If Queer Art is a Sin, Call Me a Sinner

I, along with so many others in the queer community right now, am living for “Montero (Call Me By Your Name)” by Lil Nas X. I’m especially energized by his bold, unapologetic pride in who he is and the art he is putting out into the world. For every person outraged by his new video, released on March 26, and the brilliant marketing he’s done for it, there’s a whole swath of people who feel seen, validated and represented.

Growing up in the 90s and early aughts, there was no shortage of sexualized music videos to consume. Christina Aguilera gave us an overview of fetishes while dancing in chaps in “Dirrty”, Ludacris rapped about rough sex in the back of his Escalade in “What’s Your Fantasy”, Nelly told us to take off all our clothes in “Hot in Here” — this stuff was everywhere and we ate it up, whether we were old enough to understand the meanings or not. While some parents were stricter than others about what music they would allow in their homes, we were all listening to these songs on the schoolyard with our Discmans, later MP3 players, and there was little uproar over the sexual and sometimes violent nature of the music we listened to.

There was a common thread through the popular songs of my youth — compulsory heterosexuality curated for the straight male gaze. As much as I got into these bops as a queer kid and appreciate the artists for making their music, it was confusing to never see my own versions of desire reflected. Through the zeitgeist, I received plenty of messages that gay was not okay, be it through queer-coded villains, Christian teachings, or unintentional microaggressions around the family dinner table. To be gay was so abhorrent, it didn’t merit acknowledgement in my sex education classes or in “the talk” most kids got from their parents as they reached sexual maturity. Meanwhile, on TV and the radio, the lesson was clear. Being sexual isn’t wrong, you can flaunt that all over the place and make a pretty penny for it, as long as you’re straight.

That implication has stayed pretty static in my lifetime. Sure, there were the remarkable queer icons of yesteryear — Freddy Mercury, Boy George, Prince, etc. And there are more openly queer artists on the stage these days too. I’m grateful for what they’ve brought to pop culture. Frank Ocean, Tegan and Sara, Hayley Kiyoko, Miley Cyrus, Demi Lovato, Janelle Monae, Adam Lambert, Sam Smith, Tyler, the Creator — these are some of the mainstream queer voices that come to mind. Still, their numbers are hardly representative of the true size of the queer community, especially when you account for the fact that approximately 83% of the world’s LGBT population remains closeted. Furthermore, BIPOC representation among queer musicians is seriously lacking. And the popular music we hear from LGBTQIA2S+ people seldom reaches the levels of explicitness that straight artists enjoy the privilege of freely amplifying.

Enter, Lil Nas X. Since his coming out in 2019, he has become a queer icon and has embraced the role, despite once believing he would never come out. It’s fitting that this artist, whose first commercial hit was the country and western song, “Old Town Road”, is pushing the frontier for gay representation in the arts, like a true cowboy. In the song and video for “Montero (Call Me By Your Name)”, Lil Nas X has done something ground-breaking, he has put Black, gay sexuality out into the mainstream music machine, unapologetically. He has done it by reclaiming the label of “sinner” that so many queer people know too well. It’s the anvil that’s held over us, whether by families or society, to keep us from expressing our attraction and gender-bending too boldly. Even when we feel free enough to come out, so many of us still face scrutiny when it results in a change of presentation. It’s taken as though being queer has changed us when, in reality, being out has just allowed us to be who we always were undercover. Lil Nas X wasn’t always the flamboyant gay man rocking hot pink Versace and a harness on the red carpet. He covered his true self in clothing that let him fly under the radar as a teen. But that’s not who was inside. The man we see pole dancing to hell in his latest video is.

Bigots are always incensed when religious imagery makes it into art in a critical way. This is nothing new. Madonna caught the wrath of the Catholic church for her “Like a Prayer” video in 1989, which depicted not only religious symbolism including burning crosses but systemic racism within policing and interracial love — topics that were quite taboo at the time. Lady Gaga used religious symbolism to comment on gay sexuality and repression in 2010’s “Alejandro” and similarly received backlash. When the people dogmatists love to call sinners reclaim that title, it takes away the power. That’s what gets them so angry.

Not only has Lil Nas X created an iconic music video, but he has also capitalized on the moment by releasing the “Satan Shoe”, which allegedly has a drop of human blood in it. Spooky. It’s a limited-edition line of refurbished Nike kicks and, frankly, it’s a brilliant marketing stunt. There’s nothing scarier to the religious establishment that profits from xenophobic fear-mongering than a proudly gay Black man with shrewd business acumen. With all the atrocities going on in the world, it’s hard to believe that 666 pairs of shoes could ruffle so many feathers, to the point that Nike was quick to distance itself from the rapper. You’d think there were more important things to be concerned about, like mass shootings, racial violence against the African-American and Asian-American communities, or a lack of basic healthcare for most Americans amid a global pandemic. Just a quick scroll through Twitter reveals far more comments than there are shoes available. People are concerned about their children getting their hands on a pair. First of all, it’s unlikely they’ll even have that chance. Secondly, Lil Nas X himself tweeted, “i am an adult. i am not gonna spend my entire career trying to cater to your children. that is your job.” [Sic]

And that’s just it. It’s not the responsibility of artists to sanitize their work in case children see it. That wasn’t required of the straight artists I saw when I was growing up and it shouldn’t be required of queer artists today, nor BIPOC artists, nor artists from any religious or spiritual background. We live in a diverse world and there is a vast array of stories to be told and heard. Let’s start listening and learning.

By deeming himself the king of hell in his latest video, Lil Nas X flipped the ultimate bird to the section of religious bigots that has villainized queer people, especially queer people of colour, for hundreds of years. His video goes so much deeper than the imagery that some Christian viewers are outraged by. But they’re too busy clutching their pearls to see the poignant meaning behind what he created. It’s not about worshipping the devil (though some people do and such is their prerogative). It’s about daring to be authentic, even if you risk being denigrated or harmed for it. It’s about a personal journey of self-discovery amidst extremely troubling teachings from the church. It’s Lil Nas X’s right to explore the imagery that had him doubting at one point that he would ever come out as a gay man. He was raised in the church. This is him breaking free from its shackles of shame. Any of us who have experienced damaging messages from Christianity about how wrong our existence is can understand how liberating it feels to break away from that.

Lil Nas X has opened the door for more of us the be outspokenly queer in our art. There’s no winning all hearts over as an LGBTQIA2S+ artist, so why not go out there and be ourselves to attract the people who want and need to hear what we have to say?

I love to write sapphic, bisexual and non-monogamous romance and erotica. It’s an outlet that allows me to explore my sexuality and see it reflected through art, even if it is my own. I have hesitated to submit such work to publications that aren’t explicitly queer, thinking that my stories don’t have a place in mainstream literary journals, magazines and anthologies. “Montero (Call Me By Your Name)” has me rethinking that. Why shouldn’t these stories have a place alongside those of monogamous heterosexuality? Why is it up to me to shield a wider audience from art that doesn’t centre the straight male gaze? So what if it doesn’t connect with all readers? Not everything is for everyone. So what if I am labelled deviant for it? My morality is for me and no one else to decide and live with.

People can be as outraged as they want. They’re losing their energy while Lil Nas X sees his streaming numbers climb and connects with a hungry audience of LGBTQIA2S+ viewers, that largely welcomes what he’s representing with a breath of fresh air. His message to the haters is loud and clear. As he tweeted, “i spent my entire teenage years hating myself because of the shit y’all preached would happen to me because i was gay. so i hope u are mad, stay mad, feel the same anger you teach us to have towards ourselves.” [Sic]

That really is the crux of it. What’s angering some is making others stronger. For those of us who have been told that our pride is a deadly sin, that we’re wrong for having love and desire just like everybody else, it’s encouraging to see someone break down a wall we’ve hit our heads against so many times. The fact that he is a young artist in the early days of his career is even more impressive. I have hope for the level of expression that Gen Z is bringing to the art world. I am happy to see that a path has been cleared for them to be more courageous in their art than many of us have been able to before them. Critiques of religion and religious art will never go away. Neither will the queer community. We have always been here. Lil Nas X just reminded the world of that. And now we have the ability to support each other and be ourselves more openly. That is truly a beautiful thing.