“Back for a minute. I’m bi. Congrats for forcing an 18 year old to out himself. I think some of you missed the point of the show. Bye.”
Penning a heartbreaking statement, actor Kit Connor – who plays bisexual teenager Nick Nelson in Netflix’s acclaimed series Heartstopper – laid longstanding rumours to rest on Monday evening. Subjected to incessant accusations of “queerbaiting” by so-called fans of the show, scrutiny intensified after rumours circulated about Connor dating a woman. Declining to discuss his sexuality publicly, he was harassed to the point of breakdown. It should never have come to this.
It's creating an environment where bisexual survivors are less likely to seek support.
Like Kit, I too came out as bisexual when I was eighteen. Slowly, after years’ worth of confusion paired with denial, I confided in a handful of close friends, one by one. Met with nothing but endless love and support, I was later emboldened to confide in my university flatmates. After a drunken night on a pub crawl, two of us had made a pact to come out together the next day and had called a house meeting. Holding hands, we unveiled almost nineteen years’ worth of secrets together.
“I’m bisexual, too!”, our friend divulged after those words left our mouths. Now, all my friends knew; my life as an out, bisexual woman began. It was a feeling of catharsis, knowing that at the end of this tumultuous journey towards figuring out my identity laid happiness. As a teenager growing up in the aftermath of Section 28 – a vitriolic policy that banned the “promotion of homosexuality” – I’d had little to no interaction with LGBTQIA identities. I didn’t encounter the word “bisexual” until I was seventeen; it’s no wonder that I felt such intense confusion at the fact that I fancied both boys and girls. Was I gay; was I straight? I had no idea.
I wouldn’t change anything about my coming out journey. Importantly: it was mine. I chose to come out on my own terms, in my own way. Kit Connor didn’t have that choice, and that’s where our stories diverge. My heart breaks for him.
Amidst all the discourse, the true meaning of queerbaiting has been lost. Urban Dictionary’s primary description labels queerbaiting as “a marketing technique used to attract queer viewers that involves creating romantic or sexual tension between two same-sex characters but never making it canon.” Worryingly, just below this lies the exact opposite of what is true: “when someone claims to be a part of the LGBTQIA+ community or creates rumours about being part of it when they’re actually not.” This sentiment is the crux of the problem.
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In themselves, real people cannot queerbait. Queerbaiting is borne out of writers’ rooms with little to no understanding of how to depict and represent LGBTQIA stories. Dangling queer lives in front of viewers, repeatedly illustrating the same tortured relationships over and over without canonising – or rather, actualising – them? That’s queerbaiting. Characters that are coded with distinctly queer stereotypes, shaped by producers that refuse to acknowledge that queerness with an authentic storyline? That’s queerbaiting. It’s all about profit; nothing about representation.
In portraying bisexual teenager Nick Nelson without publicly disclosing his own sexuality, Kit Connor wasn’t masquerading, and he wasn’t queerbaiting. He didn’t owe us that coming out: it was given under duress. Connor isn’t the first celebrity that’s been hounded by queerbaiting accusations, and sadly, I suspect that he won’t be the last.
Harry Styles has been one of the most notable examples, criticised by the press and fans alike for refusing to discuss his sexuality. “I’ve been really open with it with my friends, but that’s my personal experience; it’s mine”, he told Better Homes & Gardens in April 2022 after his starring role in LGBTQIA romance My Policeman stirred up public discourse once more. This isn’t a new theme for Styles, either. “I don’t feel it’s something I’ve ever felt like I have to explain about myself”, he stated in an interview with The Sun in 2017.
“Sometimes our dating history doesn’t align with how we identify – and that’s okay…”
And it doesn’t stop there. Taylor Swift has long been plagued by similar cries. A long-standing symbol of queer resistance, the lavender Swift referenced on new track Lavender Haze is closely associated with the lesbian community; fans were quick to identify this, with the subsequent hashtag #LavenderGate accumulating close to 1.1 million views on TikTok. Many accused Swift of alluding to queer themes without subsequently demonstrating adequate allyship or publicly discussing her own sexuality.
The reigning theme? Celebrities do not owe us, whether as passive consumers or active fans, an explanation on their identities. Of course, queer actors being cast in queer roles is always welcome and I’ve often erred on the supportive camp: that representation is powerful. But it’s becoming increasingly clear that this mentality cannot be enforced without causing harm. What’s happened to Kit Connor is symbolic of this fact.
Heartstopper is a beautiful show. It’s changed lives. But this? This isn’t progress.
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