I ended my last blog post with a question about identifying queer characters in fiction. How subtle is too subtle? And how does one display a character’s queer identity in a casual but identifiable manner?
What’s in a label?
A label is the most obvious way possible to plant a flag in your book and say, “THIS CHARACTER IS QUEER!” While not required for representation, it is common, unambiguous, and often useful, especially in shorter fiction where space is limited and more things need to be told, not shown. The English-speaking queer community has a plethora of labels for different identities: sexual orientations, gender experiences, romantic attractions, and every spectrum or combination thereof. This nuance is, for the most part, something to be celebrated.
From a global and historical perspective, it is also very rare.
The labeling challenge
Labels are a lot more niche in the grand scheme of things than many people who use them realize.
First of all, I specified “English-speaking” for a reason—many languages do not have these words, or the same nuance captured in them. Many languages have their own labels with different nuances that may be broader, narrower, or culturally embedded in a way that’s hard to explain to a cultural non-native. Many countries oppress queer people so heavily, the language there hasn’t even had a chance to develop yet.
Second, most English queer-identity labels are a relatively new phenomenon on a historical timescale. Those that did exist in ancient times were often derogatory, or have become so over time. In many parts of the world, many identities simply weren’t recognized in the past, or didn’t make it into historical records, for reasons as varied as the circumstances queer humans find themselves in today. Colonialism has wiped out historical understandings of identity in many cultures, particularly those that were more inclusive than they are today. An evolving understanding on what is appropriate and what is a slur has taken others.
And third, this isn’t just a Contemporary or Historical Fiction problem. Almost any speculative fiction writer can attest to the difficulty of wrangling our-world or anachronistic language in their books, and queer labels are no exception.
One problem, two solutions
There are two main approaches to this. If you’re writing spec fic like Sci-Fi or Fantasy (SFF), you have the option to make your own labels. However, this is a complex process, and runs the risk of transposing our-world bias onto a fictional world.
The alternative is to write without labels at all. This can be a good thing. In contemporary or historical settings where labels are not prevalent, it’s realistic. It can help the author (and readers) steer clear of mental “boxes” and stereotypes. This in turn leaves room for nuanced identities, questioning identities, identities that labels have never really done justice to, and identities just a little off from the “norm,” all of which need representation. It lets queer humans simply exist.
So how, then, do you show queer identity without labels?
1. Relationships
I put this one first because it’s the first thing many people jump to. The most obvious flag for a gay character is who they date, who they marry, or (for bisexual identities) who they’ve dated before. This label alternative is efficient, requiring only one mention to establish identity in some cases.
The downside is, it’s also inapplicable to large swaths of the queer community. It’s not useful for asexual (ace) characters, bisexual ones who have only dated one gender, gay ones who’ve only dated (or even married) as society dictates, trans and generally genderqueer identities, anyone who hasn’t dated much or at all, anyone who hides their backstory for any reason, anyone who doesn’t readily disclose personal details on-screen, or books where romance or attraction never come up organically. In short, it’s very easy to use for a specific subset of queer characters and books, and kind of useless everywhere else.
2. Attraction or Romantic Experience
This one catches a few more of the situations above. Most (though not all) of the human population experiences sexual and/or romantic attraction towards other human beings. Some like to talk about it. A character can note who they find hot. You can show them trying to flirt with someone they find attractive. Characters can mention “types” or preferences in partners.
Giving more detail on a character’s experience of attraction or romance can expand point #1 above to ace, bi, and trans characters, among others. You can elaborate on the character’s feelings (or lack thereof) towards a partner, any relationship conflicts that arose, how the relationship helped the character figure out their sexual or gender identity, and more.
The downsides? Aesthetic attraction exists, any of these behaviors can be faked for camouflage or personal gain, and you don’t need to be attracted to someone to identify them as conventionally attractive.
3. Humor
Many queer people love to joke around about their identities, especially with each other. With a delicate hand, jokes can be used to reveal almost any identity under the sun. Write a pair of gay and lesbian best friends who pretend to be dating just to fuck with people. Write a trans man who responds to any utterance of “grow a pair” with a deadpan medical joke. Write ace characters who use their de facto immunity as armor while they weaponize innuendos.
Downsides of this approach include PG limitations, author comfort level with this kind of content, and needing a cast of characters who will actually engage in this type of banter. It is also sensitive to accidental mockery, so if you’re not queer yourself (or even if you are), make sure to run your humor past a sensitivity reader before you publish or post.
4. Responses to Flirtation
This is different from the initiation of flirting mentioned above. If your character gets hit on or approached in a flirtatious manner, how do they respond? This situation is moderated by a number of factors:
- Where the flirtation takes place
- How openly queer (or any) flirtation can occur in a society
- Knowledge of subtler codes between closeted queers
- How practiced your character is at faking straightness (if required)
These are just a few of these considerations, all of which can become queer flags if used with tact. Binary-trans characters, likewise, can gauge how well they do or don’t pass based on who’s approaching them, regardless of how accepting a society is.
5. Partnership Expectations
This is a huge one in any setting where your queer character is expected to marry, and marry straight. Every queer identity is going to chafe against this somehow. Ace characters may not want to marry at all. Gay ones won’t want to marry straight. Trans ones may not know what “straight” even means for them. Even identities able to fly under the radar in straight-passing relationships—like bi or ace characters—will at least recognize their limitations, and may be thankful for a measure of invisibility.
On the other hand, if you’re writing an inclusive SFF world, this point won’t work for you. True inclusivity means no assumptions, and no assumptions means no expectations. No expectations, no problem.
6. Consideration of Children
Kids are a common social expectation, topic of conversation, and general consideration among human adults. If your characters are in their mid-20s to mid-30s in particular, chances are, people all around them will be pairing off and having children. Chances are, too, that they’ll have opinions about this themselves.
There are opportunities to leverage that if your character’s feelings or goals around progeny are linked to their queer identity. Conception gets complicated when you’re in a relationship with someone of the same biological sex as you. Adoption is a long, intense, and emotionally fraught process that takes years of planning. Queer people may use donors, surrogates, and blended family systems to achieve their child-raising goals—or they may just be cool aunts and uncles for other people’s kids.
If your characters are cis, straight-passing, and want kids, or are any identity and don’t want kids in a world that doesn’t care, meanwhile, this point won’t work for you.
7. Gendered Expectations
Moving out of relationship territory, let’s talk about gender! While implicated in sexuality, gender generally requires its own flags, especially in inclusive settings where the two are not conflated. Trans and genderqueer characters will experience gender norms very differently from cis ones. This can include appearance and clothing, hobbies and activities, professions, skills expectations, invitation to single-gender spaces, and more.
This point requires a different approach in fictional worlds with different norms than our own. Its downsides also include the fact that most gender norms in a non-inclusive society don’t suit all cis people, either, so it’s not just queer characters who will struggle with them. In a label-free book, this is a potential source of confusion to be aware of.
8. Gender Presentation
If your world has gender norms relating to appearance, a character who plays with those can display their own identity, and explain their process while doing so. Appearance is also often used within the queer community to identify one another using pre-established cues and codes.
Clothing is a huge element of appearance curation, as are hair, jewelry, accessories, and most forms of body decoration. Characters may have grooming or dressing habits that correspond to their identity, and can be shown to indicate that identity’s existence without giving it a name. Genderfluid characters might have visual cues to tell people how they identify that day. The options are many.
Now, explicitly gendered associations in physical appearance do not need to be negative. Most of the human population is cis, and both they and binary trans people (hell, even many nonbinary people) appreciate the gender affirmation of a well-picked wardrobe, haircut, etc. This by default requires some of these things to have gendered options.
Because of this, many (though not all) ways to gender one’s appearance will remain relevant in an inclusive world. Gender is an innate experience for most people, and therefore more than just socially constructed. I’ll repeat that: Gender is not just a social construct. This is a common pitfall I notice even queer writers falling into. Binary trans people exist. You can have an inclusive world that still has norms and still has genders, so long as trans and genderqueer characters have the option to use and/or break norms to find their place in society.
When it comes to physical indications of identity, however, be careful. Stereotypes around this are some of the most common and insidious in media representation of queer identities. Appearance can be used to great effect, especially in contemporary and historical settings, but use it with research and care.
9. Relationship to Body
Both gender dysphoria and gender euphoria can be used in a book, and some of this experience can be physical. A trans or genderqueer character’s relationship to their body is always complicated, and while it is often complicated in a negative direction, it does not necessarily have to be. Many celebrate theirs, or don’t care, or have truces that allow them to make peace with dissonance when or where it occurs.
While the most accepting, structurally trans-friendly society imaginable will indeed take a massive burden off trans and genderqueer characters, and allow many to live their lives struggle-free, it will not solve all problems for all of them. This is especially the case for any binary or non-binary trans characters who experience dissonance with their bodies. Dysphoria is a thing. And if a trans character has medically transitioned, HRT is a lifelong process that requires weekly (or otherwise regular) upkeep.
Be careful: this can very quickly get into ownvoices territory. Dysphoria is very touchy territory if you are not yourself trans. Gender euphoria is much easier: just a warm little glow at gender-affirming things, whatever form they come in.
10. Shared Experience
The gaydar is a thing, and queers tend to travel in packs. Like with many minority identities, queer individuals often experience a sense of kinship and mutual identifiability. They can spot each other in a crowd based on very subtle cues in behavior, appearance, interaction, or sometimes just a really good hunch.
This can be leveraged in a book to show your character’s identity contextualized against someone else. They might spot a more or less obviously queer character and think, they’re like me. Multiple layers of coding can make this a very subtle way of showing identity, but it can be a great touch of authenticity either way!
There aren’t really any downsides to this strategy. Even if your character doesn’t identity with others of their identity, or can’t find them, that’s still an indication of identity. I also suspect queer kinship (like queer culture) would persist regardless of the inclusivity of the world in question. And it gives you a great excuse to put more than one queer character in your book, which for representation is never a bad thing!