For his second book, local author Rasheed Newson showcases LA queer history, steamy cruising spots of yesteryear, and what it meant to be gay and Black during the golden age of Hollywood.

After a lifelong love of old Hollywood and two decades working in the entertainment industry, “There’s Only One Sin in Hollywood” is a story Newson always wanted to tell. Newson’s writing work includes shows like “Lie to Me,” “Narcos,” “Bel-Air,” and others.

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Following the fictional life of backlot fixer Aaron Toissant, Newson’s most recent novel showcases the glimmering facade of what it means to be successful in Hollywood during this time. 

The novel’s journey follows Toissant’s life and eventual investigation into the suspicious death of fictional closeted Black actor Xavier C. Barlow. The narrative of their intertwining lives is told through Toissant, where he chronicles their journey for the ONE Archives in Los Angeles. 

The novel is set during a pivotal time for the LGBTQ+ rights movement, years before the Stonewall riots and marriage equality, and under the Hays Code era of Hollywood.

The Hays Code governed the U.S. film industry from 1934 to 1968 with a list of restricted topics movies couldn’t include in their subject matter, leading to censorship. During the same time, the Cold War’s Red Scare also contributed to blacklisting and censorship.

These strict guidelines were made after a wave of conservative religious critics threatened to boycott films and values they claimed were “immoral,” according to the 1995 documentary “The Celluloid Closet,” which critiques 100 years of LGBTQ+ depictions in film.

The guidelines were made by a federal motion picture commission, and the code was named after the Republican political operative who helped shape it, Will H. Hays, according to the encyclopedia site Britannica.

A list of things prohibited, according to the film, includes: profanity, sex perversion, open-mouthed kissing, lustful embraces,  seduction, rape, abortion, white slavery (which included prostitution and sex trafficking), nudity, and obscenity.

The Hays Code plays a part in the novel, where Aaron witnesses Xavier and other closeted actors do subtle changes to make the film queer-coded to those in the know. This becomes a central plot point in the book, leading readers to the dark side of the industry.

During this time period, it was illegal to be gay or participate in gay sexual acts, and many states had legal restrictions on people wearing opposite gender clothing. It was unsafe and career-ruining to be an out gay person during this period.

Homosexuality wasn’t decriminalized in California until 1975, with the passing of AB 489, according to the California State Archives.

The heightened level of danger and secrecy plays out in the novel as studio leaders do whatever it takes to protect their investment and monetary returns.

“Hollywood has done a very good job of convincing everybody that we’re this town where anything goes, and we just want to tell your story,” Newson said. “We are actually a very cautious, rather conservative business.”

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Even today, LGBTQ+ representation and being out in the entertainment space remains an uphill battle. 

LGBTQ+ inclusion in film hit a three-year low in 2025, GLAAD’s annual Where We Are in Film study found. This decrease in LGBTQ+ characters disproportionately affects LGBTQ+ characters of color. “Of the 112 LGBTQ characters recorded, 34 (30%) are characters of color, a decrease from the 36% counted the previous year,” according to the report.

Much of the opulence and Hollywood parties featured in the novel are set in the backdrop of real-life Black and queer Hollywood hotspots like the Dunbar Hotel, the Biltmore, Central Avenue, and the Crown Jewel. 

Newson called Central Avenue the “heart of Black Hollywood in the 50s and 60s.”

Deed restrictions and discriminatory practices — like redlining — prevented Black families from living in or making a life in any other neighborhoods, according to the LA Conservancy website, leading to a prevalent Black arts scene in Central Avenue.

“I loved writing about the Crown Jewel (Cocktail Room) and how Black queers had a hard time sometimes getting into white gay spaces,” Newson said. “Even in gay spaces, racism is still a problem. Your average gay white man may not have been any more racially evolved than your average straight white man.”

“That there was segregation among queers is something we don’t like to talk about; it sort of just doesn’t come up in your average queer history,” he added.

Police targeting and discriminatory practices played a key part in the later portion of the novel.

Newson highlighted common practices of the time, including raids on suspected gay bars — which police called “fairy dusting,” according to Newson — and entrapment practices where undercover police posed as gay men to then arrest gay men they seduce or were propositioned by. 

Black and Latino gay men endured especially harsh treatment from police, and lesbians were also subjected to raids in addition to bogus charges, detentions and beatings during this time, according to Atavist Magazine.

Newson also called out Los Angeles Police Department’s then-chief Bill Parker by name in the novel (via Touissant’s character), highlighting his targeting of gay men during his run as chief from 1950 to 1966.

Newson wrote, “his police force operated like a band of slave catchers. They stalked, entrapped, beat, captured, and sometimes killed their targets. High on their list of enemies were sex perverts — namely, homosexuals.”

Additionally, a pivotal point of the book highlighted the Black Cat Tavern raid in Los Feliz.

Predating the Stonewall riots by two years, the Los Feliz raid took place in 1967 on New Year’s Day and was the site of violent enforcement of anti-homosexuality laws and sentiment during that time. 

The peaceful protest that followed a month after was one of the first forms of LGBTQ+ resistance for gay rights in the nation. The still-standing bar, now called The Black Cat, became California’s first LGBTQ+ historical landmark in October 2023.

“It was sort of fun because it rewards you (the reader) for knowing the history, but it doesn’t punish you for not knowing,” Newson said of the inclusion of the raid.

The novel’s local hotspot highlights don’t stop with historical significance. 

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Filled with a mix of deep, meaningful love connections and steamy one-time hookups, the book also highlights LA’s cruising scene. 

Popular cruising spots during this time that Newson wanted to highlight include: Pershing Square, LAX bathrooms, the Subway Terminal Building, Central Library, the Biltmore Hotel’s men’s bar, and Griffith Park.

Newson’s addition of real-life LGBTQ+ history into his fiction writing is not new. His first book, “My Government Means to Kill Me,” did the same while covering a young Black man coming into his identity during the AIDS epidemic in New York.

He is currently working on his third book, based on a Black gay serial killer in San Francisco during the 1970s. 

“There’s Only One Sin in Hollywood” is available now anywhere books are sold.

‘Kids, Wait Till You Hear This! My Memoir’
By Liza Minnelli, as told to Michael Feinstein
c.2026, Grand Central
$36/ 421 pages

Twenty feet In front of you, and you can’t see a thing.

Even the closest faces are in shadow – lit, but not quite enough for you to see for sure what the people there are thinking. Still, you can hear them, their gasps, their laughter, and applause. Such is life, on-stage. Now read “Kids, Wait Till You Hear This! My Memoir” by Liza Minnelli, as told to Michael Feinstein, and read about it beyond the spotlight.

Almost from the moment she was born, Liza Minnelli was famous.

It was inevitable: her mother was Judy Garland. Her father was director Vincente Minnelli. Her godparents were Hollywood glitterati, her neighbors were famous, her playmates would be famous someday, too.

But her life wasn’t all starlight and happiness.

She made her stage debut as a toddler. She became her “mother’s caretaker” at age 13.

At 16, she had a growing career of her own – one that her mother tried to stop. But, she says, “In her own way, Mama was wonderful to me. Try understanding – she was my mother, not a movie star…. I knew her as the person who loved me and always would.”

At 19, Minnelli was working, happy, and madly in love with the man who’d become her first husband, and life was wonderful – until she came home one day to find him in their bed with another man. Before they were divorced, she lost her beloved mother, and became “engaged” to two other men simultaneously, neither of which made it to the altar with her.

She married her second husband, the son of one of her mother’s former co-stars, in 1974 but her love affairs and addictions led to a second divorce.

Her third husband was a stage manager.

She doesn’t have much good to say about her fourth, and last, husband.

Overall, she says, “You gotta play the comedy for all it’s worth and leave ‘em laughing. Even when your heart is breaking.”

Are you expecting bluntness, sass, or attitude here? Good, because that’s what you get inside “Kids, Wait Till You Hear This!” It’s strong on honesty and don’t-give-a-flip. It’s wonderfully edited, so it moves fast. It’s eye-opening and funny and a pleasant surprise for a first, and only (so far), memoir.

Even better, author Liza Minnelli (with best friend, Michael Feinstein) is really quite candid and nicely gossipy, starting from the beginning. There are some Hollywood folks, in fact, who are feeling edgy because of what’s inside this book and the secrets spilled. Minnelli and Feinstein seemed to have fun telling her story, and they comfortably lure readers in.

That’s not to say that it’s all a cabaret. Minnelli tells about her addictions and recoveries, her marriages and why she wed two gay men, and the losses she endured, including miscarriages, deaths, and broken relationships. The bad balances well with the good for a tale that’s several notches above most celebrity memoirs. “Kids, Wait Till You Hear This!” is, in fact, a real joy to read, a genuine bright spot.

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‘Poking the Squid: What We Can Learn from Animal Sex’
By Perrin Roosevelt Ireland
c.2026, W.W. Norton
$29.99 241 pages

Birds do it.

According to Cole Porter, bees do, too, but it’s not exactly what he imagined. Wild and tame, avians, insects, and mammals all have sex – although not always as you’ve been told or for reasons you might think. Even educated fleas do it and, as in the new book, “Poking the Squid” by Perrin Roosevelt Ireland, humans can learn from them all.

If you read through scientific papers on animal reproduction, you might notice something unusual: for scientists, the word “sex” means a lot of different things.

Says Ireland, “It’s used to describe behaviors, biology, life histories, and more.”

That might be because animals are not simply binary.

Take, for instance, hyenas. It’s easy for the casual observer to mistake a male hyena for a female and vice versa because of stereotypes of anatomy. Mating, for hyenas, requires subordination for the male and a nifty trick on the part of the female’s body to get things done.

Our feathered friends are no birdbrains, either: black-browed albatrosses were once thought to be monogamous but global warming seems to have changed their nesting habits sometimes. Male flamingos have sex with one another, as a territorial thing; other birds and animals form same-sex pairs for other reasons.

The Chinese mantis eats her mate after fertilization. Female snakes, alpacas, guinea pigs, and monkeys are anatomically able to enjoy sex. Genitalia between species varies quite a bit; in fact, the vaginas of ducks “are highly complex.” Lionesses will mate up to 100 times when in heat. Female damselflies will change into a “third sex” to avoid overly aggressive mating males. Bearded dragons can change their sex, if needed, as can yellow clown goby fish. And seahorse pregnancy and birth sparked a book banning in Tennessee.

So, asks Ireland, if animals, including us, vary so much in biology and life, “… why are we using the word sex like it means something, anything, consistent?!”

Pick up “Poking the Squid,” page through it a few seconds, and you’ll see that the information here is largely told through cartoon-like drawings mixed with captions. It seems to be something on the lighter side, but don’t let that artwork fool you.

Author Perrin Roosevelt Ireland offers readers solid information that cozies up to the scholarly, with hard science, philosophy, feminism, and quotations from researchers to support it, thus furthering the narrative and hitting the points squarely. If you see the art and expect something lighthearted, comic, and small-talk-worthy, you could be disappointed.

On the other hand, if you want solid, wryly serious facts, you’re in for a treat.

There’s lots of learning to be gleaned here, and some slight nudge-wink whimsy to emphasize the absurdity of wrong-headed thinking. This can make readers feel like they’re in-the-know on the jokes, and the playfulness balances the seriousness of the information well.

So, serious, scholarly, or slightly silly, none of these are negative but you’re going to know what you want from a book like this. For the right reader, someone in the mood, “Poking the Squid” is wild.

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‘Transcendent: A Memoir’
By Laverne Cox
c.2026, Gallery Books
$30/238 pages

OK, let’s just say it: You’re tired of lies.

They come from above, behind, from either shoulder. They’re repeated, laid out in a line, told as if they’re true but they’re not. You wish people would stop lying to you. As in the new memoir “Transcendent” by Laverne Cox, you wish you could tell the truth about yourself.

Sissy.

If the bullies in the neighborhood weren’t constantly calling Laverne Cox that name, then Cox’s mother was. “Sissy,” was just one word, though; the others were worse. The boys would say those things while they beat Cox, when they could catch her. Her mother screamed at her gentle child who didn’t like “boy” activities.

Even at eight years old, says Cox, “I was a prim and proper lady.”

Despite the verbal abuse about her perceived feminine behavior and a furtive, failed attempt at conversion therapy, Cox’s mother sent her and her brother to the Alabama School of Fine Arts, where Cox learned to dance. It was a lifeline for her, and the talent gained there helped Cox get into college in Indiana.

From there, Cox expected to find fame and fortune in New York City.

And yet, the abuse she suffered as a child held Cox back, and the words “There is something wrong with me” became a daily mantra.

“I didn’t know how to say it.” Cox says. “I’m a girl.”

There were therapy sessions to get to that point, as Cox learned the language and skills needed to speak the truth. Landing a sense of style helped, as did her brother’s support, a handful of friends, and happy, scent-infused memories of her mother’s make-up table.

At each step, Cox says, “I was expressing myself, I was also allowing myself to edge closer to my girlhood.”

Let’s start here: “Transcendent” is a difficult read – not for style, but for substance.

From her earliest memory of being sexually abused as a toddler; to verbal and physical abuse from many sources; to what, judging by photo captions, seems perhaps like forgiveness, author Laverne Cox glosses over nothing. Be ready, in other words, for pages and pages of memories that, like a roller-coaster, will make you cringe and want to hide your eyes, although doing so would be a mistake.

As this book progresses, Cox’s story does, too. We see a child who knows a truth but has no words for it. The child becomes a teen with a bursting sense of self, then a young adult who craves love as she’s stretching her wings. By the time Cox advances to writing about her career and the abuse is (mostly) over, readers will breathe a well-deserved sigh of relief. Whew, you’ve winced through a harrowing tale to reach a satisfying but not complete update.

Fans of Cox’s work will want “Transcendent,” as will anyone who’s transitioned, is thinking about it, or loves someone who has. It’s a rough read, but a necessary one, then, and that’s no lie.

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Books for Pride by various authors
c.2026, various publishers
$18.95 – $29.00

How many times have you marched so far this month? Seems like there’s always a reason to gather and walk during Pride, but save some time for yourself, too. You’ll want to reflect, rest, and read these great books about living your best Pride month. 

No doubt, you’ve thought once or twice about stepping away from society as it is, and moving somewhere more accepting. So read “Qtopia: A Memoir of Love, Land, and Liberation” by Juda Bennett (University of Wisconsin Press, $18.95), the story of doing exactly that, and how it turned out.

Back in the ‘70s, Bennett fled the suburbs and all it represented, and went “back to the land,” to a commune named Lavender Hill. Some of the places he’d lived before then had promised way more than they delivered, but Lavender Hill was different – more rural, more open, more queer, much better. But you know all good things must end, and that includes “queer utopia.” The only thing left was to re-enter the mainstream, a journey unto itself, and one worth reading.

Speaking of memoirs, in “Gay Mormon Dad” by Chad Anderson, art by Remy Burke (Graphic Mundi, $21.99), you’ll read about Anderson’s life as a husband (to a woman), a father, and a man who seemingly had it all but it wasn’t right, and he wasn’t happy. He was gay, but acknowledging it, telling his family and his church family, could mean the loss of everything he loved. It’s a story that may be familiar to you, in some way, and it’s a quick read.

For most of his life, Joseph Osmundson dreamed about getting pregnant and having a family. The former didn’t happen and, as for the latter, as he writes in his memoir, “Spawning Season: An Experiment in Queer Parenthood” (Bloomsbury, $27.99) the journey for a gay man to become a father can have plenty of roadblocks.

When two women approach Osmundson to be a sperm donor, it appears that his ultimate dreams are about to come true. Things go swimmingly – until race enters the conversation. Are the words “donor” and “dad” the same? Read this powerful book, and think about it.

And finally, if parenthood as a gay person is something that’s a case of maybe-later, then “Good Morning Moon: A Snapshot of an American Family” by Brad Gooch (Harper, $29) is a book to find. It’s the story of late-life love, surrogacy, and identity as Gooch learns about himself as he learns to be a good Dad. This is a great book for older fathers, and anyone who’s on the parental fence, later in life.

If these great books aren’t enough for you, or if you’re looking for something different for Pride, then head to your favorite bookstore or library and ask the staff there to help you find your next best read. They’ve got a lot of books to put in your hands, a lot of sunny afternoons full of relaxing and promise, so march on out, get a new book, and happy Pride!

‘Devout: Losing My Faith to Find Myself’
By David Archuleta
c.2026, Gallery Books
$29/290 pages

So just make up your mind already.

The decision is very much in your control – or, at least that’s how it’s supposed to be. It’ll be your future, your path, and seizing it may not just be necessary, but mandatory. It’s your life, and no one can live it for you. As in the new memoir “Devout” by David Archuleta, that goes for career and for love, too.

Born to parents who both had musical careers before they wed, David Archuleta remembers an early childhood growing up in a Hispanic Mormon community in Florida, where kin was always nearby. He was six when his parents moved the immediate family to Utah; the first thing he remembers about that is the snow, and how it was so cold, it burned.

Because music was in his blood, Archuleta grew up singing and dancing, often with his mother whom he calls “my rock.” It was his father, however, who encouraged him to perform; first, with a gentle push, then a shove toward a career Archuleta didn’t really want.

But he did want to make his father happy, so he went along with the contests, embarrassing meet-and-greets with stars, and uncomfortable introductions. Slowly, though, performing became more fun, and Archuleta made friends.

Meanwhile, back home, everything was breaking apart. A “family friend” whom Archuleta refuses to name accused his father of abuse. He was exonerated, but it affected the family’s closeness and they stopped being affectionate.

That was a painful backdrop to Archuleta’s soaring career, his appearances on Star Search, friendships with other rising stars, his runner-up spot on “American Idol,” tours, and recording contracts. His father kept pushing him.

But there was one thing missing.

Since he was a boy, Archuleta had known that he was attracted to men, but his Mormon faith taught him that that was unacceptable. Kissing, his abuelita said, was wrong. He tried hard to date girls, in the most chaste way. Anything past that was against God – and anything at all with a man was unthinkable.

Though it absolutely favors his personal life and dwells on it a bit too much, “Devout” strikes an otherwise nice balance between that, author David Archuleta’s career, his sexuality, and his faith. The latter two are loaded with controversy.

You don’t need to be Mormon to fully understand the faith part; Archuleta offers non-Mormons a brief education, so readers can see the importance of the Church’s teachings in his life and why he felt the need to abandon it as his understanding of his bisexuality grew. It’s emotionally raw and honest, but also so respectful that it almost bears re-reading. Such candor and the heart-on-his-sleeve tone you’ll sense are features in the entire book, alongside Archuleta’s family’s struggles and his learning to strike out alone.

It’s harmonious in more ways than one, and fans will be happy.

So, too, will anyone who wants a unique memoir with a dose of faith, or someone who’s an “American Idol”watcher. Find “Devout” and be sure to share. You won’t mind.

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‘Mighty Real: A History of LGBTQ Music, 1969-2000’
By Barry Walters
c.2026, Viking
$35/496 pages

Step, step, tap, back step.

Shimmy in a circle, left hand waving over your head, shake your tail feathers, repeat to the beat. Once there was a time when you could do any dance in your sleep, but it’s been a while. So read “Mighty Real” by Barry Walters, and see if your toes don’t tap.

Fifty-seven years after Stonewall, and here we are: LGBTQ musicians still face scrutiny for their sexuality because, says Walters, music isn’t created for gay listeners. No problem: LGBTQ artists and writers have often penned lyrics carefully in order to say what can’t be said, “coding” songs for gay audiences that straight (and ignorant) listeners can dance to and enjoy with apparent obliviousness.

Walters offers “just a few” examples.

Lou Reed sang about trans people in the late ‘60s and offered a rallying song for the Gay Liberation Front in 1972, the latter of which felt like a message to a then-11-year-old Walters. Janis Joplin claimed she was straight, but she had several girlfriends. Motown singers often offered sometimes-ambiguous lyrics.

John Lennon’s hand placement on the back cover of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band made Walters begin to understand that he was different from other boys.

David Bowie is on his list, of course, as is Bette Midler, Elton John, Donna Summer, and Queen. You’ll find Judas Priest here, Green Day, and punk music. The Village People are included in this book, also Grace Jones, Duran Duran, and Cher, Whitney, Melissa, Latifah, and the lyrics from several blockbuster movies.

Two of Prince’s band members were lesbians, and they heavily influenced his albums. Diana Ross’s “I’m Coming Out” cemented her position in LGBTQ culture, and Michael Jackson’s inclusion here takes much careful consideration.

Read about Olivia Newton-John and the B52s. And then there’s Sylvester, for whom Walters has a soft spot in his heart. Sylvester’s death still makes Walters cry.

In his preface, author and music writer Barry Walters points out that music is what you make it and that it’s interpreted differently by each individual. To that end, this book naturally consists of preferential history and personal opinions about singers, bands, albums, and songs.

Agree or disagree. That’s where much of the appeal lies in “Mighty Real.”

Here, Walters wraps his memories around his choices, giving readers room for their own views, memories, and list making. Music-loving readers might also be surprised to note who’s not on Walters’ list – there aren’t many country performers here, for example, and the overall list focuses entirely on music from roughly 1968 to the year 2000, mostly on the kinds of songs you’ll want at the club or party. Again, discuss, and curate your own playlist.

This is a hefty book, but the chapters are browse-able and generally short enough to read in under five minutes. It’s nostalgic, yet also serious in the history it presents. This is the kind of book you want to leave near your album collection, or wherever you get your tunes. But finding “Mighty Real” is your first step.

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You’re all geared up.

You’ve got your best parade-walking shoes, your coolest tee, your most-comfortable shorts, and a rainbow flag to carry. You’re set for Pride, but before you go, try one of these great new books about LGBTQ life and history.

After the parade, where will you end up? A place to talk your experience over, to re-hash things for the next parade? Then you may need “The Lesbian Bar Chronicles: The Living History and Hopeful Future of America’s Dyke Dives and Sapphic Spaces” by Rachel Karp (Beacon Press, $29.95).

Lesbian bars, says Karp, are more than just places to drink. They’re also places to find community, and to organize. For many, she says, they are “sanctuaries,” as they have been for at least a century, and this book introduces you to some of the people who run the establishments, the things they do to support their patrons, and the 100-year-plus bravery that it took to own, run, and enter a lesbian bar.

If you had to name a gay icon, there are probably quite a few who come to mind. So read “Without Prejudice: My Life as a Gay Judge” by Harvey Brownstone (ECW Press, $21.95) and add another name to your list.

This memoir, written by Canada’s first openly gay judge, takes readers from Brownstone’s childhood to his life as a lawyer, then to his work within the justice system in Ontario, and beyond, to his current career. This is a surprising, informative book that gives you an idea what gay life is like, north of our uppermost borders, then and now.

Pride is a celebration, an event, but it also demands a peek backwards, and in “The LGBTQ Almanac: 500 Years of Queer Culture in American History” by Deborah G. Felder (Visible Ink Press, $39.95), you’ll get a wide look at the pioneers, allies, policy, and gay life over the course of the last five centuries. Want to know more about religion in the gay community? It’s in here, along with celebrities, presidents, science, business, and more. This is the kind of book that settles bets. It’s one you want to have in any room of your home because it’s comprehensive and perfectly browse-able for all of its 600-plus pages.

And finally, here’s a book to read and think about: “No Fats No Fems: A Guide to Queer Empathy and Unpacking Prejudice” by Max Hovey (HarperOne, $19.99). How do you eliminate hateful, hurtful words, aimed at gay people – by gay people? What kind of stereotypes do we carry, unintentionally? This book takes those things out into the daylight by talking honestly and thoughtfully about them, as well as other issues. It’s a book to have when doubts creep in, when you need a new way of thinking or a different direction, or when you just want something different to read.

And if these great books aren’t enough, head to your favorite bookstore or library and ask for books that you can read before Pride or after. And happy Pride!

As our beloved Pride Month draws near, discussions on queer identity and resistance feel especially appropriate, particularly for the time that we are all currently in. With his forthcoming book Shameless: The Making of Black Gay Identities in LA, sociologist Terrell J. A. Winder explores how Black gay men in Los Angeles navigate stigma while building lives that are deeply rooted in self-worth, community, and queer Black joy. Drawing from years of research and personal reflection, Winder challenges many longstanding academic ideas about shame and “spoiled” identities, instead centering the resilience and creativity of Black queer communities.

Set against the cultural backdrop of our City of Angels, his book examines how Black gay men cultivate chosen families, affirming spaces, and authentic forms of self-acceptance in a society that consistently marginalizes us. From the legacy of Jewel’s Catch One to the everyday acts of vulnerability and care that sustain community, Winder reframes stigma as something that can be resisted, transformed, and ultimately rejected. In our conversation, Winder discusses shamelessness, “unspoiling,” and what an affirming future for Black queer people could look like.

The title Shameless resonates hard. What does “shamelessness” mean in the context of Black gay identity formation? 

For many Black gay and queer individuals, shame and the process of learning that their identities are shameful is a common part of growing up in the US. We might hear negative things from family members, classmates, teachers, the media, etc. All of these messages create the need for shamelessness. The title is a call to all Black gay and queer people to shamelessly accept all of themselves, no matter the negativity; it is an invitation to reject stigma. 

You introduce to your readers the concept of “unspoiling.” Can you walk us through what that process looks like? 

For many sociologists and researchers who study stigma, or in other words, negatively marked identities, the researcher Erving Goffman’s idea that these socially unacceptable or contentious identities were “spoiled” resonates still. Many people who experience a stigma might try to “pass,” where they hide their socially negative attribute, or to “cover,” where they downplay the significance of an unaccepted identity. 

Instead, I show how several young men in the book push back on the idea that they should try to make other people comfortable around them. In effect, these young men decide to prioritize their own comfort over the comfort of people who have an issue with their Blackness or queerness. In the book, I show how community organizations, media representations, and chosen gay family networks can be places where young men learn not to just simply accept negative things about their identities but instead can develop tools to reject stigma in everyday life. 

You describe how Black gay men more often than not navigate competing pressures around masculinity. How do these types of internal negotiations gradually yet surely sculpt one’s identity over time? 

Across the life course, these competing pressures and messages about masculinity can solidify in different ways related to a number of factors. For example, do you have a supportive social network like a “gay family” that might model different forms of masculinity? Do you have a father or father figure who tells you it’s okay to show emotion? Did you grow up hearing that your single mother couldn’t raise a “real man?” These are the types of internal struggles that many of the young men whom I studied encountered. Their varying expressions of masculinity are shaped by those experiences close to them with family and friends, but also through external factors like media representation. 

Sometimes having positive reinforcement to embody masculinity in the way you’d like can result in a sculpted identity that is more expressive and free to experiment. However, being surrounded by a majority of negative messaging and sanctioning of your masculinity expression often leads to one of two choices: 1) you push back against the negativity or 2) you fall in line. While these identities do become more solidified over time, I hope that the book serves as a reminder that we are all able to continually rework our relationship with masculinity and femininity throughout our lives. 

That question “Should I act more masculine to pass?” is pretty loaded. What did your research reveal about how men resolve or live with this very specific tension? 

I think anyone who has ever felt less masculine around other men has considered this question. In the study, the stakes of this question often shaped the response to that tension. For example, some young men discuss feeling that their physical safety was threatened, and thus they elect to express a more masculine persona to avoid physical harm. However, not all of the young men felt that the potential for this physical danger was an acceptable reason to “pass” and instead advocated for facing these threats head-on, no matter the potential consequences. 

That is where the “unspoiling” emerges. It became clear that for some of the young men that I studied, it was more important that they were true to themselves and their own expressions of masculinity and femininity than to accommodate other people who put pressure on them, whether physically or verbally, to be more masculine. 

Your work shines a spotlight on how stigma operates on multiple levels (race, sexuality, gender expression). How do these layers interact with each other in everyday life? 

We often think of stigmas as individual or not layered, or even forget that people are navigating multiple stigmas simultaneously. However, the young men in this study are considering the boundaries of their racial, gender, and sexual expressions daily. The men in this study discussed hearing both positive and negative messages about their Black identities growing up, but very rarely did someone hear anything positive about their non-heterosexual sexuality. 

Also, as Black gay men, we are often tasked with navigating intersectional stigmas like the burden of HIV stigma. Every day, each individual must choose how to respond to stigma on their own terms; the young men in this study often do a mix of things depending on the specific situation. I think what’s most important is that we learn how to reject the internalization of stigma–the book offers a few ways to get there. 

You also highlight how undoing stigma is the responsibility of the stigmatizer. What does accountability look like in this context? 

Yes, I argue that we spend too much time teaching people how to cope with stigma instead of focusing on the stigmatizer and their role in creating it. As someone trained as an elementary school teacher, I think of stigma like bullying in a classroom: while we want children to protect and advocate for themselves, we ultimately recognize that the bully is the problem, not the bullied person. Accountability means refusing to ignore moments when others are being denigrated for who they are and asking ourselves when we are bystanders, stigmatizers, or capable of intervening. What people dismiss as “jokes” or “boys will be boys” can have lasting consequences. It is also important to recognize that someone experiencing stigma may still perpetuate it toward others, which is why everyone must reflect on how they contribute to either reinforcing or reducing stigma in the lives of those around them.

At the same time, you show how many folks develop internal strategies to survive and thrive. What are some of the most powerful forms of resilience you observed in your many years of research? 

Some of the most memorable examples of resisting stigma came from men who had endured profound hardship. One young man shared that despite being beaten and stabbed for being Black and gay, he still proudly embraces those identities everywhere he goes. I do not take lightly the courage it takes for someone to remain true to themselves while knowing they may face harm for it. Throughout my research, I was also deeply moved by the vulnerability and resilience shown when Black queer men shared their fears and experiences within community organizations and chosen families. Simply seeking out and building these affirming spaces felt like a powerful act of resilience and self-preservation.

How do you reconcile the gap between aspirational representation and lived reality, especially in a city like Los Angeles? 

I think it’s important for everyone to aspire to something, especially for people whose lived realities are filled with challenges. In Los Angeles, specifically, we have a city full of promise but also a city filled with disappointments. Every day, Angelenos must make the choice to move the needle towards a better city and a better community. 

You explore Black queer history in LA, including the creation of alternative spaces. What about Jewel’s Catch One is so unmistakably essential? 

Jewel’s Catch One, or “The Catch,” remains an iconic space in Black queer history in Los Angeles and beyond. Created by and for Black queer people at a time when many were excluded from predominantly White queer spaces, it provided a vital place for community, celebration, and belonging. Even as queer gathering spaces continue to close across the country, places like The Catch remain essential for navigating stigma and fostering resilience. In 2025, it was officially recognized as a Historical Cultural Monument by the city of Los Angeles, cementing its cultural and historical significance.

Figures like Jewel Thais-Williams helped build community in the face of exclusion. What lessons can these stories provide younger folks today? 

Jewel Thais-Williams is a great example of someone who resisted the stigmas associated with being Black and queer and created a space for others like her to come behind. I start the book off by discussing some of the ways that, over time, younger generations forgot, or even undervalued, how important it was to have a space like Catch One–they let the stigmas associated with the neighborhood override the importance that it served as a cultural institution. 

I hope that we, instead, can remember just how critical spaces created by Black queer people in the face of stigma are to our collective well-being as a community. Jewel Thais-Williams’s legacy should be a lesson and a model for how we can intentionally carve out space in a world that often relegates our lives to the margins. 

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How do younger generations of Black queer men today compare to those you studied in your research? 

I suspect that younger generations are still experiencing negative messages and navigating stigma in similar ways to how the men in my book did. However, one major change is that the proliferation of social media examples of Black gay men has diversified significantly, with social media content created by young people on platforms like TikTok and Instagram. One great example of this is the many queer prom-posals that we get to witness on social media; the generation of men that I studied mostly attended proms with their “girlfriends.” 

Additionally, we are in a moment where people are trying to censor the reality that people of different sexualities or races even exist in our society. Changes in community organization funding, access to sexual healthcare, and diverse media representations all threaten to curb the gains Black gay men (and other queer communities) have made in the effort to combat stigma. Yet, I still believe that the younger generation is boldly freer because they have online connections and access to feel less isolated–that is a powerful tool. 

What do you hope readers outside queer Black communities take away from Shameless? 

I hope the book can help anyone navigating stigma think differently about their relationship to their own identities and recognize that they do not have to carry that burden alone. While I wrote it to challenge scholarly narratives about stigma, it was equally important that it offer practical value by encouraging people to seek supportive communities, affirming representations, and expanded definitions of family and care. I also hope the book encourages people to reflect on the ways they may contribute to stigma in the lives of others, even while navigating stigmatized identities themselves. Ultimately, the book is both a call for self-reconciliation and an invitation to ask how we can lessen the burden of stigma for those around us.

What does a really-truly-deeply “unspoiled” future look like to you, for Black queer men, and for society as a whole? 

To me, an unspoiled future means recognizing that everyone has the right to exist fully as they are without fear of harm or exclusion. For Black queer people, this would mean embracing both identities without facing physical, emotional, or psychological harm and finding joy, belonging, and community in that intersection. A truly unspoiled future also requires people to recognize the humanity in others, even when they live or love differently from themselves. Ultimately, it calls on all of us to reflect on whether we are helping lessen stigma or contributing to its continuation.

Books about Fashion and Style
By various authors
c.2026, various publishers
$19.95 – $29.95

Don’t look now, but your legs are showing.

It’s OK, it’s almost summertime and you want to show both skin and style. So how about a few hints for looking your best? Check out these great books and get stylin’.

Who says there are rules about fashion? Wearing white before Memorial Day is OK; socks with sandals not so much? Fine, but in “Bending the Rules: Fashion Beyond the Binary” by Camille Benda with Gwyn Conaway (Princeton Architectural Press, $29.95), you’ll see that any guidelines that hint about gendering clothing are oh-so-last century.
Along with lively, fun narrative, there are lots of photos in this book, ads for how clothing used to be worn along male-female lines, and short biographies of some of today’s best designers. Here, you can check out prom dresses from the 1950s and new haute couture gowns practically right off the runway – and see how one parallels with the other. The timeline reaches back centuries, so you get a nice idea of where certain kinds of clothing originated and how it’s relevant today – making what’s inside here perfect for browsing.

Pick up this book, in fact, and you might also pick up some ideas for filling your closet and creating your very own style.

The fashion you wear on your body isn’t all you’ll find in “Pretend to Be Fancy: A Field Guide to Style and Sophistication” by Whitney Marston Pierce (Chronicle Books, $19.95). You’ll also read about other nice things you can have.

So you’re not a pinky-in-the-air kind of person, whatever. You can easily hang with those who are, once you read and absorb this book.

Tongue-tied at fancy soirees? Not anymore, there are tips for talking here. What do you know about canapes, hors d’oeuvres, and the kind of foods you don’t get at the corner c-store? How do you make a charcuterie that everyone will Ooooooh over? And how do you give a gift for the person whose taste seems scads better than yours? That’s all in here, along with what to drink, how to dress, and how to make every corner of your home look like something right out of a high-end magazine.

Will this book make you chic? Possibly, yes. Will it help you get invited to all the best parties? Maybe, but for sure, it’ll make you laugh, it’ll make you feel fabulous, look fabulous, and live your best life with the surroundings you deserve. Out May 5, so put it on your list.

But let’s say you need more ideas. You have questions or thorny issues with fashion that you really need answering. That’s when you ask for a talented fashionista at your local bookstore or library, that knowledgeable someone knows books and knows how to get what you need to be your most dazzling, best-dressed, finest-appointed self in a home you can be proud of, with comfortable furniture that will be the envy of everyone who sees it.

In the meantime, grab the above titles, because these books got legs.