The Lie of Sides: Being Gay in the Age of Ideological Narcissism

I. The Politics of Being Seen

In a world where everything must mean something, being gay has become a performance. Not for oneself, but for others — observers, algorithms, ideologues. A sexual orientation, once whispered or denied, is now paraded not for pride, but for positioning. To be gay today is not simply to desire — it is to be used. By the left, by the right, by every clown in the cultural circus.

The left wants your queerness to prove their virtue. Your existence is their sticker of progress. They say: Look, we accept you. As if acceptance were a medal you should beg for. They roll out the rainbow carpet in June, but vanish by July — unless you’re useful for a panel, a protest, or a funding proposal. They speak of “inclusion” but mean conformity. The only gays they tolerate are the ones who tweet like them, vote like them, weep on cue. Be sad, be soft, be angry at all the right targets.

The right, meanwhile, pretends you don’t exist — or worse, pretends to protect you. They point at Muslim immigrants and say: They hate gays more than we do. As if the baseline were hate, and their great contribution was hating slightly less. They parade their token homosexuals like stuffed animals: clean-cut, masculine, preferably rich. A gay who criticizes drag queens is their dream. A gay who marries a soldier? Even better. But God forbid you wear nail polish or raise your voice.

To be gay today is to be pulled between these two schizophrenic fantasies — liberal utopia and conservative purity. Both are lies. And both want your loyalty.

II. From Shame to Stage

There was a time when being gay meant exile. Now it means expectation. Once you had to lie to survive. Now you must perform to be legible. Not to be accepted — that’s too quaint — but to be catalogued.

There is no longer any room for ambiguity. No patience for quiet lives. If you’re not marching, you’re hiding. If you’re not posting, you’re betraying. If you critique either side, you’re dangerous — or worse, boring. The modern queer is expected to be a living thesis: a walking rebuttal to fascism, capitalism, patriarchy, or whatever theory is trending that month.

But behind all this visibility, something quietly died: the freedom to not explain yourself. To be strange. To be complex. To be silent. That, perhaps, was the last true queer right — and it’s gone.

Gay people were not meant to be symbols. Symbols are easy to burn.

III. The Smiling Surveillance State

You may think you are free now. After all, you can marry, shop, adopt, complain. But your freedom has been sold to you like an iPhone: sleek, addictive, and monitored.

The rainbow flags wave above corporate offices, yes — but every click, every swipe, every protest selfie is tracked. Not for safety. For data. The revolution is sponsored, and your face is the advertisement.

Meanwhile, the real battles — healthcare, housing, mental health — are smothered under hashtags. Try telling your therapist you feel empty inside because no one ever taught you how to love, only how to brand yourself. He’ll give you a workbook.

On the right, surveillance comes with suspicion. Are you “grooming” children? Are you destroying the West? Are you, somehow, still allowed to breathe? You are tolerated so long as you’re invisible. Or failing that, masculine. The left watches you with affection; the right with binoculars. Both want to know what you’re doing — and more importantly, why.

You cannot simply exist. You must justify. Constantly.

IV. Exit Through the Closet

So where does that leave us? Not united. Not liberated. Not oppressed in the same old ways — but imprisoned in new ones.

The closet was a coffin, yes. But it had a lock on the inside. Now the doors are off the hinges and you are always on display. Every gesture is politicized, every silence suspect. The closet has become a glass box in a museum: lit, labeled, and roped off for safety.

To be gay in 2025 is to be surveilled, simplified, and sold. The irony? You asked for it. Or at least, that’s the story your side will tell.

The only sane act left may be betrayal. Betrayal of sides, of movements, of curated identities. Not to retreat, but to refuse. To be illegible again. To be neither left nor right, neither prideful nor ashamed. To be, at last, something harder to use.

Perhaps, in that refusal — quiet, cynical, unmarketable — a trace of dignity remains.