Maybe I’m Not a Lesbian?

But I am very, very gay (and I have Questions)

I finally hit 50 subscribers (!!!!!) on this little corner of the internet, and I know for a fact most of them found me because of a throwaway post I made when I first joined Substack less than a month ago:

“There’s just something more lesbian about Substack and that’s why I’m here. Hope this reaches people who get what I mean (lesbians).”

Turns out, it did. It reached lesbians. But did it reach my lesbians? I’m still figuring that out.

This is kinda how I’ve been feeling ever since I posted that note. I am clearly Samantha.

I might lose some of you on this but here goes nothing…

Because as much as I love that Substack is full of dyke geniuses, my feed is beginning to feel like a queer academic conference where every panel discussion is about the ethics of existing, and I’m just trying to find the afterparty where people are gossiping about which girl in the scene has the worst tattoo.

It’s not that I don’t want nuance and radical discourse—I do. I want to read lesbians who can passionately strategize mutual aid and dismantle white supremacy while also weaving in their personal experiences, without turning every post into a self-righteous monologue or a TED Talk on allyship or a How to Be a Spicy Leftist.

But also? I want to know what’s making you LAUGH, HORNY, and MESSY. If you’re breaking down wealth redistribution, can we also talk about the stock market and why Oatly is pulling a reverse stock split next week? If you’re quoting Chappell Roan’s Grammys speech, can we also discuss the fact that she brought a leather journal on stage and, more importantly, what brand it was?

And yet, whenever I crave this kind of conversation, I’m not turning to lesbian voices—I’m turning to gay men.

Why is it that when I want to have these conversations, I find myself gravitating toward the voices of gay men? Why does pop culture critique and unserious discourse feel dominated by them, while lesbian and queer women’s media spaces lean more toward political analysis, community-building, and identity discourse?

The “Pop Culture Gay” vs. The “Radical Lesbian” Problem

This is where things start to bug me. Because when I look at the current pop culture critique landscape, I can name five gay men (who aren’t all white at that) off the top of my head whose opinions are considered essential reading:

• Ira Madison III (Keep It!, Vulture, GQ)

• Evan Ross Katz (Shut Up Evan, general celebrity overlord)

• Louis Virtel (gold-standard Twitter wit, Oscars historian, Jeopardy! legend)

• Djuan Trent & Patrick Rogers (Two Saved Queens)

• Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang (Las Culturistas)

Honestly, Titus Burgess even deserves a whole separate shoutout for claiming “Lemonade-ing”

These men get to be unserious. They get to be cultural authorities while making dick jokes and thirsting over other men out loud.

Now, name five lesbian or queer women doing the same thing at the same level of respect and visibility. I’ll wait.

It’s not that we don’t exist. But why does lesbian content have to either brand itself as radical political work or exist as a niche subculture? Why is it that when I try to think of dyke-led pop culture commentary, I’m either landing on the academic essays in JSTOR or some deeply indie podcast that uploads an episode whenever Mercury is in retrograde?

Gay men get to be tastemakers without having to remind their audience how radical it is to exist in that space. But when lesbians talk about pop culture, there’s an unspoken expectation that it has to be framed through discourse—like we have to explain why it’s meaningful that we care about something “frivolous.”

There’s a long history of gay men being pop culture curators—film, fashion, music, camp. The gay best friend trope exists for a reason. Media has historically positioned gay men as tastemakers, while lesbian representation has been boxed into the “serious” and “radical.” (See: how many straight people only reference The L Word and Carol when talking about lesbians.)

And if you think I’m exaggerating, here’s a case study from a show that should have done better by us:

Why Did Sex and The City make me feel more seen by one episode of lesbian Samantha than And Just Like That’s whole season of lesbian Miranda?

One of the most lesbian things Sex and the City ever did was have Samantha Jones date an artist named Maria Reyes for exactly two episodes. And yet, in the relationship’s grand finale, Samantha gave us a piece of lesbian media history when she screamed at Maria during their breakup:

“ALL WE DO IS FUCKING TALK AND TALK AND TALK. ALL THE FUCKING TALKING HAS REPLACED ALL THE FUCKING IN OUR FUCKING RELATIONSHIP. I WANT PASSION. I WANT ROMANCE. I WANT FIREWORKS.”

That single line (and the dish-breaking by Maria, TBH) has done more for my lesbian identity than the entire Miranda and Che Diaz saga in And Just Like That.

Because, Cynthia Nixon aside, why did THE CHARACTER (had to all caps that in case people forget to separate the art from the artist) Miranda get stuck being the lesbian? Out of all four characters, why was it angry, bah-humbug Miranda who had to be the one to leave her husband for a queer “awakening”? If we weren’t ever going to bring back Samantha (who was right there, living her best bi-curious life in London), I personally would’ve expected Charlotte to be the one discovering her sapphic side. She was the romantic! The one constantly chasing passion! Instead, we got Miranda, a woman who has the LEAST style out of the four and gets exhausted by the mere concept of pleasure.

And don’t even get me started on Che Diaz. Actually, you know what? Let’s get into it:

Che Diaz is what happens when the industry decides nonbinary representation should come in the form of a stand-up comic who delivers their entire personality in preachy punchlines about their identity. Meanwhile, the show turned Miranda—a woman who once had phone sex with a sandwich in Season 3—into a tragic, lifeless divorcee to justify her lesbianism. I still cringe thinking about Megan Thee Stallion’s recent interview on Jimmy Fallon where she gives a thumbs down to Miranda and the audience laughs along and applauses. It’s not because I want everyone to like Miranda, it’s because they’re right to not like Miranda…who also happens to be one of the most extremely mainstream representation of lesbians we’ve have had since Ellen (another mainstream lesbian everyone is giving a thumbs down to).

This, to me, is a perfect metaphor for how pop culture treats lesbians:

• Gay men get to be fun, witty, and culturally omnipresent.

• Lesbians get…Miranda and Che Diaz.

The Case for Lesbian Frivolity

I want messy, unserious, culture-obsessed lesbians who are allowed to talk shit without having to frame it as activism. I. WANT. NUANCE.

For a community that loves talking about dismantling the binary, it’s funny how the content we put out still feels so split. Gay men get to be the pop culture commentators, the arbiters of taste, the ones telling you which Met Gala looks mattered and which ones should be burned in a cultural landfill. Lesbians, meanwhile, are out here drafting full community accountability statements just to say they didn’t like The Idea of You. Where’s the fluidity? Where’s the both/and energy we claim to embrace? I want a world where a butch with a strong opinion on capitalism also has a strong opinion on the evolution of Miley Cyrus. Where the same dyke who organizes rent strikes also has a running Letterboxd list ranking every Cate Blanchett performance by sheer top energy. If we can fight for the right to exist beyond categories, we can fight for our content to do the same.

I want to read from/about lesbians who are monogamous in this era of poly supremacy. Where are the lesbians who are keeping up with the Gucci Creative Director drama? The lesbians who still want kids and don’t feel the need to justify it to the “chosen family” discourse police? The lesbians who cruise at Trader Joe’s (just me???) and how thrilling and unserious it is without it having to end in a closing paragraph about transformative justice.

Because true liberation isn’t about proving why our interests matter—it’s about being able to indulge in them without apology. There’s liberation in lesbians just talking shit. In just being—without every thought-piece needing to be a manifesto. True internet freedom is queer women feeling zero pressure to make every post a Revolutionary Act™️

So What’s the Plan?

I’m not saying I don’t want lesbian spaces that are political, radical, and deeply introspective—I do. But I also want the freedom to read a lesbian’s thoughts on Pedro Pascal’s Met Gala look or whether The Bear is lesbian propaganda without having to wade through paragraphs of discourse before getting to the fun part.

So, I’m putting out a call:

Where are the lesbians who love pop culture but feel like those conversations are reserved for gay men? Where are the dykes who have shit to say about film, fashion, music, and books, and don’t feel the need to brand themselves as “intellectuals” just to be taken seriously?

If that’s you—start writing. Start a podcast. Start a Substack. Start a Google Doc that gets out of control and then turns into something real. Because if I have to keep pretending that every cultural commentary I love just happens to come from a gay man, I might just have to start identifying as a whiny twink.

And I don’t want to do that.

But I will.