Lil Nas X has established himself as an iconic, crashing wave in queer culture. It’s not to say that there aren’t straight people who kiss the feet of the artist, but his trailblazing efforts within the music industry have certainly resonated more identifiably with gay men. While Lil Nas X serves as a vanguard for the gay community, he has not been well received entirely by the masses— in fact, his work has been heavily critiqued as being perverse and disruptive to the realm of performative artistry. It is fathomable to ascertain why Lil Nas X may disturb the kingdom of heteronormative order, but he may also serve as a hassle for some LGBTQ+ folk. Perhaps it is because the “closet” that most queer people have sought to emerge from has more than one door to pass through: one that grants you comfort within yourself and one that assimilates you appropriately into society.
It is no secret that religion and homosexuality dance a complicated tango, but Lil Nas rattled the pews when he slid down a stripper pole to Hell and salaciously gave a lap dance to Satan in the music video for “MONTERO ( Call Me By Your Name)”. If that wasn't enough to make America vomit in the name of Jesus, his music video for “Industry Baby” added to the iniquitous impression he left on many people who did not care for his unabashed display of homoerotic content.
The speculation of Lil Nas X has continued with his audacious fashion choices for high-profile events. When the rapper asked interviewer Jamila Mustafa if he looked good in his Versace suit-gown she responded, “I’m not gonna’ say I’m hatin on the fit’, but let’s move on, okay?” Whether you agree that what Mustafa threw was shade or not, it’s hard to ignore that the refrain people exercise in not supporting him can translate as opposition. There are enough voices from straight people to justify their disdain for the rapper, but what might it that be makes some individuals in the queer community reluctant to embrace him as well?
My thoughts on the subject come from my experience as a gay, black man— that is what Lil Nas X (contrary to what some people assert) is. He made me uncomfortable at first because he was what I— and many gay men— struggled to be in the past: unabashedly homo. I think that the idea of being completely comfortable with being queer belongs to the courageous drag queens and overtly feminine men who, in my opinion, have lived out the essence of who we initially bloom to be. Many gay men can recollect moments of their youth where their behavior was admonished because “boys aren’t supposed to act that way.” I walked with a switch in my hips when I was a toddler and even picked out pink tights when my godmother took me shopping in my youth. But I grew into a man who is obviously gay, with an added touch of masculinity that I believe is a performative derivative of straightness. The homosexual who is widely accepted in society is the one who travels through a grooming process that is built on acceptance of queerness through a heteronormative gaze. Lil Nas X obstructs that; he introduces himself as the gay man who has seemingly been unacquainted with being reared by an accepted depiction of queerness.
This is how the expansion of the closet works. It is an infrastructure that is collaboratively built with the essence of shame in being queer and the desire to live accepted by those around you. I recently spoke to a friend on the subject of Lil Nas and, while I understood his sentiments that the rapper can be over-the-top, I couldn’t help but face the notion that some gay men would rather not be associated with the flagrant flamboyance that he exudes. Some of us barely made it out of the closet because we were called fags in school, judged for the femininity that graced our mannerisms or simply felt alone in the pursuit of claiming our identities. We hid our sexuality for fear of being targeted; it was one thing to face the shame of being what people found repulsive but another to be identified as that by our peers. The closet has more than one door to pass through and, even after making it out, some of us will forever be haunted by an unremitting sense of not belonging. We can walk with that trauma well into our adult years; we celebrate ourselves for not being perceived as an “over-the-top” gay or for managing to stomp out the embers of our flamboyance on queue. It’s not because we hate ourselves inherently but because we’ve mastered how to live in a world in a dual sense: one where we can freely live as queers and also blend in for the sake of survival.
The complexities of queer visibility are learned while we are still in the closet. There are voices in society —thoughts, even—that contend that being gay is mutually exclusive with promiscuity; uninhibited queer sexual expression can be seen as radical because it rejects the confine of the closet and escapes the grasp of appropriateness with which heteronormative understanding holds it. It’s like when people say, “I don’t care if you’re gay, I just don’t understand why you have to throw it in my face.” Rapper T.I. expressed that while he respects the courage it takes come out of the closet, he didn’t care for Lil Nas X’s music videos. He went on further to balance the scale by saying that he felt similar about Cardi B’s music video for “WAP”— though he admittedly enjoyed it a “little bit better”. Obviously Cardi B’s twerking is going to appear more tantalizing to straight man than Lil Nas X giving a lap dance to the devil, but it’s still about space and the limitations under which queer people can occupy it. It’s about being gay but not too proud—expressing yourself, but not too loud. This sentiment could arguably be shared by some homosexuals too; it could translate as self-hating but also self preservation.
Of course there are people who dislike Lil Nas X, just ask Boosie (lol). But there is an army of people who also laude him for his resilience. Most of us don’t know his story; we can’t assume that he hasn’t had it as hard as some of us did on our journeys, but it doesn’t make us stop thinking that he has it easier than we did growing up. As gay men who had to dress the part to fit in with the “bros,” of course we might want to critique Nas’ dancing nude with a troupe of naked men in a prison shower. It comes across as if he isn’t paying his dues; he has too much support, too much freedom and not enough shame. He got out of the closet too easily— and there’s a part of us that wishes he would step lighter on the ground and not make too much noise. He draws too much attention to that which we spent years trying to conceal. He teaches us that the keys that locked us in the closet were always in our hands, and that we might have been more responsible for our captivity than we are willing to accept.