Signals, singles and style – how the queer community communicates with fashion


When I first came out, the telltale signs of a bisexual person were rolled up shirts, double denim and cuffs all they wore. Much of that remains—except it’s expanded beyond the first bisexual people I met. Queer communities often step forward and end up defining fashion for Gen-Z & Millennial audiences regardless of sexual orientation. Consider figures like Yves Saint Laurent and Christian Dior who defined modern menswear through their titular brands.

In a more modern context, it is not uncommon to see large earrings or a nose piercing someone who is vocal not strange these days. The fashion of a “crunchy granola girl” (a style now applied across the gender spectrum) involves wearing flannels and beanies more traditionally associated with queer women. So what gives? Is that guy weird or just likes long, chunky earrings? (Side note: It’s making my dating life more difficult.) As one of my friends says-why do straight people keep dressing gay? And what does it mean to “dress gay” in the first place?

A context is necessary. We live in some of the most open times for LGBTQ+ identities (at least in the United States), even with the onslaught of legislation going in an alternative direction. More people can publicly claim queer identities in mixed queer and non-queer environments. However, many people don’t or can’t “come out” and want to limit discussions about their LGBTQ+ identity to … other LGBTQ+ people.

But there is no universal marker of LGBTQ+ people.

This is a moment when I’d usually make a joke about certain music tastes or some kind of jersey being a “dead giveaway” to someone who’s queer — but even those things started out as safe intentional “signals” to other queer people .

Queer fashion exists not only as a communication mechanism, but a SAFETY one, ensuring that members of the community can more easily distinguish each other. “Gay dressing” means defining yourself as “in” this group, even if only subtly, in order to show other members of the group that they should feel safe (as much as they can). .

A quick review of Google’s dictionary defines signaling as the act of “conveying information or instructions by means of a gesture, action, or sound.” Queer identity, especially sexual orientation, is sometimes referred to as a “latent” or “hidden” identity—something that can marginalize a person but is not necessarily visible. (Some queer people—especially transgender and nonbinary people—don’t have this experience and are discriminated against for “looking queer.”)

To overcome being in a community of “hidden identities,” queer people have created system after system of communication. Before the garment, there were symbols like the Greek letter lambda (λ), originally associated with the gay liberation movement. A particularly popular symbol is the “handkerchief code” or “hanky code,” which involves bandanas worn in back pockets. Dozens of symbols have existed around the world and in the United States.

Queer communities with more affinity to privileged social identities found their signaling and activism) more documented; this shows especially with white cisgender gay men in the 1970s and onward. As the AIDS/HIV epidemic started a “gay scare,” some LGBTQ+ people eventually found their way into the halls of power—and received a negative response from other queer people who didn’t have the same experience.

For the more privileged classes of the community, the idea of ​​signaling lies in the ability to switch between “rebelling” against a system and returning to that system at will – ie, switching between being too weird and not.

Despite this, queer youth and even homophobes are constantly looking for new ways to identify as members of the LGBTQ+ community. Google “gay fashion” and articles like “How to dress bisexual” will pop up everywhere. Things like jackets, dad shirts, mesh tops and new sunglasses are inexplicably defined as “effortlessly gay” without any substance. what does it mean. However, I can say for sure that if I see a man in a sweater vest with no shirt underneath, some rings, and a pearl necklace, I’m probably going to assume he’s weird although nothing about that description tells me he is. Regardless, it probably makes me feel more confident because of what they’re wearing. But none of this answers the last question: why do straight people “dress gay?”

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There are many queer and non-queer people looking to answer the question. Some suggest we’re in the age of a fashion “melting pot,” and from the looks of who’s getting septum piercings, I can understand that. But I have to disagree.

Like other marginalized groups, queer communities tend to determine what will enter the mainstream before it does. In an age where people are playing with gender norms now more than ever, traditional ways of communicating queerness suddenly become less identifiable. The average male TikTok influencer in a cardigan, rings and pearls is probably right, not strange.

But these fashion statements often draw inspiration from queer subcultures: ballroom, anarcho-punk, and even the prep revival are queer in origin. Playing with gender assumptions is how fashion influencers are staying ahead of the curve, and so the result is that a gay and straight fashion choice seems almost indistinguishable — with meanings that are fundamentally different.





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