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Not to sound too much like a TikTok astrologer but think back to where you were in August 2022. If you said, “Reading Skylar Corby’s first piece on E4P,” it’s time to get help, babes.
In her first visit, Skylar and I discussed lesbian representation in media, the male gaze, and what she looked for when she consumed art. You all loved it so much that it has remained in the Top 10 most popular articles on the site since it was posted, which led me to think that perhaps it needed a sequel. That, and because doing another E4P installment is easier for us than actually launching the podcast we keep threatening to start.
This week, Skylar Corby returns to report on the state of lesbian representation in media now, the history of queer representation in film, and why straight people need to calm down about not being able to see themselves in queer stories (p.s. there is a major Bridgerton spoiler in here, in case anyone hasn’t finished Season 3 yet).
Skylar Corby (she/her) is a (hopefully) soon-to-be lawyer with a real knack for being annoying about movies and queer culture to her friends. She spends entirely too much time at SoulCycle, and when not there is probably trying every new possible restaurant in New York and tracking it on an Excel spreadsheet. Before you ask, yes, she’s a Virgo.
Movies R Skylar
I want it on the record that in the past, Skylar has bullied me for some of my movie choices (anytime is a good time to rewatch The Hannah Montana Movie, if you believe). But this week, I was inspired by Charli xcx and Lorde working it out on the remix so I thought Skylar and I could work it out on the sequel.1
With that, I wanted to kick off today’s piece by asking:
Emily: What makes you a credible source to talk about film, and queer film specifically?
Skylar: I watch a lot of movies, especially those that are explicitly or subtextually queer. I’ve never had any kind of formal training or education in film or filmmaking, but like many people, a few years ago I made a Letterboxd account, and the rest is history. I don’t purport to know much about film from a technical point of view but over the years of becoming a voracious watcher of them, I’ve made it a point to do quite a bit of reading and research about the filmmaking process. I’ve even begun writing my own screenplay (which is also queer, naturally).
I’ve gravitated to indie films especially since I was probably 13 years old, and as soon as I found out there was an entire subgenre of specifically queer films within that, I’ve done my best to watch as many as I can. There is this incredibly storied history of queer independent filmmaking going back almost as long as movies have been made, and I think it’s a shame most people aren’t aware of how long of a tradition there is.
So while as I say I am certainly no expert, I just really, really love film, especially films with queer storylines or themes, and my adoration mixed with my propensity for research rabbit holes (hopefully) gives me some credibility as I navigate this conversation.
I also will always be happy to point people in the direction of film scholars and critics who are much more qualified than me to speak on this topic in an expansive, knowledgeable way. Those individuals rarely get their due, especially with the industry changing as much as it has, and I’d be remiss to speak about this without referencing the people whose work I’ve absolutely devoured and gotten me to this point.
Since this piece is tethered across space and time to Skylar’s first visit, I wanted to do a quick rinse and repeat about where things stood regarding lesbian representation in media nearly two years ago. Back then, Skylar shared that
what we mainly lack, in my opinion, is mainstream representation, meaning something that really explodes with popularity and gets its heyday on Twitter and with critics…We have a lot of media similar to Blue is the Warmest Color which is a film that only serves to fetishize lesbian relationships for men as some sort of sexual fantasy (and that’s outside of the fact that that film specifically was wrought with issues with the male directors sexually harassing the actresses to the point of abuse).
In short, we rarely see the sort of normal, everyday lesbian relationships in media that exist in abundance in real life. I often have found that queer media as a whole has to be exceptional, or high art to just be allowed to exist. When do we get the stupid lesbian rom-coms that don’t have to speak to any larger issues or big conceptual idea? We should be allowed to have regular, fun content that we see ourselves in (X).
I was curious to know:
Emily: How have things changed regarding lesbian representation in art since we last spoke on the topic, if at all?
Skylar: I’ve been reflecting on this very thing in light of this week’s Twitter (it is simply never going to be X to me) discourse: Bridgerton Season 3 and Chappell Roan. We’re going to get into the Bridgerton of it all in just a bit, but I think despite this being a piece about film, we need to talk about everyone’s new favorite queen, Ms. Roan.
It has been a while since we’ve had a lesbian this famous in pop culture—at least one that’s out about it. I guess Ellen is the last one that really comes to mind, and she came out thirty years ago. And while it’s true that a musician being out seems different from queer films and television being made, I think it’s a wonderful thing that a lesbian with a drag persona who sings about her specifically female dating experiences is becoming as famous as she is.
There’s been a touch of backlash, as with any pop culture icon, but overall I’ve been pleased to see how beloved she is. The little queer kid that will forever live inside of me is beaming so, so big at having a lesbian be this acknowledged and appreciated.
Unfortunately, as much as I wish I could report some big wonderful changes to the landscape of lesbian cinema since we last talked about it, I really can’t. Things feel more or less the same, if not a little worse in terms of seeing lesbians represented on screen. Lesbian representation is down in television and movies across the board for the second year in a row, and despite there being a clear market for it, it’s a huge uphill battle to get queer movies made that don’t center cisgender (white) men.
We did get Bottoms last year which felt like kind of a big win—but then you compare that to queer stories centering cis men (Red, White, and Royal Blue, All of Us Strangers, Passages, Good Grief, Our Son—the list goes on) that came out last year, and it quickly becomes outnumbered. In a time where homophobia and transphobia are on a steep rise both in the US and elsewhere, I’m hesitant to complain about or criticize any queer movies being made, even if they’re not the most diverse or compelling.
At the same time, though, how long do we have to wait to even the scales? It doesn’t seem right, or true, that paving the way for queer films has to prioritize one subsection of the community overwhelmingly. This also includes making queer films that center people of color, whether they are gay or lesbian or trans, which is an area that is sorely lacking.
A part of me wants to stay in this relatively positive section for the rest of the piece, building out how we can rectify this singular issue through activism and optimism, but what would E4P be without demoralizing statistics and history you never asked to know?
This Piece Has Not Been Approved By the Motion Picture Association of America
Until this year, my family has spent some part of our summer on Cape Cod. When my siblings and I were younger, my mom would always take us to Star Market on the day we arrived and we were each allowed to pick out a magazine to read on the trip. I could write a very literary essay about the beauty of youth, my love for Cape Cod, and the joy of selecting a magazine every summer, but I’ll get right to the point and tell you all that I started voraciously reading Us Magazine when I was 12. I love being in the know about celebrities and pop culture and gossip—my god, I love gossip!!!—and the magazines in the 2010s were exclusively that.
Having approximately 14 years' worth of tea stored in my brain (and yes, I did feel old seeing photos of Suri Cruise going to prom), I can say, with confidence, that Hollywood is at the bottom of my list of Places I Would Turn to For Lessons on Morality. But, and this is a bit of shade to Will Hays who we’ll be talking about in a second, I don’t know why I would ever consider doing so in the first place. I don’t watch movies to learn right from wrong—I watch movies for magic, to laugh, to cry, to care, to get a little horny whenever I see Jonathan Bailey before remembering he is very, very gay.
I and countless others watch movies to be entertained, and then I read gossip magazines about the actors in said movies to be further entertained. And yet, for about 30 years, a lot of people felt otherwise.
a rash of Hollywood scandals in the late teens and the early twenties…helped intensify the ire of local censors and forced the film industry leaders to address the industry's image problems. In 1921, comedian Fatty Arbuckle was accused of the rape and murder of a young actress; director William Desmond Taylor was found murdered; actor Wallace Reid died of a drug overdose; and America's sweetheart, actress Mary Pickford, obtained a quickie divorce to marry dashing matinee idol, Douglas Fairbanks. Studio heads hired a public relations man, Will Hays, to bolster the industry's tainted reputation by convincing the nation that Hollywood was not all scandalous and that the movie industry would censor itself (X).
This rising tide of bad press and the shift from silent films to “talkies”2 led to the creation and implementation of the Motion Picture Production Code, or the Hays Code once Hays became the president of what is now the Motion Picture Association of America. The code was in place from 1934 to 1968, a period in which nothing at all notable happened in history, of course. Among numerous other influences, it played a big part in shaping how queerness was shown in films, both during its era and after.
The code was broken up into two parts: “the first was a set of ‘general principles’ which prohibited a picture from ‘lowering the moral standards of those who see it,’ and “the second part was a set of ‘particular applications,’ which was an exacting list of items that could not be depicted” (X). According to Thomas Patrick Doherty, a professor of American Studies at Brandeis University,
some restrictions, such as the ban on homosexuality or on the use of specific curse words, were never directly mentioned, but were assumed to be understood without clear demarcation…Homosexuals were de facto included under the proscription of sex perversion.
There were three reasons why this was the case: the first was that we are talking about the mid-20th century, a time in America’s history not particularly known for its acceptance of the LGBTQIA+ community. The second was that the movement for the Hays Code was largely headed by religious leaders who were also not particularly known for their acceptance of the LGBTQIA+ community. And the third is that the code’s window also overlapped with the Second Red Scare and, by the transitive property, the Lavender Scare—a historical event known for its outright discrimination of the LGBTQIA+ community.
If you’ll recall, the central fear of the post-WWII Red Scare was that
there were individuals living in the U.S., presenting as everyday citizens while secretly helping facilitate America’s downfall. This belief hinges on the presence of subversives, or individuals who bear any marking of opposition to the existence of America (X).
at the height of the Red Scare, there was the added belief that anyone who was a member of the LGBTQ+ community was therefore hiding their sexuality which made them more susceptible to Communist influence. Because, obviously, if they were hiding a secret that seismic, they could be a target for blackmail or just flat-out untrustworthy.
What do you get when you couple these two nonsensical assumptions with the Hays Code? The belief that many in academic circles refer to as the Destiny’s Child of Mid-Century Paranoid Homophobia.
Because queer people were seen as a threat to America at a time when their identities violated a weird moral code, they became the anti-heroes of American film. As arts and entertainment reporter David Rooney explained, the Hays Code “meant most gay themes [in movies] bit the dust, often being translated into more palatable plot devices. Screen homosexuals then entered a new phase, becoming evil, predatory villains” (X).
I asked Skylar for some visuals and lo and behold, these are what I got back. Enjoy!
I loved Bad Gays by Huw Lemmey and Ben Miller when I read it last year, and I thought it was interesting that they argued for expanding queer studies to include and discuss the bad gays of history along with virtuous figures. Knowing how the legacy of the Hays Code led to queer characters receiving the Andrew Van de Kamp treatment up until incredibly recently, I asked Skylar:
Emily: How do you see this argument in relation to how the Hays Code led to queer-coded characters often being portrayed as villains in films, if at all?
Skylar: During the era of the Hays Code, the only way to circumvent the code and still have queer-coded characters was to make them villains. This most frequent usage of this tactic was effeminate men being portrayed as sneaky or sleazy in some way, as can be seen in Hitchock’s Rebecca with the the character of Jack Favell, among many other examples.
On the one hand, I think it was incredibly important in the years following the Code (and the Lavender Scare, for that matter) to rehabilitate the somewhat soiled reputation of queer people. On the other, aren’t we always saying “be gay do crime”?
All jokes aside, I think the progressive and ultimately correct way forward in terms of queer representation isn’t about exclusively protagonizing or villainizing queer people—it’s about showing queer people as complex and nuanced, just like everyone else. At this point I’m much more interested in seeing diverse, interesting depictions of queer people, even if they aren’t shown as “good.”
Sanitizing the image of the community for the benefit of people outside of it is useless—we might as well make great stories that we actually want to see.
Emily: In what ways do you see the Hays Code still impacting queer representation in film today?
Skylar: Well, if you’d asked me a few years ago, I’d say we were about as far we could get from the Hays Code guidelines (hello peach scene in Call Me By Your Name), but recently there’s been this weirdly aggressive increase in Gen Z not wanting to see sex on screen. On Twitter and in the media, I regularly see young people saying they don’t want to see sex unless it needs to be there for the story. I think in addition to being idiotic, that sort of thinking is incredibly dangerous, especially when it’s applied to queer stories.
The Hays Code banned almost all suggestive sexual imagery, and I’m not suggesting that that’s going to happen again—it almost certainly will not. But what I do think is important is accurate, varied depictions of sex on screen for purposes of representation and understanding. Sex is part of the human experience for the vast majority of people, and has nothing to do with a narrative arc in our lives most of the time, so why should we be confining movies and TV that way?3
Setting all of these silly arbitrary rules based on 17 year olds’ senses of right and wrong seems, to put it bluntly, really stupid. I think it speaks to this idea that people have gotten very used to being coddled by what they see on screen because of streaming algorithms, and aren’t confronted or challenged by new ideas unless they go looking for it.
Not only does it seem unintelligent, it mostly makes me worry that young people are being protected from all of the wrong things—and that feels very similar to the Hays Code era.
We’ve circled back to this notion of “morality” that led to the Hays Code in the first place, and this idea that the things we consume must not only align with our notions of right and wrong but they must also present that precept to others as the correct way of thinking. This way of thinking is at the root of the book bans on the rise around the country: we frequently see parents argue that certain titles should be inaccessible to all young readers simply because they don’t want their own children accessing them.
It’s not lost on me that most of the books being challenged around the country have to do with LGBTQ+ topics. I talked with Riley Patterson about this exact thing back in 2022 and since then, the situation has only gotten worse. According to the American Library Association's Office for Intellectual Freedom, “challenges of unique titles surged 65% in 2023 compared to 2022 numbers, reaching the highest level ever documented by ALA.” More to it, the ALA found that “titles representing the voices and lived experiences of LGBTQIA+ and BIPOC individuals made up 47% of those targeted in censorship attempts” (X). Seven of the top ten most challenged books in 2023 featured LGBTQIA+ content.
But censoring other’s art to appease one’s morals doesn’t start and end with LGBTQ+ representation, nor is this a new phenomenon. With all of this said, I wanted to ask Skylar:
Emily: Why have films, and art in general, historically been seen as something that needs to be moral for their audiences?
Skylar: Artistic mediums have been used since the dawn of time to tell stories and teach lessons, all the way back to the earliest written languages. So, to some extent, the idea of using art to convey a certain set of ideas or morals to people feels sensical. On the other hand, art is not exclusively an educational vehicle—it’s a signifier of culture and the uniquely human ability to make and tell stories, whatever they may be about.
If people are looking to movies or television or music to prescribe them a set of ideals, we’ve really lost the point of why people make these things to begin with. I do not ever sit down at a movie hoping to be taught a lesson about what’s good and bad—I go to experience rage and beauty and sorrow and humor; to be touched and moved and yes, even maybe to learn a thing or two once in a while.
It is very much true that film can teach us something about empathy or expose us to new ideas or kinds people that we may not be familiar with. But I truly resent this recent trend where people don’t want to watch films or shows because they “glorify” bad behavior. Sometimes our favorite characters do bad things—these are not meant to be your role models, they’re FICTIONAL CHARACTERS.
Also, what does it say about how people view the world that bad actions always equate to being a bad person? Do we not have grace for our friends and family when they make similar mistakes? I find it troubling.
Emily: What does "moral" actually mean?
Skylar: I could talk about this forever, but given the amount I’ve already said, I’ll keep this sort of brief.
Morality is an entirely human-invented idea, morphed and changed by the ideas, beliefs, and religious systems that exist at the time. There are very few aspects of morality that have remained unchanged with time, and our morals will continue to change as the world changes around us.
In terms of our conversation, homosexuality was considered immoral by a majority of the American population in 2001, and that group is now a minority. That is a staggering change in just about twenty years, and just goes to show that morals are incredibly malleable, and are more of a response to how things have been presented to them than anything else.
That’s why it is important that all kinds of queer people are represented in media—for those of us living in cultural bubbles with large amounts of queer people, like New York, it can become easy to poo-poo certain depictions of queerness, especially ones that may appear cheesy. But at the same time, for people who have had very little exposure to queer people in their lives’, those stories that seem silly or overdone can make a meaningful difference in changing their sense of morality, thus turning the tides of acceptance.
In the words of perhaps the straightest character ever on television, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a recent real-life example of the importance of queer representation in media.
🚨🚨THIS IS THE SECTION WITH THE BRIDGERTON SPOILER🚨🚨
I’m sure I’ve shared this story before but I promise it’s relevant again today: when I was younger, my parents had a rule that if I wanted to see a film adaptation of a book, I had to read said book first. They argued that it was important to create the story for myself in my head before I saw how the director, actors, and producers saw it.
At the time, I was about to emancipate myself over the fact that my parents put 544 pages in between me and a vampiric Robert Pattinson which felt cruel and unusual. Looking back, though, I greatly appreciate this rule because it allowed me to imagine my favorite stories on my own terms.
I fear some people need to take a page out of my parents’ book (pun intended). In allowing me to create my own mental vision of the book before I saw it come to life, this exercise also taught me that we don’t all see the same thing when we read the same book. In terms of novels and the Constitution, textualism makes no fucking sense because no one thing can be interpreted in one singular way. And yet, there are now people campaigning against Netflix’s Bridgerton because the show didn’t exactly follow one element of the book. (We’re pivoting a little away from film into general media, so bear with us.)
Rather than prattle on like I did at the top of the last section, I thought I would hot-potato the conversation over to the person who spoiled the last episode of Bridgerton for me because I cannot watch it in my apartment because I REFUSE in no uncertain terms to make my own account simply because the multi-million dollar production company wants MORE money when my family account would easily suffice.
Anyway, I asked Skylar:
Emily: Why do you think it is that queer representation in art still provokes anger and a need for remediation? (I am explicitly asking for you to speak on this Bridgerton drama.)
Skylar: I want to be clear that I don’t think this is ALWAYS a problem—there are lots of people, especially straight people, who love queer content. In many cases, this phenomenon helps make certain queer things a mainstream success (Drag Race and Red, White, and Royal Blue come to mind). I just think straight people love queer things only as long as it doesn’t encroach on things they deem theirs—like the Bridgerton situation.
Now, let me be frank, I have never watched this show, and likely never will. It’s just not my thing, but I have seen the swirling discourse online over the last couple weeks when (spoiler alert, I guess?) the gender of one of the characters was changed from the books, thus making one of the SEVERAL heterosexual couples into a lesbian couple.
Some people were so displeased by this that they made a change.org petition to ask the showrunners to change Michaela back to Michael, and managed to get 20,000 signatures. Their rationale is that they connected deeply with the Michael and Francesca storyline, and wanted to see it “accurately shown on screen.”
These are fictional characters from a historically erroneous romance novel series, by the way, so I just want to say this: if you are petitioning the showrunners of a Netflix show to change the one queer couple of, like, fourteen heterosexual ones, you are a huge loser. Please get a hobby.
To me, this has less to do with homophobia and bigotry (though there is that too, I’m sure), and more that straight white people have never been asked to see themselves in characters different from them because 99% of stories cater directly to them. I also think it adds fuel to the fire that it’s a lesbian couple, because lesbian narratives do tend to be less favored by heterosexual people (especially women) as compared to gay male stories. This is pretty clearly evidenced by the show making one of the original straight male characters bisexual, and no one seeming to blink an eye to it.
Whatever the rationale is, though, it does seem to speak to a discomfort around creating queer stories out of originally straight ones, which smells a little of queerphobia to me.
one key point that surfaces is that there will be real progress in gay and lesbian screen portrayals only when such characters are accepted at face value, and not because they are presented in non-threatening terms designed to parallel heterosexual experience.
According to GLAAD’s most recent Studio Responsibility Index, which was published last year, “of the 350 films released theatrically and on tracked streaming services by the ten distributors counted in 2022, 100 (28.5 percent) were LGBTQ-inclusive. This is the highest percentage and number recorded in this report.” GLAAD also recently released their annual Where We Are on TV study which found only 8.6% of regular characters on primetime scripted shows were LGBTQ+. While they didn’t release the same data point for streaming platforms, the report did note that there was a “decrease of 29 characters [on streaming shows] from the previous study.”
The fact of the matter is that whether or not Michael is Michaela in Bridgerton will not do much to change the fact that these are seen and even described in both GLAAD reports as statistics to celebrate.
When I talked with Liz Moore back in February, it went without saying that the media that shaped our warped perceptions of love centered around characters that reflected our sexuality: the two token straight people in our friend group. We never had to search for films or Regency-era romantic dramas with straight characters because they were inherently there. I think that’s why I’m a little perplexed as to why OTS (other token straights) want more. Don’t we have enough?
It’s with that mindset that I asked:
Emily: What do you make of the argument that straight people "can't see themselves" in queer characters?
Skylar: Well, I think it’s incredibly silly, obviously. For decades, movies centered white, heterosexual people, and anyone outside that group, including queer people, people of color, and so on, were told there wasn’t room for their stories—thus having to imagine themselves in characters that don’t look or act anything like them.
If so many people have been doing it for so long, why can’t they try it out for a change? If I confined myself to only watching stories I see myself in, I’d have watched five movies ever.
My favorite thing about filmmaking is its ability to show so many stories and perspectives in a visually and narratively compelling way, regardless of whether someone just like me is on the screen. That’s not to say it isn’t nice to feel represented sometimes, because it certainly is, but pardon me if I’m not particularly empathetic towards white heterosexual people complaining that their stories haven’t been accurately depicted in film and television.
There are literally thousands of movies and TV shows about that experience—maybe they just need to look a little harder.
I knew this question was sure to unleash whatever cinephilic demon has possessed Skylar but because it’s Pride Month and I’m contractually obligated to be a good ally lest I want to abdicate my place in the Michelle Visage Line of Succession, I decided to end today’s piece by asking:
Emily: What are your top picks for queer movies that are essential for everyone to watch? I’m begging you, please limit yourself to three films.
Skylar: Three? We’re best friends, so I say this kindly—you’ve gotta be kidding me.
For anyone uninitiated to this point, there is a film magazine called Sight and Sound, wherein every ten years they solicit directors, critics, and other industry folk to submit their Top 10 Films of All Time list, and then a top 100 films is generated by averaging the ballots together. It’s always so interesting to look through and see how people’s answers change over time, and get an insight into what my favorite filmmakers’ favorite films are.
So, in that same vein, if such a list existed for only queer or queer-coded films, the below would be my ballot:
Skylar’s Top 10 Queer Films of All Time, In No Particular Order
Dracula’s Daughter, d. Lambert Hillyer (1936): This one is not explicitly queer, but leans heavily on the trope of lesbian vampirism (yes, this is a real thing) and is about as close to gay as you were going to get on the mass market in the 1930s. Watching it now, it’s almost shocking how overt it feels, given the time.
Paris is Burning, d. Jennie Livingston (1990): This is often called one of the most seminal queer films of all time, and for good reason. This is a documentary focused on House culture and drag performance writ large, and is a blazingly honest look into what it was like to be queer and involved in ball culture in the 1980s, blatant racism and poverty included.
Portrait of a Lady on Fire, d. Celina Sciamma (2019): Perhaps my personal favorite on this list, this is an aching, tender lesbian love story (with some complications, of course) set in 1700s France.
Happy Together, d. Wong Kar-wai (1997): An evocative, vulnerable look into a gay couple from Hong Kong that get stuck in Argentina. Though not the happiest of movies, it is a prolific entry into the canon of New Queer Cinema that shouldn’t be overlooked.
But I’m a Cheerleader, d. Jamie Babbit (1999): It wouldn’t be a queer film list worth anything without this movie on it. Equal parts groundbreaking and campy, this has become THE queer and lesbian cult classic, as it should be.
Moonlight, d. Barry Jenkins (2016): Perhaps one of the most well-regarded (and rightly so) queer films of the 21st century, this Best Picture winner is every bit as moving and devastating as one would hope. This film follows a Black gay man from childhood into adulthood while navigating the complexities of race, class, and incarceration, and is done with such nuance and beauty. It’s a must watch.
All About My Mother, d. Pedro Almodovar (1999): Even in its clumsiness of handling the trans experience, this story of a grieving mother reuniting with her transgender ex-partner after the death of their son is incredibly loving and generous, even if it doesn’t get all of the details exactly right.
I Saw The TV Glow, d. Jane Schoenbrun (2024): This is a brand new movie that has very quickly become my favorite of the year, and also well-deserving of a spot on this list. There has been no film I have ever seen that has so effectively and deftly exhibited what it is like to be transgender and experience gender dysphoria. Point blank, this is one of the most original and creative films I’ve ever seen, and despite its recency, should be regarded among the ranks of the most important queer films ever made.
Watermelon Woman, d. Cheryl Dunye (1996): This is the first film ever made by an out Black lesbian, and chronicles an aspiring filmmaker and video store employee trying to track down the subject of her newest documentary, all while falling in love with her favorite customer.
Booksmart, d. Olivia Wilde (2016): Listen, is this the best movie ever made? No. But it is maybe the most accurate depiction of being a queer teenager in America right now, coupled with a stellar supporting cast and an expert combination of drama and comedy. I’ve seen this movie more times than any other one ever, and it always feels like a warm hug when I return to it.
As they say in the movies: Fin.
Thank you so much to Skylar, a person I have never met or talked to before in my life!!! Happy Pride to anyone celebrating in NYC this weekend, and I’ll see you all back here next week for the final installment in E4P’s Informal Gay Agenda 2024.
Not to be totally desperate, but I’ve made it as easy as possible for you to subscribe so you kind of don’t have an excuse now.
I know for a fact there are multiple episodes of The Bald and the Beautiful podcast in which Katya makes this point, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be able to find which ones.
