Queerbaiting and the blame ping-pong ball

The following is a breakdown of the term “queerbaiting”, its implications for creators and fans, and the nature of the blame game in its surrounding discourse.

Or, an exceedingly long essay I wrote after coming across the curiously nonsensical term “self-queerbaiting”.

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With many forms of popular media, tensions grow high and loyalties form as personal identities are tied to fictional representations. Just take a look around any franchise’s Tumblr fandom and you’ll see distinctive factions, all exploring and defending their particular understanding of a story and their expectations for it. And in any franchise with an ounce of homoerotic subtext, listen hard enough and you’ll hear the distant cry of “queerbaiting!” echoing against walls of gifsets and highly detailed meta-textual essays.

An ambiguous term, like many generated in the linguistic whirlpool of internet discourse, queerbaiting predominantly refers to a phenomenon where creators insert homoerotic or homoromantic elements into their product in order to pique the attention of audiences interested in that content. However, despite their consistent inclusion, these queer elements are not given full validation in the text, often in contrast with their easily visible heterosexual counterparts. In essence, queer audiences are baited with content they would like to see, but it never actually follows through in a meaningful way. Queerbaiting implies, at its worst, an active effort to string along queer audiences for their viewership and money. At best, it presumes the passive allowance of a continuously misleading narrative by its creators.

The most obvious examples of this can be seen in same sex pairings on television shows. Sherlock, Rizzoli & Isles, Supernatural, Merlin, etc., all spawned ardent fan followings with one central question for their protagonists: will they or won’t they? These pairings often share common elements: the characters are professional partners, “brothers in arms”, and develop complex, emotionally intimate relationships that grow over a long period of time. Consistent use of romantic tropes, queer coding of one or both characters, and what I’ll refer to as frequent “wink-wink nudge-nudges” are all typical attributes of popular queer pairings. In a simple thought experiment for the heteronormatively inclined, when one character remains entirely the same but is switched to the opposite gender, the pairing becomes easily interpreted as romantic.

However, the question of queerbaiting goes much deeper than “two characters seem like they could end up together”. There are several key factors implied by an accusation of queerbaiting that differentiate it from simple subtext:

- Intent on the part of the creators to include queer elements like queer coding and homoerotic/romantic subtext.

- Knowledge on the part of the creators of audience interpretations surrounding their work.

- Responsibility on the part of the creators to honor said subtext and audience interpretations.

The first point, in and of itself, is neutral. Including queer elements is not always good and not always bad, they just exist. Even if the author intended to create homoerotic tension between two characters, for example, it does not inherently construe to the audience an intent to later explore those characters’ sexualities or relationships. Sometimes, these elements can exist on their own, and can contribute to a more richly layered narrative or characterization. However, the inclusion of such elements cannot be easily isolated from the fraught history of queer subtext and coding, which has roots extending nearly a century back to the implementation of the Hays Code and related stigmatization. Productive discussions of the merits of queer coding and the like will view these choices within their cultural and artistic contexts.

The second point is largely why claims of queerbaiting have been particularly visible and passionate over the last decade. Fans and creators have never before been able to communicate with one another at the levels enabled by modern social media platforms, Twitter being the most prominent and often used. As a result, contemporary creators have gotten a unique insight into the experiences of their fans, and have been able to see in real time how fan interpretations of their work change and react to developments in their stories.

In the past, creators existed in a relative vacuum. They were exposed to critic reviews, and could glean audience information from ratings, focus groups, and merchandising, but at the end of the day the fandom experience was separate with the exception of fan mail and physical events like conventions. When you extend this to fans of queer characters or relationships, the simple fact is that until very recently such a fandom could not comfortably or safely operate in the public eye at all, let alone directly connect with the creators of their content. This all changed in recent years, with the concurrent (and often symbiotic) developments of social media, queer visibility in popular media, and the gradually increasing social acceptance of the LGBTQ+ community. With this, long-fought demands for more and better representation for all marginalized groups, LGBTQ+ included, have gained momentum and visibility in the broader culture. And at the same time, interaction between fans and content creators has become easy and ubiquitous, as simple as a tagged tweet or Instagram comment. In effect, many creators have a direct line into the fan experience, and subsequently have full access to fan interpretations of many elements of their work, including but not limited to audience expectations regarding queer representation.

So, where does this leave us in terms of queerbaiting? Well, when creators can see how fans react to a pairing and its related subtext, and continue to develop said subtext with no intent to honor the ensuing expectations, it begs the question of why. If a romantic interpretation is not the intention, why continue to include the elements that you know fans see as romantic? If ambiguity surrounding a character’s sexuality or relationships is feeding incorrect audience expectations, why not clarify? What does a creator have to gain through ambiguity, and to lose through clarification? The answer, according to claims of queerbaiting, is a false choice between the bonus viewership of a marginalized audience desperate for representation, and the prioritized viewership of a perceived heteronormative audience.

This brings us into our third aspect of queerbaiting, which is where we really get into sticky territory. Because an accusation of queerbaiting fundamentally suggests that creators have a responsibility to their audiences. It implies a relationship between creator and consumer that has been misused, and a trust between the two that has been betrayed. This, I believe, is where discussions about the merits of the term queerbaiting get murky and lost in bad faith, because the answers and solutions to this implication are rarely simple, and are steeped in high emotions and strong opinions. Do creators truly owe their consumers anything? If so, to what extent? If creators must follow through on queer subtext, do they have to follow through on all subtext? And in turn, does the pressure to bring these undercurrents to the surface devalue the art; will art and all its complexities suffer when an audience can demand what gets included and what doesn’t? What right, if any, does an audience have to make such demands?

The clear answer to all of these questions, naturally, is that there is no clear answer. Context matters. The medium and contributors to the art matter. The audience and demands in question matter. Is it ever totally correct to say creators must listen to their audience? Probably not. Is it ever totally correct to say audiences have no right to question creators or advocate for representation? Also probably not.

In regard to accusations of queerbaiting and the related roles of creator and consumer, the context is this:

- Creators, often but *NOT ALWAYS* heterosexual white men, create content.

- This content includes elements that can be interpreted as queer coded/homoerotic/romantic.

- An audience that has historically been denied meaningful representation (and faces social stigmatization both reflected in and reinforced by poor representation in popular media) consumes this content and interprets it as queer coded/homoerotic/romantic.

- Creators see how their content is interpreted, and see what viewership is gained by these interpretations, and continue to produce or escalate similar content.

- The audience continues to watch and wait for full representation.

- Ultimately, the creators do not validate their interpretations with representation.

This is the context that claims of queerbaiting operate in— a group of people with privileged status taking advantage of marginalized people and their desires for representation. Now, I am not saying that this is happening in every case where queerbaiting is alleged, nor am I trying to downplay the existence and artistic contributions of creators who do not fit the description of “straight white man"— what I am saying is that overall, this is the construct that this argument takes place in. An accusation of queerbaiting rests on the idea that a marginalized group of people is being used.

Does this mean that creators should be expected to take responsibility for audience interpretations? No, not necessarily. Does the context, a complicated blend of social justice, representation, and power dynamics in popular media, make the case for culpability (or, at the very least, self-reflection) more compelling? It merits a discussion, I think.

So here we have queerbaiting, laid out in its simplest form. But of course, it is never, ever simple. There is never a direct or transparent relationship between a creator and the content that is ultimately consumed by an audience. So many people are involved in the process— in television alone you have writers, directors, editors, actors, producers, composers, network executives, set designers, and more who all contribute to and reshape the final product, often with competing goals and values. And the audience receiving this product will span generations, genders, incomes, races, ideologies, and geographies. It is incredibly difficult to point at one creator and say “this is your fault” or to point at one consumer and say “you were used.” That being the case, it is in the aggregate that we must look for answers, in the trends perpetuated and the groups most affected that we can more clearly see the effects and roots of the complicated phenomenon of queerbaiting.

In any assertion of queerbaiting, an imminent sense of blame looms in the background. Someone here is being wronged, so there must be a perpetrator and there must be a victim, right? But depending on who you ask, the party ultimately responsible for queerbaiting will change. It’s the creators’ fault— they purposefully strung along queer audiences to make money, they knew the potency of queer representation and weaponized it against a vulnerable viewership! No, no, it’s the viewers’ fault, they poured their own hopes and dreams into the story, they twisted the creators’ work to suit their delusions and then complained when it wasn’t real! And the problem with these arguments is, you can always find at least one example to support your claim and “discredit" a counterargument. Look at this interview, the writer literally said this character might be queer! Ok, but look at these tweets, this fan has a whole conspiracy theory that they’re in love based on their shirt colors! People become bitter as time goes on and a ship drags out. It’s tiring. They become impatient with the story, irritated with other fans, and angry that their interpretation isn’t getting the validation it deserves. The arguments become vitriolic and pedantic, a spiraling he-said-she-said that loses sight of the real stakes and significance of what queerbaiting means for the people and institutions involved.  

Is there really a group of mustache-twirling writers, sitting in a smoky room swapping ideas on what carrots to dangle for queer viewers? Is the audience being too sensitive, arbitrarily ascribing meaning to any and all things that fit the narrative they want to see represented? The answer is, once again, probably not. If you’re beginning to sense a theme, here it is: the phenomenon is complex and context matters. There are no saintly good guys and no malicious bad guys, and attempting to reduce an argument to a pinpoint of blame ignores the institutional and cultural systems at play.

At the end of the day, arguments about queerbaiting cannot be divorced from the fact that a group of people has been consistently denied representation, and that the systems of power historically in place have made it difficult for both creators to produce this content and consumers to demand it. Systems of power that are, ultimately, rooted in deep cultural attachments to misogyny, homophobia, and patriarchal control over the way social attitudes are produced and sustained. In the words of film critic Roger Ebert, “movies are the most powerful empathy machines in all the arts”. They teach us how to understand one another, allow us to see the world from different points of view. And when these fictionalized experiences are dehumanized, stereotyped, or swept under the rug, we are taught to do the same in real life.

Historically, creators were not often directly faced with audience demands for queer content, nor were they legally or socially permitted to fully meet them when they wanted to. Only recently has this changed in a significant way, in the last twenty to thirty years for film, and in the last ten to fifteen for network television. However, while the same legal and cultural limitations may no longer be in place, there is still a deeply entrenched system at play that relegates queer characteristics and narratives to specific codes, tropes, and subtextual cues, and it is likely that these storytelling mechanisms will take longer to dismantle than the cultural constraints that created them. Am I giving creators a pass or an excuse for still using them? No. Do these systems need to be considered when developing a context for arguments about queerbaiting? I think so.

So, we have creators operating within outdated structures and constraints (which in turn are rooted in decades of systemic misogyny and homophobia), meeting audiences with rapidly evolving perceptions and expectations. Many of whom are, understandably, frustrated with the entire industry’s continued reluctance to commit to a queer narrative sincerely and unambiguously.

The blame game is, ultimately, redundant in a meaningful discussion about the way forward. Blaming the audience runs the risk of perpetuating more harm against a group that is already marginalized, contributing to damaging phenomena like gaslighting and feeding thinly-veiled logic arguments steeped in homophobia. Blaming creators runs the risk of devaluing artistic freedom, and holds individuals accountable for a decades-old system that they did not necessarily create (though, continued participation in it often deserves scrutiny).

Wouldn’t it be more constructive, instead, to communicate on this playing field. Queerbaiting is a useful term as a starting point for this conversation, but the way forward, I believe, will rest more on an increasing understanding between audiences and creators about what is truly being asked and delivered. In the meantime, discrediting the very real psychological and social effects of poor representation and queerbaiting, and ignoring the history and systems contributing to these issues, is neither useful nor productive. And focusing on individual blame, rather than trying to understand the roots of the problem in a broader context, ultimately distracts from progress more than it contributes.

To truly get to the bottom of this issue, ask who is affected, ask how they are affected, and ask why.