what I’m supposed to be and I never will. If nobody is going to give me the representation that I want, then I will create it myself by being myself and encouraging other men, of all races, to do the same.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop fighting. Not all gay men look like Sean Cody models, or like they just walked out of an ad for Abercrombie & Fitch. Black gay men exist. We are not invisible. Nor are we the one-note characters you sometimes see us depicted as. We are creative, talented, diverse and more than anything we just want someone to acknowledge and encourage our presence in the universe.
