‘The Queer Thing About Sin’
By Harry Tanner
c.2025, Bloomsbury
$28/259 pages

Nobody likes you very much.

That’s how it seems sometimes, doesn’t it? Nobody wants to see you around, they don’t want to hear your voice, they can’t stand the thought of your existence and they’d really rather you just go away. It’s infuriating, and in the new book “The Queer Thing About Sin” by Harry Tanner, you’ll see how we got to this point.

When he was a teenager, Harry Tanner says that he thought he “was going to hell.”

For years, he’d been attracted to men and he prayed that it would stop. He asked for help from a lay minister who offered Tanner websites meant to repress his urges, but they weren’t the panacea Tanner hoped for. It wasn’t until he went to college that he found the answers he needed and “stopped fearing God’s retribution.”

Being gay wasn’t a sin. Not ever, but he “still wanted to know why Western culture believed it was for so long.”

Historically, many believe that older men were sexual “mentors” for teenage boys, but Tanner says that in ancient Greece and Rome, same-sex relationships were common between male partners of equal age and between differently-aged pairs, alike. Clarity comes by understanding relationships between husbands and wives then, and careful translation of the word “boy,” to show that age wasn’t a factor, but superiority and inferiority were.

In ancient Athens, queer love was considered to be “noble” but after the Persians sacked Athens, sex between men instead became an acceptable act of aggression aimed at conquered enemies. Raping a male prisoner was encouraged but, “Gay men became symbols of a depraved lack of self-control and abstinence.”

Later Greeks believed that men could turn into women “if they weren’t sufficiently virile.” Biblical interpretations point to more conflict; Leviticus specifically bans queer sex but “the Sumerians actively encouraged it.” The Egyptians hated it, but “there are sporadic clues that same-sex partners lived together in ancient Egypt.”

Says Tanner, “all is not what it seems.”

So you say you’re not really into ancient history. If it’s not your thing, then “The Queer Thing About Sin” won’t be, either.

Just know that if you skip this book, you’re missing out on the kind of excitement you get from reading mythology, but what’s here is true, and a much wider view than mere folklore. Author Harry Tanner invites readers to go deep inside philosophy, religion, and ancient culture, but the information he brings is not dry. No, there are major battles brought to life here, vanquished enemies and death – but also love, acceptance, even encouragement that the citizens of yore in many societies embraced and enjoyed. Tanner explains carefully how religious credo tied in with homosexuality (or didn’t) and he brings readers up to speed through recent times.

While this is not a breezy vacation read or a curl-up-with-a-blanket kind of book, “The Queer Thing About Sin” is absolutely worth spending time with. If you’re a thinking person and can give yourself a chance to ponder, you’ll like it very much.

Michael Ferrera was 10 when he first watched U.S. figure skating duo Tai Babilonia and Randy Gardner cascade like currents across the ice, their arms forming delicate shapes in sync as they jumped, spun, and dominated national and world competitions in the late 1970’s. 

As a young closeted kid, Ferrera’s admiration for the skaters and the sport was a source of comfort: a place where he could see men embody the nuances of gender. “I saw this mixture of masculinity and grace and expression, and that they were fully themselves as men,” Ferrera told the Blade. 

Today, after decades of LGBTQ+ non profit work and leadership in Los Angeles, Ferrera is directing his passion for advocacy and queer affirmation towards that initial childhood love: sports. He leads Out Athlete Fund, an organization that supports and uplifts queer athletes, championing their visibility in public arenas. Recently, Out Athlete Fund announced its sponsorship of six U.S. athletes competing at the 2026 Milano Cortina Winter Olympics and Paralympics, which began today. 

Out Athlete Fund is also producing Pride House L.A./West Hollywood, their most ambitious undertaking yet. With over $1 million in funding support from L.A. County and the City of West Hollywood, the organization will take over West Hollywood Park for the 2026 FIFA World Cup and the 2028 Summer Olympics and Paralympics. 

Pride House L.A./West Hollywood will be the first-ever U.S. LGBTQ+ hospitality house for the Olympic Games, joining a burgeoning fight for queer representation in professional sports. 

The first Pride House was created in 2010 during the Winter Olympics in Vancouver, forming a foundation that Ferrera hopes to build upon. “We’re trying to lift the movement [and] create a through line,” Ferrera said, who is weaving stronger connective roots between the various Pride Houses that come before him, and the ones that will follow. 

The Los Angeles Blade and Washington Blade announced today that it will serve as the exclusive queer media sponsor for Pride House, and will cover the organization’s plans, interview queer athletes, and report on upcoming events.  

We sat down with Ferrera for the first of these exclusive interviews. In this conversation, Ferrera tells us about the growth of Out Athlete Fund, what people can expect from Pride House L.A./West Hollywood at the FIFA World Cup and the 2028 Olympics, as well as the importance of LGBTQ+ safety, representation, and celebration in professional sports.

How did your journey with Out Athlete Fund begin?

This [opportunity] with Out Athlete Fund came out of the pandemic. That was a tough time. L.A. Pride got shut down in 2020. For those of us in the nonprofit world, there weren’t new jobs. That became quite a journey, trying to consult and be creative about how to get through that time. 

And then, when [lockdown] was over, my friend Erik Braverman, who’s also on the board for Out Athlete Fund, came to me and said, “Michael, there’s this great thing going on. My friend Cyd Ziegler from OutSports and Les Johnson from Gay Games are involved. I think you should meet them, because they need somebody to run their nonprofit, and you have that experience.” 

He knew that I love sports. I was born into a Boston, New England family, and you don’t have any choice. So I met Cyd, [who] really is one of the preeminent voices in this world of out athletes, and it just seemed like a good fit. Honestly, the first two years, working with Out Athlete Fund, we didn’t have money to pay staff. Everybody was volunteering, including me. 

We’re really excited because we haven’t been doing this very long. Our first real event was last year. At the end of the summer, we [screened] A League of Their Own at the Autry Museum. [For today’s] Milan opening ceremony watch party, we have almost 600 RSVP’s. 

We’re focused on our visibility mission and raising money to support athletes. We have six at Milan. When we started the year, our goal was to sponsor two, so this is growing so fast. I’m just so excited. 

When it comes to the Winter Games in Milan, they’re happening under a government that is similar to ours in its anti-LGBTQ+ attitudes. How does that affect your mission of supporting athletes on world stages in places that aren’t accepting of their queerness? 

Our sponsorship of these athletes is much more than just writing them a check. It’s letting them know that they have a community behind them. That’s really what Pride House does. It’s bringing together fans and allies so that these athletes feel like they have a community. And the fans know that there are people like them who are excelling in these sports and don’t have the artificial ceilings that are placed upon them. 

Now I think there’s 44, at the moment, out athletes at Milan, and that’s a record for the Winter Olympics. That’s so important: that they know that they have the support of fans in their community, financially, emotionally, in a country that is right now pretty hostile to them, and to have Pride House there. 

So that’s what we’ve got to do. We have to stake a claim, right? And with Pride House L.A./West Hollywood, we want to do that here. We’ll be the first Olympics Pride House in the United States, and we want to grow that [and send the message]: We are here. Our athletes are here. We’ve got their backs. You should, too. I think that’s how we make slow change. 

What will be unique about Pride House L.A. and what will programming look like?

We want to [translate] the power of Los Angeles. We have the entertainment community here. We have a lot of business here, and it’s an exciting city, and it’s got a lot of flash. 

When we take over West Hollywood Park, we will have the whole park. We have 17 days, 12 hours a day to program things. We’ll have a concert stage. We’ve had meetings in the last couple of weeks about A-list celebrities who will come and do a tribute concert to athletes. And we’ll have a smaller stage too that’ll have community performances, meet and greets with athletes. [There will be] panel discussions inside an exhibition hall, where there’ll be a million TV screens so that people can watch every single competition that’s going on.  

[There will also be] big screens outside and on the concert stage. We’re going to have Paralympic sports exhibitions, a history museum about our athletes, where a lot of art will be involved. We’ll have a restaurant. We’ll have food trucks. We’ll have bars. Almost everything will be free of charge to the public. Competitions are expensive to go to — now, you can come watch with your community and have fun. 

We’re still figuring it all out, because our imaginations are the only things that limit what we can do in all those days and with all those hours: everything from a gay employee group having an afternoon together, to having the youth at the Laurel Foundation come for a camp day, to a seniors day.

I want my community to be up front. I want them to see Pride House reflect them, because if it doesn’t reflect them, it doesn’t reflect all the athletes that are potentially out there too. So that’s a big part of the job. It’s making sure this community has a voice and has the opportunity to contribute and help us make it the best it can be. 

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There’s so much community activation in the works. What can athletes expect at the hospitality house?

One of my proudest things that we’ve established for Pride House L.A./West Hollywood is that we’re going to have a dedicated athlete area. We’ll have shuttles that go between UCLA, where the Olympic athlete village will be, and this second athlete village. This is already sanctioned by the Athlete Relations Director for LA 28. 

[Queer athletes will] know that there’s a space that they can go to outside of the [general] athlete village, outside of the politics and the limitations that are there. They can come to this place that’s really for them, and they’ll have their own entrance. The dream of that is that if an athlete comes from Egypt or Iran or Russia — some place where they feel like they can’t be themselves, [where] laws are against them — they can come here and see what experiences they can have being in a place that’s safe and inclusive and celebratory.

That feels liberatory. Pride House can offer, even for a moment, a space where queer people can live openly as themselves when they might have to conceal themselves in the places they spend most of their time in.  

When I worked at the LA LGBT Center, we had a program with Chinese activists. [They] came to the Center and were able to go through all the departments, learn about the different kinds of services, how they were provided, how we raised money, how we worked within the community, and [try to figure out how] to tailor the knowledge that we were providing to the reality that they had. 

On the ground, they were getting called into the police station [for] trying to show LGBTQ+ films at a film festival. You couldn’t really say it was a film festival. You had to say it was an HIV/AIDS prevention thing, and they got found out. 

I became friends with these Chinese activists, and that’s when I say: having a conversation with another human being, [it’s] not [about] the borders and the politics. You’re just two humans facing different circumstances, [questioning]: How can we make it better for each other?

How do those borders show up in sports?

What I hope is that people understand: sports is one of the last bastions of historical hostility toward our community. There are a lot of stereotypes that people still speak about every day, just to keep those walls up and those ceilings up. If you can introduce us and start to normalize that, and have more visibility, and have more athletes feeling safe and supported, it has the power to change in an incredible way. So many people get exposed to these [larger] issues because they’re exposed to sports. 

It’s really powerful. Sports crosses lines: it crosses racial lines, cultural lines, national lines. The power of the Olympics is that athletes come from countries all over the world, and when you’re with somebody [in person], there’s no border there. There are the borders of maybe language or human borders, but there’s no ICE. There’s no hostility or laws or whatever coming between you. There’s just this incredible opportunity to speak to each other as two human beings and get to know each other without all of that stuff getting in the way.

In April, Out Athlete Fund plans to host a 25th annual anniversary screening of Greg Berlanti’s West Hollywood-centered film Broken Hearts Club. The organization will also host four days of festivities at Beaches Tropicana WeHo for the 2026 FIFA World Cup. The Blade will continue to provide exclusive updates on these events, as well as the six Winter Games athletes sponsored by the organization. 

Kristie Song is a California Local News Fellow placed with the Los Angeles Blade. The California Local News Fellowship is a state-funded initiative to support and strengthen local news reporting. Learn more about it at fellowships.journalism.berkeley.edu/cafellows.

It’s time to celebrate the vibrant and diverse LGBTQ+ community of Los Angeles! Nominations for the Best of LGBTQ LA Awards are open from until February 15th, giving you the chance to highlight your favorite local legends, hotspots, performers, and change-makers. Then, from February 23rd to March 6th, cast your vote for the finalists and help decide who truly represents the best of LGBTQ LA. The Best of LGBTQ LA Awards Party will be held on March 26th at The Abbey!

Use the form below or click the link HERE to nominate!

The Los Angeles Blade and Washington Blade on Friday announced a media partnership with the Out Athlete Fund, which will produce Pride House LA for the 2028 Summer Olympics.

Pride House is the home for LGBTQ+ fans and athletes that will become a destination during the L.A. Summer Games in West Hollywood in partnership with the City of WeHo. This 17-day celebration for LGBTQ+ athletes and fans will include medal ceremonies for out athletes, interactive installations, speakers, concerts, and more.

The Los Angeles Blade will serve as the exclusive L.A.-area queer media sponsor for Pride House LA and the Washington Blade will support the efforts and amplify coverage of the 2028 Games.

The Blade will provide exclusive coverage of Pride House plans, including interviews with queer athletes and more. The parties will share content and social media posts raising awareness of the Blade and Out Athlete Fund. The Blade will have media credentials and VIP access for related events. 

“We are excited to partner with the Washington Blade, the oldest LGBTQ newspaper in the United States and the Los Angeles Blade, already a strong supporter of Out Athlete Fund and Pride House LA/West Hollywood,” said Michael Ferrera, CEO of Pride House LA. “Our mission is about increasing the visibility of LGBTQ+ athletes and fans to challenge the historical hostility toward our community in the sports world. Visibility is what publications like the Washington and Los Angeles publications are all about. We know they will play a key part in our success.”

“LGBTQ visibility has never been more important and we are thrilled to work with Out Athlete Fund and Pride House LA to tell the stories of queer athletes and ensure the 2028 Summer Games are inclusive and affirming for everyone,” said Blade Editor Kevin Naff.

Out Athlete Fund is a 501(c)3 designed to raise money to offset the training cost of out LGBTQ+ athletes in need of funding for training. The Washington Blade is the nation’s oldest LGBTQ+ news outlet; the Los Angeles Blade is its sister publication founded nine years ago.

“Renaissance Woman” is a term fit for a queen. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, but we’re in luck because Angel McCoughtry is a professional athlete. A two-time gold medalist, 5-time WNBA all-star, philanthropist, and now filmmaker, Angel has built career(s) defined by reinvention and an insistence on excellence at every turn. 

Her move to take charge behind the camera comes at a time that feels anything but divine. In a time where stories like Heated Rivalry bring the heat (pun intended) one moment, while nearly half of all queer characters and stories are vanishing from TV the next, McCoughtry’s leadership behind the camera signals something hopeful: A refusal to let anyone or any story get left behind.

A WNBA legend, McCoughtry played ten years without pause, splitting her time between the W and overseas leagues. In college, she led the Big East Conference in scoring, rebounds, and steals, obliterating records, even the ones she herself set. The number one draft pick and Rookie of the year in ‘09, McCoughtry quickly became one of the best players the W has ever seen. Though she never officially retired, Angel hasn’t played in the W since 2022, when she was sidelined for an injury that she has since healed. (Ya hear that WNBA? Our girl is ready to come back!)

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Being forced to step away from the game brought about a reckoning that is all too familiar to elite athletes everywhere: “Who are you when your body won’t let you perform?” Through detangling this identity crisis, McCoughtry found a new appreciation for storytelling, the stories we tell ourselves as well as the stories we tell the world. Angel’s innovative storytelling and directing style are inspired by basketball, as she likens herself to the Dawn Staley of film, adding, “When you allow your players to be free, they can play at their highest level, and that’s what I allow my actors to do.” 

Inspired by her grandmother’s stories of playing ball in a time when women were not allowed to cross half court and had to wear skirts, Angel wants to empower resilient perspectives. “I can’t keep their stories hidden,” She says, “The women who paved the way.” Laser focused on bringing scripted sports films to the mainstream, McCoughtry says, “I’m looking for stories that resonate with the people, and I want to be the one to bridge the gap and bring women’s sports scripted content to the forefront.” 

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Through McCoughtry Entertainment, Angel wants to bring women’s sports to the forefront as well as genre-driven films, particularly sports-thrillers led by women. Her short film Bygones is now available to stream on Prime Video, with more projects in the barrel. Her feature-length directorial debut, Bolted, is on deck as her next project. I personally would love to see the gay women’s version of Heated Rivalry in McCoughtry’s hands, who says, “There’s a realness to it,” about the show, “That happens often, and it’s not talked about [..] that’s all over women’s sports.”

 “I am obsessed with stories about overcoming adversity,” says McCoughtry, an apt throughline in Angel’s work that reflects the spirit of creativity and athleticism. 

If we were forced to declare why “Grey Gardens” became a cult classic among gay men, it would be all the juicy quotes that have become part of the queer lexicon.

Celebrating the 50th anniversary of its theatrical release this month, the landmark documentary profiles two eccentrics: Edith Ewing Bouvier Beale and her daughter, Edith Bouvier Beale (known as “Big” and “Little” Edie, respectively), the aunt and cousin of former first lady Jaqueline Kennedy Onassis and socialite Lee Radziwell. Once moving within an elite circle of American aristocrats, they had fallen into poverty and were living in isolation at their run-down estate (the Grey Gardens of the title) in East Hampton, Long Island; they re-entered the public eye in 1972 after local authorities threatened eviction and demolition of their mansion over health code violations, prompting their famous relatives to swoop in and pay for the necessary repairs to avoid further family scandal. 

At the time, Radziwell had enlisted filmmaking brothers David and Albert Maysles to take footage for a later-abandoned project of her own, bringing them along when she went to put in an appearance at the Grey Gardens clean-up efforts. It was their first encounter with the Beales; the second came two years later, when they returned with their cameras (but without Radziwell) and proceeded to make documentary history, turning the two Edies into unlikely cultural icons in the process.

On paper, it reads like something painful: two embittered former socialites, a mother and daughter living among a legion of cats and raccoons in the literal ruins of their former life, where they dwell on old memories, rehash old conflicts, and take out their resentments on each other, attempting to keep up appearances while surviving on a diet that may or may not include cat food. Truthfully, it is sometimes difficult to watch, which is why it’s easier to approach from surface level, focusing on the “wacky” eccentricities and seeing the Beales as objects for ridicule. 

Yet to do so is to miss the true brilliance of a movie that is irresistible, unforgettable, and fascinating to the point of being hypnotic, and that’s because of the Beales themselves, who are far too richly human to be dismissed on the basis of conventional judgments.

First is Little Edie, in her endless array of headscarves (to cover her hair loss from alopecia) and her ever-changing wardrobe of DIY “revolutionary costumes,” a one-time model and might-have-been showgirl who is obviously thrilled at having an audience and rises giddily to the occasion like a pro. Flamboyant, candid, and smarter than we think, she’s also fearlessly vulnerable; she gives us access to an emotional landscape shaped by the heartbreaks of a past that’s gradually revealed as the movie goes on, and it’s her ability to pull herself together and come back fighting that wins us over. By the time she launches into her monologue about being a “S-T-A-U-N-C-H” woman, we have no doubt that it’s true.

Then there’s Big Edie, who comes across as an odd mix of imperious dowager and down-to-earth grandma. She gets her own chance to shine for the camera, especially in the scenes where she reminisces about her early days as a “successful” amateur vocalist, singing along to records of songs she used to perform as glimpses emerge of the beauty and talent she commanded in her prime. She’s more than capable of taking on her daughter in their endless squabbles, and savvy enough to score serious points in the conflict, like stirring up jealousy with her attentions to beefy young handyman Jerry – whom the younger Edie has dubbed “the Marble Faun” – when he comes around to share a feast of boiled corn-on-the-cob with them. “Jerry likes the way I do my corn,” she deadpans to the camera, even though we know it’s meant for Little Edie.

It’s not just that their eccentricities verge on camp; that’s certainly an undeniable part of the appeal, but it falls away quickly as you begin to recognize that even if these women are putting on a show for the camera, they’re still being completely themselves – and they are spectacular.

Yes, their verbal sparring is often shrill and palpably toxic – in particular, Big Edie has no qualms about belittling and shaming her daughter in an obviously calculated effort to undermine her self-esteem and discourage her from making good on her repeated threats to leave Grey Gardens. We know she is acting from fear of abandonment, but it’s cruel, all the same. 

These are the moments that disturb us more than any of the dereliction we see in their physical existence; fed by nostalgia and forged in a deep codependence that neither wants to acknowledge, their dynamic reflects years of social isolation that has made them into living ghosts, going through the habitual motions of a long-lost life, ruminating on ancient resentments, and mulling endlessly over memories of the things that led them to their outcast state. As Little Edie says early on, “It’s very difficult to keep the line between the past and the present. Do you know what I mean?”

That pithy observation, spoken conspiratorially to the Maysles’ camera, sets the tone for the entirety of “Grey Gardens,” perhaps even suggesting an appropriate point of meditation through which to contemplate everything that follows. It’s a prime example of the quotability that has helped this odd little movie endure as a fixture in queer culture; for many LGBTQ people, both Edies – born headstrong, ambitious, and independent into a social strata that only wanted its women to be well-behaved – became touchstones of frustrated longing, of living out one’s own fabulousness in isolated secrecy. Add to that shared inner experience Little Edie’s knack for turning scraps into kitschy fashion (and the goofy-but-joyous flag dance she performs as a sort of climactic topper near the end), and it should be obvious why the Maysles Brothers’ little project still resonates with the community five decades later.

Indeed, watching it in today’s cultural climate, it strikes chords that resonate through an even wider spectrum, touching on feminist themes through these two “problematic” women who have been effectively banished for refusing to fit into a mold, and on the larger issue of social and economic inequality that keeps them trapped, ultimately turning them against each other in their powerlessness.

With that in mind, it’s clear these women were never filmed to be objects of ridicule. They’re survivors in a world in which even their unimaginably wealthy relatives would rather look away, offering a bare minimum of help only when their plight becomes a matter of public family embarrassment, and the resilience they show in the face of tremendous adversity makes them worthy of celebration, instead.

That’s why “Grey Gardens” still hits close to home, why it entertains despite its darkness, and why we remember it as something bittersweet but beautiful. By the end of it, we recognize that the two Edies could be any of us, which means they are ALL of us – and if they can face their challenges with that much “revolutionary” spirit, then maybe we can be “staunch” against our adversities, too.

Through perilous times, queer artists, comedians, and performers have transformed personal and collective pain into honest, witty, and radical expressions of joy and empowerment. On Mar. 4, LGBTQ+ civil rights organization Lambda Legal will uplift some of these voices in its inaugural “Stand-Up for Equality” event.

Margaret Cho, Matteo Lane and Tig Notaro will headline the showcase, which features stand-up acts from both established and emerging voices in queer comedy. Other notable performers include Dina Martina, Roz Hernandez, Rachel Scanlon, Guy Branum, Solomon Georgio and Dana Goldberg.

Their eclectic comedic styles and impacts are wide-sweeping: from Lane’s hilarious, crowd-work-based “advice specials” and Branum’s poignant, internet series “What the Old Gays Remember” to Cho’s biting and punchy commentaries on race and gender and Notaro’s warm, charming presence both on stage and on her “Handsome” podcast. Each performer’s work has boldly expanded the country’s broader comedy scene, exposing more and more viewers to a dynamic, vast pool of queer art, humor, and history.

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Proceeds from “Stand-Up for Equality” will go towards supporting Lambda Legal, an organization that has championed LGBTQ+ policy and rights since 1973. Recently, Lambda Legal joined a trio of civil rights organizations that are representing and filing challenges in support of two trans female athletes defending their rights to participate and compete in school sports at the Supreme Court.

As Lambda Legal battles for the protection of queer communities, events like “Stand-Up for Equality” emphasize the necessity of queer joy and its ability to fuel relief and resistance. For Lambda Legal CEO Kevin Jennings, this evening of laughter and rebellion offers queer folks a chance to rise up against an administration that uplifts and advances ant-LGBTQ+ policy and sentiment — and to directly support an organization fighting against it. 

“Activism isn’t a sidebar for our community; it’s part of our survival, expression, and our legacy,” said Jennings, in a press release. “We must all rise to meet this moment, and I am thrilled these comedians are going to help us to continue to fight the fight, while also allowing us the opportunity to gather together and laugh.” 

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Cho, a “huge fan” of Lambda Legal, recognizes the importance of standing up for the organizations that are doing vital work to make sure queer community members have safe spaces and can access legal support, healthcare, housing, and other crucial resources against the hostility of anti-LGBTQ+ policy. “I’m grateful for their long legacy of protecting, advocating, and advancing our rights; and their work is more important now than it ever was,” Cho said in a press release. 

“Stand-Up for Equality” takes place on Wed. Mar. 4 at 8 p.m. at the Saban Theatre in Beverly Hills. Tickets begin at $62. More information can be found at Lambda Legal’s event site. 

Kristie Song is a California Local News Fellow placed with the Los Angeles Blade. The California Local News Fellowship is a state-funded initiative to support and strengthen local news reporting. Learn more about it at fellowships.journalism.berkeley.edu/cafellows.

It’s unfortunate how poorly so many people view reality television. 

Of course, the genre doesn’t always do itself any favors; for decades, the most prominent examples of this medium were drunken fights and jaw-dropping bigotry. But viewers forget that reality TV has evolved along with its eternally growing audience. It still contains wild drama, yes, but recent years have seen an increase in shows like RuPaul’s Drag Race and We’re Here, which offer nuanced insight into the experiences of queer communities today. Series like these have an undeniable impact on the many who watch them, with their episodes among the most reliable sources of authentic representation that queer viewers can count on. That’s why reality television as a whole deserves more respect, and that’s why Netflix’s The Boyfriend is one of the most impactful programs airing today. The show has become a hit, with season 2 now streaming.

Japan’s first gay dating show, this series brings together a group of eligible men for one summer in ‘The Green Room,’ a house where they’ll live, run a small business, and hopefully find their true love. Overseen by a panel of commentators — a common practice for Japanese reality TV — the series has astounded for two seasons with the genuine emotions on display. Yet along with the romance, what sets The Boyfriend apart is just how informative it is. Not only by offering insight into a queer culture outside of America, but by creating a level of representation that Japan as a country has never seen before. So many scenes and stories on the show are important for LGBTQ+ audiences across the globe, but what truly sets The Boyfriend apart is the simple message that grounds this entire series: it’s not wrong to be gay. 

“In Japan, LGBTQ+ people…[they] are prohibited,” said Durian, a commentator from The Boyfriend and one of Japan’s biggest drag performers. “They are regarded as nonexistent…[and] for some of the young people, when it comes to the fact that they are being ignored in society, it could lead to them not having pride in themselves.”

It was a sentiment echoed by The Boyfriend cast, with the group describing how LGBTQ+ identity is rarely discussed in public and only shown through stereotypes. “When I was in middle school, the word gay didn’t exist,” described Huwei, a contestant and member of Thailand’s national judo team. “People would use other words, [ones that] usually mean just being [like] women.” This is reflected in the portrayal of gay people in Japanese media, with the cast detailing how the few times they saw gay characters, it was always hyper-effeminate, ultra cheerful men — traits that were used as joke fodder for the audience. “They’re trying to be [funny], and they’re trying to make people laugh, but it didn’t necessarily have a positive impression,” said Tomoaki, whose time on the show saw the man grapple with accepting his own sexuality.

These topics come up naturally on the program, as well as other facets of what it means to live as a queer person in Japan, granting American audiences vital insight into an LGBTQ+ culture outside of their own. Durian explained their customs further, saying, “Japan is a bit reserved and very quiet. People may be a little frustrated because they think [the cast] should be more direct, but [their behavior] is really a part of Japanese culture. And if viewers can [understand] that, they’ll be happy.”

It can be easy to forget that the fight for LGBTQ+ liberation looks different in areas across the world. The cast of The Boyfriend not only portrays what dating looks like in their country, but also the many ways their communities fight for acceptance that international audiences don’t often get to see. It doesn’t do this in a way that discredits or villainizes Japanese culture — in fact, many of the men profess how much they love the country that raised them. But their national pride is paired with a hope that their country can grow and begin granting LGBTQ+ people the respect they deserve. It’s this desire that drives so much of the series’ emotion, making it all the more heartwarming when viewers realize just how important The Boyfriend is to this ongoing hope today.  

“For me, I’d never been a part of a gay community…this is really [the first] time I was able to be really true to myself,” said Ryuki, a college student and the youngest member of the group. Bomi, who spent a majority of the season pining after fellow contestant Huwei, agreed, saying, “When I came to the ‘Green Room,’ honestly, in the beginning, I was scared…for the last 20 years, I have not really been honest to myself. But through the life I had [on this show], I’ve been able to be truly myself.”

The franchise’s inherent inclusivity not only allowed the men to find romance but to simply find community amongst one another. This led not only to great television but also to the entire cast raving about their time on the show, while also recognizing how hard it is to find this sense of belonging for so many LGBTQ+ people in Japan today. 

As the conversation wound down, the men reflected on what their inclusion on this series means for their country going forward. As members of Japan’s inaugural gay dating show, they’ll be providing examples of queer identity outside of the grinning caricatures that have always permeated popular culture. They would finally be giving so many young LGBTQ+ viewers the knowledge that there are real people like them out there living happy lives today. This realization drove many of the cast to tears, with each expressing how they hoped these episodes would help those viewers desperately searching for representation. And while they all expressed their care, Bomi summarized the group’s thoughts on what they hoped people took away from The Boyfriend best.

“I want people to feel that they’re not alone. You’re not alone. I want to tell [them] that we all have the same kind of issues, and there are a lot of people who haven’t really expressed themselves yet…but we are here. We are here with you.”

An uplifting message of community, one that was only possible because of the genuine bonds this group forged throughout their experience. This shows just how much of an impact The Boyfriend is already making on Japanese culture, and it’s a reminder for viewers across the world that none of us are alone in the fight for queer equity today. 

The Boyfriend season 2 is now streaming on Netflix

More than 40 openly LGBTQ+ athletes are expected to compete in the Milan Cortina Winter Olympics that open on Friday.

Outsports.com notes eight Americans — including speedskater Conor McDermott-Mostowy and figure skater Amber Glenn — are among the 44 openly LGBTQ+ athletes who will compete in the games. The LGBTQ+ sports website also reports Ellis Lundholm, a mogul skier from Sweden, is the first openly transgender athlete to compete in any Winter Olympics.

“I’ve always been physically capable. That was never a question,” Glenn told Outsports.com. “It was always a mental and competence problem. It was internal battles for so long: when to lean into my strengths and when to work on my weaknesses, when to finally let myself portray the way I am off the ice on the ice. That really started when I came out publicly.”

McDermott-Mostowy is among the six athletes who have benefitted from the Out Athlete Fund, a group that has paid for their Olympics-related training and travel. The other beneficiaries are freestyle skier Gus Kenworthy, speed skater Brittany Bowe, snowboarder Maddy Schaffrick, alpine skier Breezy Johnson, and Paralympic Nordic skier Jake Adicoff.

Out Athlete Fund and Pride House Los Angeles – West Hollywood on Friday will host a free watch party for the opening ceremony.

“When athletes feel seen and accepted, they’re free to focus on their performance, not on hiding who they are,” Haley Caruso, vice president of the Out Athlete Fund’s board of directors, told the Los Angeles Blade.

Four Italian LGBTQ+ advocacy groups — Arcigay, CIG Arcigay Milano, Milano Pride, and Pride Sport Milano — have organized the games’ Pride House that will be located at the MEET Digital Culture Center in Milan.

Pride House on its website notes it will “host a diverse calendar of events and activities curated by associations, activists, and cultural organizations that share the values of Pride” during the games. These include an opening ceremony party at which Checcoro, Milan’s first LGBTQ+ chorus, will perform.

ILGA World, which is partnering with Pride House, is the co-sponsor of a Feb. 21 event that will focus on LGBTQ+-inclusion in sports. Valentina Petrillo, a trans Paralympian, is among those will participate in a discussion that Simone Alliva, a journalist who writes for the Italian newspaper Domani, will moderate.

“The event explores inclusivity in sport — including amateur levels — with a focus on transgender people, highlighting the role of civil society, lived experiences, and the voices of athletes,” says Milano Pride on its website.

The games will take place against the backdrop of the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee’s decision to ban trans women from competing in women’s sporting events.

President Donald Trump last February issued an executive order that bans trans women and girls from female sports teams in the U.S. A group of Republican lawmakers in response to the directive demanded the International Olympics Committee ban trans athletes from women’s athletic competitions.

The IOC in 2021 adopted its “Framework on Fairness, Inclusion and Nondiscrimination on the Basis of Gender Identity and Sex Variations” that includes the following provisions:

• 3.1 Eligibility criteria should be established and implemented fairly and in a manner that does not systematically exclude athletes from competition based upon their gender identity, physical appearance and/or sex variations.

• 3.2 Provided they meet eligibility criteria that are consistent with principle 4 (“Fairness”, athletes should be allowed to compete in the category that best aligns with their self-determined gender identity.

• 3.3 Criteria to determine disproportionate competitive advantage may, at times, require testing of an athlete’s performance and physical capacity. However, no athlete should be subject to targeted testing because of, or aimed at determining, their sex, gender identity and/or sex variations.

The 2034 Winter Olympics are scheduled to take place in Salt Lake City. The 2028 Summer Olympics will occur in Los Angeles.

There is nothing radical about a queer film that plays it safe. From the fabulous shock and awe of John Waters’ obscene ethos, to the formal ruptures of New Queer Cinema in the work of Gregg Araki and Todd Haynes, to Bruce LaBruce’s incendiary provocations, LGBTQ+ filmmakers have historically carved out spaces by breaking rules. Queer cinema was staged in resistance, unsettling viewers and insisting that queer life could not be easily palatable to the masses.

Yet, that history has grown increasingly distant in a media landscape dominated by the repetitive narrative templates, endlessly repackaged and sold as “representation.” In this moment, Cutaways, the latest film from Mark Schwab, arrives as a refreshing (and unsettling) intervention. Cutaways premieres February 3rd on Amazon Prime and Vimeo on Demand.

The dark, intermittently comical film screened at the 2025 SF Queer Film Festival, but its run through the LGBTQ+ festival circuit was brief. Schwab tells the Blade, “It screened at the 2025 SF Queer Film Festival, but it was rejected by every other LGBTQ film festival I entered it into.” What he heard in response wasn’t that the film lacked quality or creative direction. “They love the film,” he explains, “but they were too afraid to program in this climate.”

The hesitation speaks less to Cutaways as an artistic project than to a broader resistance to risk in queer media. Schwab, who grew up watching queer films that transgressed conventional norms, finds the shift troubling. “I grew up with Gregg Araki, and John Waters, and Bruce LaBruce, and Todd Haynes’ Poison,” he eagerly explains, “Those were the films that I admired as a young gay boy… And now it seems like the LGBTQ community just wants everything to be a Lifetime movie, and that’s fine – but does it have to only be that?”

Cutaways refuses to play it safe, rejecting the familiar mise-en-scène that increasingly defines contemporary queer cinema. Set entirely within a Downtown Los Angeles artist space staged as an adult film set, the film follows Evan Quick, a once-respected filmmaker whose career crashes and burns after public backlash. Desperate to keep working, Evan accepts a job directing pornography, a choice that quickly sheds any comic veneer and settles into something more existential. What could have been framed as sexual provocation is deliberately restrained, trading spectacle for unease.

Schwab is clear that the adult film setting is not about provocation. “I knew I wanted to use a porn set as an arena,” he explains, “I’m not judging porn here at all.” Instead, Schwab frames the film in terms of questions that the audience considers while watching: “How did these characters get there? And what are they doing there? And how are they dealing with their issues within that world?”

That sense of entrapment – characters forced to confront themselves without escape – has long fascinated Schwab. One film that was particularly powerful for him was The Boys in the Band (1970), serving as a formative influence. “Watching these characters have to deal with each other’s relationships and issues … and they’re trapped in that party… I love that.” In Cutaways, no one can walk away. Everyone is there for a reason – a reason that audiences must figure out for themselves.

Watching Cutaways, it’s easy to read its characters through the familiar lens of victimhood. Schwab, however, resists that framing entirely. “All the characters want to be there,” he says, “It’s almost like there are no victims in the movie … They’re all exercising their own power in their own way.”

That philosophy extends to the film’s central figure, Evan Quick. Schwab isn’t interested in writing characters to be likable or unlikable so much as depicting them for who they are. “I don’t feel sympathetic to Evan, but I do feel empathetic,” he says. Evan stages a question that sits uncomfortably close to creative individuals: What happens when the work that defines you is suddenly at risk? Or as Schwab puts it: “How far is he willing to go to follow his passion?”

Despite the film’s thematic weight, Schwab rejects the notion that Cutaways is delivering a lesson. “None of my films ever have a message … They are stories,” he tells the Blade. Instead of preaching a message, Schwab’s films insist on attention to detail: “My films are no good if you’re gonna be looking at your phone at the same time … You have to pay attention … You’re just gonna miss way too much.”

Cutaways sits at an uneasy intersection between those invested in preserving the commercialized norms and a queer cinematic legacy defined by risk. That friction may explain its reception, but it also marks the film’s necessity. In an era dominated by repeatable formats and tokenized representation, Schwab’s film insists on uneasiness, ambiguity, and a love for the unpredictable.

Queer cinema must be defined by urging the audience to sit and watch – even when it’s uncomfortable. Cutaways doesn’t just recall that tradition. It reminds us why it mattered in the first place.