Actor Bilal Hasna on his latest role as a non-binary British-Palestinian drag queen in the brilliant Layla. 

WRITER RYAN CAHILL 
PHOTOGRAPHER KYLE GALVIN 
STYLIST GARY SALTER 
CREATIVE DIRECTION CRAIG HEMMING 
GROOMING NICK ROSE 
PHOTOGRAPHY ASSISTANT OLIVER FRANCIS 
TAILORING FRANKIE FARMER 
PRODUCTION ANGEL B PRODUCTIONS

Actor Bilal Hasna has been incredibly hard to pin down. In the midst of press tours, auditions and a packed shooting schedule, we finally manage to find a time to chat over Zoom. As he flashes on screen, his first instinct is to apologise profusely at being unable to meet in person, telling me that he’d just come from an audition and would later be attending an event for the launch of The Agency, a new show in which he stars alongside Michael Fassbender, Richard Gere and Jodie-Turner Smith. He’s instantly disarming, charming and well-spoken – even taking a moment to compliment my Le Cruset butter dish (not sponsored!) in the back of the shot. 

Hasna’s big break came when he was cast in Extraordinary, the anti-superhero comedy series on Disney+ in which he plays Kash, a young man in his early 20s who possesses the power to turn back time. In the role, Hasna showed us that he was ideally suited to comedy, with brilliant timing and line delivery which perfectly suited the world created by Emma Moran. Despite two brilliant seasons, the future of Extraordinary remains uncertain with no news of a renewal – but it played its part in putting Hasna on the map. 

His latest role, though, will allow viewers to see a different side of him. Starring as the title character in Layla, a new film written and directed by British-Iraqi filmmaker and writer Amrou Al-Kadhi, Hasna transforms into a jobbing drag queen who starts a relationship with a corporate marketeer. The story unravels as Layla hides their true identity from their family and navigates a double life alongside romance and friendship. In the role, Hasna is mesmerising. He perfectly captures the internal struggle of code-switching between the straight and queer worlds, whilst offering a sense of hopefulness and quiet optimism which sets Layla aside from so many other queer characters that we see on-screen. It’s a nuanced and bold performance, packed with perfect portrayals of love, heartbreak, identity crisis, managing family and friendships and navigating London life. 

After receiving acclaim following its premiere at the London BFI Flare Festival, the film is officially released on Friday 22 November. Ahead of the release, we caught up with Hasna to discuss his appreciation for drag, the tragedy trope in queer media and his Palestinian heritage. 

L: Shirt FAVOURBROOK | R: Full look LANVIN

To start with, I wonder if there’s a performance or moment in a film that made you realise that you want to be an actor? 

I remember that when I was really young, my New Year’s resolution was to watch a film every day. My Dad is a massive film buff so we would watch them together. I remember we watched Girl, Interrupted and Angelina Jolie’s performance in that was so good. I couldn’t stop thinking about it for ages. I just remember being really struck by that performance and I couldn’t stop thinking about it for weeks and weeks afterwards. That definitely was something that inspired me to pursue acting. 

And from there, what was your pathway into the industry? 

I’ve always done it, since I was a kid. I used to go to a Saturday school like Stage Coach, and then when I went to secondary school, I did a lot of it there. I was really lucky because the drama department in my school had some amazing teachers. One of them was a woman called Dawn Morris-Wolffe and she was directing a production of Great Expectations, the Charles Dickens novel. She wanted a boy to play Miss Havisham and I ended up getting the part. That was my first proper experience of doing drag! She’s a widow, she lives in this rotten house. She’s very camp! A lot of the teachers that came to watch were like ‘Oh my god, I didn’t realise it was you! I thought it was a woman’. It felt really liberating. It really unlocked things for me. Funnily enough, I got a text from her last week saying ‘I’ve just seen the trailer for Layla, I can’t believe it. I hope you’re telling the world about Miss Havisham!’ Then when it got to GCSEs I decided to take more of an academic approach. I ended up going to Cambridge as I wanted to be a professor of English Literature. Weirdly, there was another play that was at uni and I just got the bug again. I got to go around Europe touring Othello, I got to go to the Edinburgh Fringe two years in a row. I got an agent from uni and slowly things started happening. 

Tell me about the moment of being cast in Extraordinary.  

Extraordinary was the first big break really! I worked for a charity for a year and that was amazing and then I did this prison drama called Screw. I had enough money to support myself so I was able to put more effort into self-tapes and auditions. Then, the Extraordinary tape came through and I got it. That was incredible. Within three weeks of the final audition, I was on set all the time as one of the main characters. With that comes a lot of pressure, but I think I’ve just been lucky enough to work with all the right people at the right times. I really feel so blessed. 

Let’s chat about Layla. I’ve seen it twice. I found it to be a very complex watch in the best way. I definitely saw aspects of my own journey. Tell me a bit about how it came to you.

I was aware of Amrou [Al-Kadhi’s] work because they’re quite a prominent British-Arab queer writer in London, and there aren’t that many. I remember listening to a podcast they did for BBC Sounds, and I was in my second year of university and it really made me think differently about my identity. Then, three years later, the self-tape came through for Layla, their directorial debut. I was like ‘I’ve got to try and do that.’ I remember I was actually on the plane to go to Palestine to visit my family, and I did the self-tape in Palestine in the West Bank. 

What were your thoughts on the script? 

It felt very nuanced. I think so often in queer stories there is this centering around trauma and external conflict that is often quite violent and harsh. I think what happens in Layla is a lot about what people aren’t saying. It’s about what people cannot say, it’s about what people think they shouldn’t say. It’s all about miscommunication, really. I just felt very true to my experiences and it felt very, very authentic. This idea of code switching, depending on what room you’re in, what you feel, the perceived expectations of who you are is also something I could really identify with. 

Also, rather selfishly, I just wanted to try my hand at drag!

“So often, queer films show us that queer life is impossible and that you’re going to have to live a miserable life, be depressed or die, basically. I think Layla really rallies against that. It rallies against fatalism.”

What was Amrou Al-Kadhi like to work with as a director? 

Amrou [Al-Kadhi] was incredibly passionate about telling this story. I think initially the script was much more semi-autobiographical than it is now. I think they would feel confident with me saying that this didn’t necessarily happen to them but it’s based on experiences that have been refracted through certain lenses. I think because it’s rooted in a lived experience, it meant that they had such an incredible passion and worked so hard to realise this world, both on screen and off. Many of the heads of department were queer, the person who was to apply my makeup was a drag queen themselves! That kind of spirit of authenticity, joy and integrity really ran through the whole team and was led by Amrou. 

I feel like it’s cliche to say that playing this role was ‘brave’, but you expose yourself both physically and emotionally in Layla. I imagine that was quite a huge undertaking. Did that come with any kind of pressure?

At that point I’d only really played Kash in Extraordinary and that’s a very comic role. There’s not that much vulnerability required in the way that it is in Layla. I don’t think I felt pressure really, and I think it’s in large part down to Louis [Greatorex] and how much we were able to hold each other in the filming process. I never felt like I was putting myself out there or doing something that I felt uncomfortable with. We also had an intimacy coordinator so that made us feel extremely comfortable. I think because the film was made by our community, you’re always held in it.

I always find that when we’re seeing those intimate scenes in queer media, they’re either depicted to satisfy the heteronormative gaze, or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, they serve the purpose of titillation for the queer viewer. However in Layla, they felt intimate in a way that was necessary for the story, but also really honest to queer intimacy. They felt more genuine than what we’re used to seeing in queer media. 

That was definitely our intention. There’s three main sex scenes in the film and I think that they’re quite pivotal for the film because they express what these characters can’t quite tell themselves verbally. 

Has playing Layla given you a whole new appreciation of drag? 

Yes! Drag is an Olympic sport. Drag queens are Olympians! To be in a corset that cinches you five inches and nine inch stilettos, even for a few hours, is exhausting! To hold everyone’s gaze and to translate their investment in your persona into something that is righteous, clever and quick requires so much! I’ve always loved drag, but I think doing this film really made me understand the lengths that you have to go to to be a professional drag queen. 

What do you hope that people will take away from the film? 

I hope the film shows them that life is possible. I think so often queer films show us that queer life is impossible and that you’re going to have to live a miserable life, be depressed or die, basically. I think Layla really rallies against that. It rallies against fatalism. Layla, by the end of the film, emerges triumphant and as someone who’s able to harness all the different facets of themselves into something beautiful and coherent. I really hope that is the case, especially for queer Arabs and queer Muslims whose identities are so often recognised in mass media to justify atrocities. 

You’re right, a lot of queer media is rooted in tragedy. Why do you think that is? 

I think that in the context of queer filmmakers and queer showrunners, a lot of people are trying to portray the truth of their experience and that truth is often quite tragic. You don’t even need to look to the past, you can look at the present. For example, right now we have rampant transphobia. It’s very easy to tell a queer story that’s traumatic because for so many people, queer life is something traumatic. We’ve all had trauma associated with our identities. I think the problem is that there’s an over-saturation of those stories, which means that you begin to naturalise certain things around queer life. If you’re just reflecting your own experiences without trying to show that another world is possible, then the imagination will never be able to grasp it, and therefore you can never realise it. I’m a big believer that the imagination is actually quite a political tool. You cannot achieve anything unless you can envisage a world in which it is possible. 

L: Full Look HOMME PLISSE ISSEY MIYAKE, shoes LANVIN | R: As before

Speaking of politics, I see from your Instagram that you’re regularly sharing political posts. Do you feel that you have a responsibility to utilise your platform in that way? 

As a Palestinian actor,  it’s particularly painful for me to see what’s going on in the world right now. Today, as we speak, is the 404th day of a genocide against the Palestinian people in Gaza. I think that I feel a sense of duty that is incumbent on me to speak out about it because I don’t think any of us have seen anything like this in our lifetimes. Do I think it’s my responsibility? The act of storytelling goes hand-in-hand with the act of advocacy and uplifting people whose voices are lost in public discourse, whose voices are demonised, dehumanised, racialised. I see the act of advocacy and lifting up certain stories as something I want to do on screen, as well as off. Especially with this issue, it’s particularly important because there is such fear around talking about it. There is such fear in saying the wrong thing. I take a great sense of hope in the people that have refused for their humanity to be compromised in this moment and have taken to the streets or have used whatever platforms they have to draw attention to this. You described it as a political thing, which is true. The situation is a political situation, but the actual issue itself is really an issue of: do we believe a certain kind of person should be annihilated? I think the answer to that is always no. 

Thank you for answering that question so eloquently.

With regards to this specific issue of Israel-Palestine, in my opinion, for many years now the Israeli state has weaponised queer Palestinian identity in order to justify its occupation of Palestine. So essentially it’s said that because homosexuality is not accepted, in Palestine, that this is actually a reason why the Palestinians need to be occupied because they are backwards people, because they don’t understand true liberation. They don’t stand for LGBTQIA+ rights. I think what this film is trying to do, in a small way, is saying that we have to narrate our own stories, because if you ask any queer Palestinian, the first thing they will tell you is that nothing kills queer Palestinians more than Israeli bombs. 

That brings me onto my next question, which is about identity. Typically when we see queer films or TV shows, they’re usually from a white gay male perspective, and there’s a greater need for wider representation. What are your thoughts on that? 

I think that in queer representation, as in any form of representation, a certain kind of person is prioritised over other people’s perspective. I really hope that that’s beginning to change. Layla sits alongside many films about drag queens of colour that have come out in the last few years, and I think that’s a really good starting point. It’s hard to say what the future is going to look like, but I do feel very hopeful about all different kinds of queer experiences being shown. 

Can you give us a little snapshot of what you have coming up? 

I think this year has been really exciting. I’ve had a real opportunity to work with such a diverse range of people, a lot of whom I’ve been working in this industry for a long time. I’ve just wrapped on this show called The Agency, which is for Showtime and Paramount+. It’s written by Jez Butterworth and John-Henry Butterworth. The first episodes have been directed by Joe Wright, the amazing director of Pride and Prejudice, Atonement and The Darkest Hour. The show stars Michael Fassbender, Richard Gere and Geoffrey Wright. So that was a crazy opportunity to act with some of the big veterans of Hollywood, and it was amazing. 

I learned so much. That comes out on 29 of November. And then I actually had the opportunity of being in the Lord of the Rings anime film that’s coming out. There’s also Black Mirror, which is amazing as well. I can’t say too much about that, but that’s coming out next year!  

This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Layla is out in UK cinemas on 22 November.

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Rural isolation and outdated attitudes can make agricultural life a struggle for gay and queer men. Here, four LGBTQIA+ farmers open up about their experiences

WORDS BY RYAN CAHILL
PHOTOGRAPHY BY RICHARD DOWKER

Back in 2017, the film God’s Own Country was released in the UK. Directed by Francis Lee in his film debut, the flick starred the brilliant Josh O’Connor in the lead role as a rural gay farmer who falls in love with his Romanian farm hand. With themes of isolation, homophobia and loneliness, it delivered a powerful message about the plight that farmers – and especially queer farmers – face in their day to day lives. But seven years on, has much really changed in the world of agriculture? 

A parliamentary committee recently found that the government is being “complacent” regarding rural mental health, saying that farmers are at a higher risk of mental ill health and suicide, in part caused by rural isolation, a lack of awareness and stigma surrounding a typically heteronormative industry. The same committee found that the COVID-19 pandemic and new policies may only contribute further to poor mental health within agriculture. 

With many farms across the country being inherited, it’s easy to understand how certain ideologies continue to persevere through the decades – homogenous attitudes are passed down from generation to generation, meaning that there isn’t much of an opportunity to break the wheel.

But that doesn’t mean that people aren’t trying. In 2010, a helpline was launched to support gay farmers who might be struggling with their sexuality, and more recently, the rural LGBTQIA+ network Agrespect was launched to create wider awareness, offer support and champion diversity within farming. It’s a vital support system for rural agriculturalists living rurally across the country.   

Richard Dowker, who photographed this portfolio, recalls being one of the only gay people at Young Farmers which he attended throughout his youth. “I grew up in Cumbria, in a family with a farming background surrounded by all things agriculture – so I would attend our local Young Farmers’ Club with other friends and it was a good laugh with my girls most of the time.” He says. “However there were moments where I felt lonely, out of place and that I didn’t belong, due to the very obvious lack of fellow LGBTQIA+ and the occasional queer-bashing jokes.

I definitely knew that I didn’t want to follow my dad’s farming path from a young age but also I didn’t really see it as an accepting place, even if I had wanted to. 15 years later, this project was an opportunity to see what had changed and if time had made it more of an accepting community, a place where younger generations could feel more safe and welcome.” 

Over the next few pages, we hear stories from four brilliant farmers spanning different generations to understand the current landscape when it comes to LGBTQIA+ lives in farming, and what is in store for the next generation. 

To contact the Gay Farmer Helpline, call 07837931894. Further support can also be found at https://agrespect.com/

John Porter, 47 

John Porter has been involved with farming for as long as he can remember. He’s had farmers in his family dating as far back as the 1700s, so agriculture is very much in the blood. 

Throughout his early years, John followed the tradition of other men in his family. He learned how to milk cows, drive a tractor and eventually got married and had children with his then-wife – but he always felt that something was missing. “I thought it was quite normal that I found men attractive, but didn’t really think I would ever act on it.” He says. “My marriage eventually broke down through various outside forces. I had watched a soap and somebody had Grindr. I got an iPhone and I had a look. It was like opening Pandora’s Box when you download an app like that.” 

After John’s first hookup, he said that he went through an identity crisis, experiencing a plethora of emotions and questioning whether it was “right” to be acting on such feelings and having a sense of guilt, which had an impact on his mental health. These emotions led him to utilising the Gay Farmers Helpline as an important resource for advice and support during a time when he was struggling with his sexuality. He says that the helpline was “vital” for him.

“I was at a stage where I felt totally alone. I was leading a double life and it was exhausting.” He shares. “The helpline showed me that it was okay to be me, that I wasn’t alone and there were lots of people that were in the same boat as me.” 

After eventually reaching self-acceptance, John decided to come out at the age of 34. He tells me although he initially felt like he might “lose everything” as a result of coming out, it was the best decision he ever made, and since then has been able to live his life to the fullest. 

The helpline showed me that it was okay to be me, that I wasn’t alone

Stories like his though, are not totally uncommon in the world of farming, as John explains: “There are a lot of farmers in their late 40s, 50s, even 60s, who had married a woman on a family farm and they wanted to leave but say they can’t leave because they’d get nothing. They’re stuck in a place where they’re doing a job which is quite physically and mentally demanding, they’re with a person that they don’t want to particularly be with, they can’t be themselves entirely and as a result people commit suicide.” 

John is hopeful that through more open conversations and wider visibility within agriculture, this will no longer be the case, and farming will continue to become a place of acceptance. He believes that we’re already on the right path for seeing that change. “I think today, as opposed to 20 years ago, it’s acceptable and queer men and women aren’t ostracised, so more queer people should feel safe to enter farming. It’s also a great job. It’s so varied and no day is ever the same. When the sun’s shining, you can be in no better place than outside on the farm.” 

Gareth Hales-Povey, 40

“I’m in the yard at 4am and the sun’s just peeking up. It’s quite a grounding experience. I’m proud of being able to do it because I never saw myself doing this.” says Gareth Hales-Povey. He is relatively new to the world of farming. After being furloughed from his job in hospitality and management during the COVID-19 pandemic, his husband encouraged him to pick up shifts at the local dairy farm, and since then, he’s not looked back. 

The 40-year-old lives with his partner and two recently adopted children in a picturesque grade-II listed farmhouse. They have what you might describe as a “traditional country lifestyle”, and Gareth admits he’s reached a place of contentment living and working in the countryside. 

When stepping into farming, he had heard about the prejudice that sometimes exists within the industry, but wasn’t too concerned about experiencing it himself. “I’m completely aware that it does go on. We’ve had friends that have had really negative experiences in the roles they’re in, and they’ve had to leave. On some farms, it’s not an issue, they just want you to turn up and do the job. But there’s these old fashioned prejudices that are still out there.” Gareth says. “I’ve not experienced it personally, but I know people that have. It’s been heartbreaking what they’ve been through, real emotional turmoil.”  

Gareth believes that with the help of major organisations like Young Farmers and the National Farmers’ Union, attitudes will continue to shift when it comes to the LGBTQIA+ community operating within agriculture. “There’s definitely a growing community out there. There’s also a group called Agrespect and they attend Prides all over Britain. They’re trying to promote queerness in agriculture and farming. So through that you do get to interact with people that are in a similar situation. I feel like attitudes are changing, but also a lot of farms are being run as businesses now. So, they have HR, you have inclusivity clauses in contracts, they encourage open thinking and open ways of working.” 

I just get a buzz driving a tractor because it just feels so 180 of where I thought my life would be. I can make new friends from it and I can show queer communities that it can be done

Gareth feels like he’s finally found a home working within agriculture, saying that he is very “lucky to live and work” in the countryside. “It’s just very wholesome. I just get a buzz driving a tractor because it just feels so 180 of where I thought my life would be. I can make new friends from it and I can show queer communities that it can be done. It’s not going to be easy for everybody, but we’re out here representing and that is really important!” 

Ben Andrews, 42

With acres of sprawling fields, picturesque red-bricked out-houses and an array of wildlife that you expect only to see in encyclopaedias, Ben Andrews grew up on an idyllic organic vegetable that has been in his family for decades. He recalls that much of his childhood was outside with his grandfather, spending endless hours in the fields checking livestock and fixing fences. 

Despite being so heavily embroiled in the world of farming from such a young age, he was unsure if there would be a place for him within agriculture as a gay man. “I think a lot of the stigma was internal. I thought that I’m never going to be able to reconcile these two parts of my life.” He explains. “There is still going to be some homophobia and transphobia, and there will still be people maybe talking about me behind my back, but I don’t really care what people say about me. I can’t change being gay so it doesn’t bother me, but if you tell me I’m a shit farmer, I’m going to get upset about that!” 

Ben was one of the founding members of Agrespect, a network aiming to promote and increase inclusivity within farming and agriculture. Inspired by a Country File feature about the Gay Farmers Helpline, the network was an opportunity to offer wider support to queer and rural farmers. “There’s no membership, there’s no committee, it’s a Facebook group, a Whatsapp group and we occasionally organise a Pride march!” He says modestly. “There’s no gatekeeper to the branding. If somebody wants to go and do their local Pride and they want to make up a load of banners that say Agrespect on them, it’s just like ‘yeah go for it, do whatever you want!’”

With an ever-growing Instagram following of over 80,000 followers, he’s become a familiar face within the farming community. His platform has meant that he’s been able to visit various colleges and universities to give informative talks about agriculture, and particularly queer people working within the industry. It’s people like Ben who are helping to shape the future of agriculture and create a better landscape for upcoming generations. 

As for his own journey, he’s been through some vast changes in the past few years.  After separating from his long-term partner two years ago, his relationship with the rural landscape has shifted slightly. He still loves farm life, but it’s giving him a form of catharsis and tranquillity in a way that it hadn’t before.

One of the most important things to remember is that nature doesn’t judge. It doesn’t care where you’re from, it doesn’t care if you’re gay or straight or trans

“One of the most important things to remember is that nature doesn’t judge. It doesn’t care where you’re from, it doesn’t care if you’re gay or straight or trans. It’s just there, it’s doing its thing and however stressed you are, nature doesn’t stop. There’s so much stuff that’s out of my control and there’s nothing I can do about it, but I’m just along for the ride and try to see how beautiful and wonderful it can be.” 

Robert Houghton, 25 

At 25, Rob Houghton represents a new generation of queer farmers who will shape the world of agriculture. His generation will start to feel the benefit of the work done by the generations that came before him in helping ensure that people like him have a space within the industry. 

Rob’s interest in farming initially started with horses, which he has a strong passion for. His brothers were also involved in different aspects of farming which he always found interesting, and he describes his childhood set-up as a “rural family”. “I just always loved doing things outside and working with the animals. I love the quiet as well,” he says of why he loves farming. “It’s definitely not the early mornings though!” 

Rob has been out to his close family and friends since he was 18, and has been confident and secure with his sexuality for as long as he can remember. That said, he still acknowledges the initial anxiety that comes with queer farmers entering the business, saying that a lot of that worry comes from working with older and potentially close-minded peers. He feels that a lot of unacceptance within farming is based around archaic stereotypes about gay men.

There is obviously this stigma that you have to be a straight manly person. They think that if you’re gay, you’re going to squeal but it doesn’t happen

“There is obviously this stigma that you have to be a straight manly person. They think that if you’re gay, you’re going to squeal but it doesn’t happen.” He explains. “20 or 30 years ago, farming was always a family thing – that idea that a farmer has a wife and kids and eventually the kids work on the farm. That still plays a part in the stigma.” 

Despite recognising that prejudices can exist in certain farms, it isn’t something that Rob has had any personal experience of, and he’s made great connections with colleagues at work. He has a very straightforward approach to handling a lack of acceptance that he might feel from coworkers, telling me: “I think there are people that haven’t liked it. But I just think ‘I am here to work, if you don’t like it, don’t talk to me. I’m going to do my stuff, you do your own stuff.’” 

With resources like Agrespect, the Gay Farmers Helpful and new initiatives and support being driven by the likes of the National Union of Farmers and Young Farmers, inclusivity and acceptance seems to be at the forefront of farming right now.

There’s undeniably a stigma that still exists to some degree, and that regrettably is passed on through the generations, but the prevalence of queer people working in agriculture is on the rise. We just need more young people like Rob, who are unapologetic and undefined by their sexuality, to show others that there is a space for queer people within the industry, and they can do so without fear of prejudice or judgement. 

As for his take on the future of farming for queer people, Rob is realistic and optimistic: “I think people don’t need to worry. It’s very rare that you get people that won’t accept you in farming. If you really want to be into farming, just crack on! You’ll love it.” 

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Halifax-born creatives Ryan Cahill and Jesse Glazzard speak to LGBTQIA+ locals in the West Yorkshire area and explore the potential for Pride and progress outside of the Big Smoke.

WORDS BY RYAN CAHILL
PHOTOGRAPHY BY JESSE GLAZZARD

Calderdale. Situated in the heart of West Yorkshire with picturesque rolling hills and laced with striking former textile mills, it’s a characterful town with a population to match. 

I spent the entirety of my adolescence and early adulthood calling Halifax in Calderdale my “home”. My family and core friendship group still live there and I consider it to be one of the most visually beautiful places I know. But despite the scenic landscapes and historic Victorian architecture, growing up in the area, I felt othered. There were very few queer people around that I could relate to, and definitely no older LGBTQIA+ individuals that I could use as a blueprint for living a fulfilling life in the area. At that time, there were no local safe spaces, no queer youth clubs, and Grindr (which was still relatively new at the time) was filled with blank profiles and dead end conversations. It’s a familiar story that I hear from so many queer people who grew up in towns or villages across the North of England during the noughties and 2010s – and this is without even mentioning the instances of homophobia that feel so prevalent in rural areas but often go unreported and are so easily accepted as the “norm”. 

With that, it’s no surprise that so much of queer culture comes to life in cities. Many of us seek out the nearest cosmopolis, craving some sense of community that is more easily attainable in concrete jungles like London, Manchester and Birmingham. We happily shed our rural roots to start new lives in places where we feel seen, whether that be through nightlife, art spaces or the simple fact that there are just more queer people – safety in numbers, so to speak. 

Dreams of moving to London had manifested in my mind before I’d even hit puberty. So much of that idea was rooted in escapism – I had this sense that by “fleeing” to the capital, I’d leave behind the sense of isolation and otherness that had clung to me for as long as I could remember. The notion of leaving almost became a coping mechanism; “I’ll soon be old enough to leave and everything will be fine.” This negative association with Halifax has meant that, despite it being over a decade since I left, I still feel conflicted about the area. In my head, it’s still exactly the same as it was in the early 2000s, frozen in time and left behind while the rest of the world moved on. 

On paper, Calderdale has progressed massively in recent years. It has since acquired its very own gay club, drawn mass queer tourism thanks to the HBO/BBC show, Gentleman Jack and even launched its own Pride celebrations which are attended by hundreds of LGBTQIA+ individuals and allies from the area. But while I can see from the safety of my detached London life that it’s getting easier to be queer and happy in Halifax, I can’t seem to let go of the past.

In recent years, I’ve felt some ominous pull back towards my hometown, like a sailor to a siren song. And so this project is about re-conditioning myself to recognise that queer life doesn’t just exist at home, but it thrives. When fellow Halifax-born creative, the photographer Jesse Glazzard, and I first spoke about this portfolio as an initial creative idea, we realised that our home-coming was more an act of necessity rather than a passion project. 

Through capturing queer people in and around Halifax, and hearing their stories of contentment in the area, we sought to reconnect with our homeland, and discover that queer fulfilment does exist from whence we came.

Terry Logan, 42 

Terry Logan, 42, has lived in Calderdale for 12 years. A musician and teacher originally from Rochdale, she met her wife, Emma, in a gay bar while living in Manchester. The two back-packed across Latin America, lived and worked in Mexico for a year, all before returning and considering a move to the Calder Valley, inspired by many day trips and disco nights out at the esteemed Nelson’s Wine Bar. 

“Hebden especially was always like a beacon of inclusivity. It is believed to be the lesbian capital of the UK, so the idea of holding my wife’s hand and just being ourselves and seeing that representation reflected back to you was really appealing,” she says of her decision to move to the area. “So when we came back from travelling, penniless and with nowhere to live, we just thought ‘Well we can live anywhere, so why don’t we find work in Hebden and live there!’”

For Terry, much of her life is dedicated to further pushing acceptance in the area. She’s part of the team at the brilliant Happy Valley Pride, a charity dedicated to celebrating LGBTQIA+ life in the area and whose agenda is to promote equality and diversity while eradicating discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity. They have a particular focus on arts, education and engagement, and have become a fundamental part of queer life in the area. They also host highly popular Pride events in the area during Pride Month. “My current role is as youth engagement officer. I’ve developed their educational outreach, so I’ve written a scheme of work around identity that’s focused on LGBTQIA+ issue and I’ve also created the PSHE curriculum which is about everyday understanding and learning for students.” 

In her day job, Terry started out as an English teacher but now works in pastoral care at the local Ryburn High School. Part of her role has been facilitating a strong LGBTQIA+ group for students, where they’re encouraged to organise a week-long Pride event and connect with other schools to help spread wider understanding. The group also recently won the Young Champions of Calderdale award for their work, a “proud mum” moment for Terry. “I believe that Ryburn is now leading the way in terms of being an example of a school that celebrates diversity and inclusivity, and a large part of that is not me, it’s the kids! They’re brilliant students and they bring so much hope. They’re so brave and they are unapologetically themselves and, well, fabulous. The best way to be!”

It is people like Terry who are helping to lay the foundations for the next generation of queer individuals, but also the next generation of allies. She’s an example of a brilliant and informed ambassador for our community who is educating young people on what it means to be queer and how we can support our LGBTQIA+ peers. We rely on these individuals to help solidify the level of tolerance that will invite more queer people to feel safe and welcome in Calderdale – just like she does. 

Having lived in Manchester, with the inviting security of Canal Street and its rich cultural music scene, I wonder what it is that has kept Terry and her wife Emma in the valley for all these years. “There’s a number of things and it’s not just about my queerness. Calderdale is a hotbed of creativity and I have been massively influenced by countless talented artists here. There are so many iconic venues such as the Trades Club and The Golden Lion,” she says. “Creativity being at the centre of our community fosters a sense of openness and acceptance.”

Kim Lana, 45

“I’ve not been eating biscuits!” Kim Lana, 45, exclaims regarding her photoshoot when we arrive at her flat to start shooting. An avid DJ, the space feels just as much a recording studio as it does a home, with a mixing desk and speakers taking over much of the living room. The walls are strewn with trans-related iconography, including framed magazine covers of her idol Honey Dijon and large colourful posters of the many queer music events at which Kim has played. 

While DJing is her bread and butter these days, she formerly owned a cafe in the area. “With the cafe, I transitioned while serving ice cream out of a little hatch. Everybody saw that happen and that was very public. It wasn’t done on purpose, but I thought, ‘If I’m in this position to be this public, I might as well not hide anything – actually allow it to serve some greater purpose’”. In preparation for this portfolio, I’m told by a number of different people that I must speak to Kim – a testament to her impact on queer life in the area. She’s become a pillar of the community, known for her club nights but also the way in which she has become an embodiment of local trans visibility. 

At the start of her transition, the cafe was vandalised with homophobic graffiti. It was shocking, not just to Kim, but also to the wider community. Since then, her ethos has been about making other trans people feel seen. While her events and DJ sets have brought joy to the queer community and beyond, she’s also played a part in more radical routes to trans visibility. Armed with spray paint, Kim recently took to the streets and started marking up lamp posts, road signs and bridges with the trans pride flag. She’s since seen her work immortalised on the screens of the BBC show Happy Valley (a particularly proud moment for Kim) and on the Instagrams of queer people who visit the area. “I bought some pink, some white and some blue spray paint and I just went out one night,” she beams. “If there’s a little Pride flag somewhere, you feel seen. Trans people coming to the area know that they’re not alone.”

Kim admittedly has a complex relationship with Calderdale. Having the cafe vandalised was just one of a few instances in which she has experienced hate crimes, but despite the tribulations, she’s been in the area for over 20 years, now living in the very centre of town. “I purposely moved and put myself in the middle of it. The cafe was in the middle of the park and my visibility had an impact. So I might as well embrace it and use it. I might not have money and I might not have influence, but if I can go into a space and hold that space, that’s empowering,” she tells me. “If I can be here and host gigs and hold space and try and attract other queer people to the area, that’s important!”

Most recently, Kim played a part in organising events surrounding Trans Day of Remembrance. It was a life-affirming moment for her – an opportunity to ensure that trans lives were at the forefront of cultural conversation across Calderdale. Kim was also supported by Happy Valley Pride, which helped to push the message even further. It’s just one example of the ways in which Kim is ensuring that trans issues are being brought to the forefront. “It was a space to grieve, but also to show that we want you to celebrate trans people,” she explains. “We want to be celebrated! And we want to be remembered! Trans women want it all… we want it fucking all!”

Jordan Roberts, 27 

Jordan Roberts, 27, is a relatively new resident in Calderdale, having settled here just 6 months ago. After growing up in nearby Littleborough, his family moved to Kent for a number of years before he made the trip back North to live in Manchester. When an opportunity arose for him to help friends establish their local BnB, the Crow Nest House, he left the fast-paced city for a quieter life in Calderdale – and it’s been more cathartic than he had first imagined. 

“In Manchester, there was this constant change and the speed at which things were going, it was too full on. I felt like I was going at a million miles an hour. As soon as I got here, it felt like I slowed down a lot in a very healthy way. It brought me back down to normality and I was like, ‘oh, this is the pace that life should be at.’” 

Having had a more hedonistic lifestyle in the city, Jordan has yearned for something different, a break in the cycle that is expected of so many 20-something gay men – and Calderdale offered just that. He’s started to find his feet amongst a new community, one that isn’t so focused on relentless partying. There is however some anxiety that comes from leaving the accepting streets of Manchester and coming somewhere smaller and more tight-knit. “One of the things that you worry about when you leave the city is finding yourself in a place with small town mentalities and not finding acceptance,” he begins. “But, it’s been very accepting and that small town mentality doesn’t exist as much, which was quite a big contrast to what I experienced growing up in nearby Littleborough.” 

Being in Calderdale, with its picturesque rolling hills and wide open spaces has meant that Jordan has had more time to focus his mind on creative endeavours. The area is known for its creativity, harvesting talent like screen-writer Sally Wainwright, poet Ted Hughes and his wife Sylvia Plath. A budding artist himself, Jordan hopes to bring some of his creative prowess to the local area too, particularly within his specialisms of photography and event production. “I don’t think I’ve showcased myself authentically creatively here yet, which is something that I’m plotting and planning,” he tells me with a knowing smile. “I’d like to get involved in Happy Valley Pride and just get more ingrained in what is going on here. I think once I understand the area a bit more and see what people are craving and what is missing, then I’ll know what I can bring to the table. I’d love to support existing local events and put on some of my own.” 

Living in an area with a smaller queer population can sometimes leave little opportunity for romantic or sensual exploration. I wonder if that is something that Jordan is conscious of, being a young single gay guy and having moved from Manchester where there is much more opportunity for intimate connection. “I think it’s quite challenging to meet people. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been on the apps, but I’ve been living in the city for long enough and the culture in the cities is lots of parties, drugs and hooking up. It’s nice to have a break from that.”

The tranquillity, the open space, the lack of distractions have all contributed to Jordan entering a better head-space, and working on the most important relationship of all: the one with himself. “I’m actually finding myself. For me, being here, it’s about rebuilding my relationship with me. That’s the most important thing right now.”

Noah Hill, 35

Throughout his life, Noah Hill, 35, has lived in a number of areas across Calderdale including Kings Cross, Sowerby Bridge and Ripponden. Over the past few years though, he’s firmly settled in Calder Valley with his boyfriend and two cats. There’s a trans pride flag confidently hanging in the downstairs window of his home – a testament to Noah living authentically and unapologetically and embracing his transmasculine identity. 

An avid biker, he runs his own bicycle repair shop from his home workshop. It’s a  line of work which allows him to combine his love for biking with his career. Part of his work in the community includes hosting a bike mechanic workshop for women, trans and non-binary people. “I also offer LGBTQIA+ friendly repairs, and I repair donated bikes for asylum seekers in partnership with Friends of Hebden Bridge Picture House,” Noah says. “I believe bikes seem to be part of so many people’s childhood joy, as well as a way to experience that same joy as an adult. Everyone should have access to that!” 

While Calderdale’s rolling hills, vast woodlands and open country roads offer endless opportunities for exhilarating mud-covered bike rides for Noah, it’s also the open-mindedness that has made Calderdale Noah’s forever home. “The queer community is growing here, but I would say it is currently evolving from being a bunch of gay people living in one place, to being more connected wholly. I have managed to build a chosen family of queer people here for myself,” he tells me. “I’ve not really got a great [blood] family dynamic, but I am in contact with my grandmother, so I get to see her. But then I’ve got the family that I’ve created – my chosen family – so that keeps me here. It’s pretty crucial and important, it brings a lot to me and really enriches me.” 

It was this chosen family that supported Noah through his transition, rallying around to ensure that he had a strong support network throughout the process. “I lived with a local queer family. They were basically looking after me, and tending to me like a plant. I was going through transition stuff and not having to stress [about it]. I was given the room to grow and feel safe enough to be authentic.”

Having lived in the area for most of his life, Noah has the benefit of seeing how attitudes have changed in the area over the past 20 years. He has noticed a change in the amount of queer-themed programming at pubs and venues across the valley. Despite not being an avid attendee, he admits that it is reassuring to have these queer offerings that he can dip in and out of. “The main thing that has changed [over the years] is the number of events and groups. There are informal meeting groups and social events at venues locally, so queer people are visible in the community. This sort of stuff means a lot to me. I’m glad it is happening around me and it really aids me in feeling comfortable about existing here.”

Despite the positives of queer life in Calderdale, Noah is conscious that there is still more that needs to be done to further push inclusivity and acceptance in the area. “There’s some fantastic community projects going on and in the works, but I feel trans women and non-binary people are left to tag along without real effort or awareness to make things safe or truly available to all,” he shares. 

Lynn Carr, 60 

Lynn Carr, a 60-year-old retired physiotherapist originally from the North East, has lived in Calderdale for nearly 30 years. She moved to the area after leading a relatively closeted life in London alongside her then-partner. With a second child on the way in the mid 90s, the couple decided to make the move north to be closer to family – but it was the sense of connectedness within the area that has kept Lynn here for nearly three decades. 

“It’s easy to feel a part of the community. I appreciate the friendships. I like the fact that it’s got bakeries. I like the fact it’s got a fruit shop. I like the fact that it has small farmers’ markets. Even in the shops you’ve got a relationship with people,” she says, speaking from the kitchen of her tranquil home nestled in the rolling hills of the Calder Valley. “I experience a real sense of tolerance. I don’t feel particularly judged. I don’t feel people comment. When I go out, I don’t feel that I need to adjust my behaviour to fit in with what people think my behaviour should be.” 

Now in a long-term civil partnership, Lynn has three children of her own, two step-children and two grandchildren. She also fosters, so her parental responsibilities are keeping her busy during retirement. The extra time she’s acquired since giving up the relentless 9-5 lifestyle has also meant that she’s been able to discover the brilliant Friends of Dorothy network – a group for lesbians over the age of 50 to come together, connect, share stories and build friendships. They’ve also been working together to go into care homes and educate staff and other care receivers about queer issues. “There will be more and more people coming into care homes as lesbians and gay men and actually they don’t want to end up in a nylon nightie. That would be really inappropriate! So it’s just trying to change people’s awareness.” 

Beyond dipping in and out of meetings with Friends of Dorothy, Lynn says that she doesn’t particularly lead a “lesbian lifestyle”. She is entirely undefined by her sexuality. That’s exactly why she feels so positively about living in the area. There’s magic in the mundane of everyday living – she goes about her days unapologetically and freely. Like so many of her neighbours, she’s first and foremost a mother, a grandmother, a friend, a foster carer, and she just happens to be in a same-sex relationship – and that’s how she likes it. 

It’s clear that Lynn has no plans to leave Calderdale in the future – it’s her forever home. She’s calm and content in her surroundings and within herself. I wonder if she can understand my predicament when it comes to my own relationship with the area, and when asked, she offers the following: “I do think there’s safety here, but I also think there’s the expectation for people to have my back. I went to London recently and it’s full of microaggressions. It was full of people not being kind, not being helpful, not moving out of the way, hanging onto the rail and making people walk around them, tutting and those kinds of things just don’t happen up here.” 

“That has nothing to do with being a lesbian. That’s just to do with courtesy and kindness and making the time [for others]. I think if people were being mean to others in the local park, I would intervene, and I have no doubt that other people would intervene in those circumstances. I think they would feel confident to do that – in fact, I think they’d feel compelled to do that because they see this area as a community, regardless of sexuality!” 

Adriana Szczerpa, 27 and Ellis Greenwood, 26

Adriana Szczerpa, 27 and Ellis Greenwood, 26 have been in a relationship for two years. Adriana was born in Poland but moved to Wigan in Greater Manchester at the age of 10, while Ellis was born and raised in Halifax. After meeting online while Ellis was living in London and Adriana in Manchester, their relationship began once Ellis returned to her native Yorkshire. They now split their time between Halifax and Haworth – both picturesque and quaint in their own unique ways, and a far cry from nearby queer hubs like Manchester and Leeds. 

While Ellis’ family ties are part of what keeps them in the area, there’s a plethora of reasons that makes Calderdale so attractive to the duo. “Well I think the landscape is one thing!” Ellis says, gesturing to the surrounding woodlands. “I suppose there is the very real fact that a lot of queer people have lived here for some time, but whether or not that’s really representative of all queer people, I’m unsure. But I feel like there’s a lot of queer cultural events happening too.”

Both have person-centred job roles, with Ellis working as a psychologist in the NHS and Adriana working as a teaching assistant. For Adriana, she hopes that her job will educate the next generation and ensure that queer women are seen and known in everyday job roles. “Being able to be a queer teaching assistant – and a teacher one day – would be a good way to help children to understand that it is okay to be queer. It’s like being an advocate. Normalising it and bringing that teaching into the school environment.” 

On the streets across Calderdale, you’re accustomed to seeing heterosexual couples exercising public displays of affection – kissing, cuddling, holding hands. I wonder what it’s like for queer couples, and whether Adriana and Ellis feel comfortable enough to hold hands in the area themselves. It’s an ongoing issue for queer couples, especially in an era when homophobic attacks are on the rise across the UK. “Yeah, it does feel natural. It actually feels like a no-brainer,” Ellis tells me. “I think 10 years ago, maybe less, I would have had those thoughts in my head around, like, a sense of unease in myself, but now it’s not even a thing I’d think twice about.”  

I wonder how Adriana feels, especially after having what she describes as a “Catholic upbringing” in Eastern Europe and then Wigan: “You don’t get looked at in such a negative way around here. People are more used to queerness because everyone is so open about it. It feels more welcoming than Wigan, for example. From my perspective, it wouldn’t be as natural [in Wigan] as it is here, because I wouldn’t feel that openness or as comfortable,” she shares. “I feel that we can hold hands and be affectionate without it being judged [in Calderdale]. People might look but you can tell that it’s not perverse. They are just interested, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing because we are curious people!”

At the end of our conversation, I ask the couple to explain what feels so unique and special about Calderdale, and why so many queer people have either stayed here or chosen to live here. For them, it’s all about feeling like a part of a growing community and positive change. “Our experience of queer life across Halifax and the valley is marked by a sense of optimism, buoyed by the growing inclusivity, proliferation of queer-led collaborative spaces and initiatives, and the freedom to be openly ourselves without facing, or fearing, judgement,” they say.

Their answer – full of grace, openness and hope – echoes the feelings of the other individuals interviewed as part of the series. This moment of possibility and acceptance for  Calderdale, I think, sheds some light on my own yearning to reconnect with the place I once called home. 

The post How the sleepy borough of Calderdale became a queer capital of the North appeared first on GAY TIMES.

Tired of swiping right? Ryan Cahill shares his top tips on how to dump digital dating and find romance IRL.

WORDS BY RYAN CAHILL
HEADER DESIGN BY YOSEF PHELAN

Dating apps like Grindr, HER, Scruff, Hinge – the list goes on – have all helped to revolutionise queer dating. In a world where gay men once had to use colour-coded handkerchiefs to highlight their sexual interests, the digital dating landscape has meant you can find a fuck, a fisting or a forever at the mere click of a button. Despite their prolonged success, relentless swiping and dead-end conversations have started to wear thin, and there’s a distinct rise in dating app fatigue. 

30-year-old Chris Henderson from Mytholmroyd in West Yorkshire can attest to this, saying that the same mundane conversations have left him feeling like it’s Groundhog Day. He accepts that apps like Grindr and Tinder have their benefits, offering “instant validation that feels like a dopamine hit”, but feels unsure where to look when it comes to finding genuine romantic connections offline. “I’ve grown up in a small town where there are not a lot of people for me to naturally bump into or to create an authentic connection with. It regularly comes from online, which is always frustrating,” he tells GAY TIMES. 

Admittedly the apps have become somewhat of a comfort blanket for him. Time-wise, they’re manageable and fit around his schedule. They can be utilised when he’s feeling his best and shunned when he’s feeling less confident. Henderson does, however, believe that his app use has come with some negative consequences. “I’m aware that from using hook-up apps, I’d be more comfortable meeting up with someone for casual sex than I would be getting to know somebody. It’s great that I feel so sexually confident but I think it’s telling that I would feel more at ease with just taking my clothes off than having a conversation,” he says.

“It all comes back to rejection. I feel I could handle being rejected in a sexual environment because they don’t know me as a person and they’re not rejecting me for who I am. Whereas if I was rejected after spending hours of getting to know someone, that would cut deeper because you’re being rejected as a person.”

Rejection is just one of a plethora of fears that come with moving your dating life away from the apps and into the real world. It can be daunting to even consider deleting the apps and putting yourself out there – many don’t know where to start. Thankfully, queer-identifying and queer-affirming therapist, Ryan Campinho Valadas, is on hand to offer some advice on how to find other queer people who are interested in dating.

I want to date, but I don’t want to rely on dating apps or nights out at bars and clubs. What should I do? 

Dating has changed a lot in the past few years, especially with the rise of the apps. I think apps sometimes contribute to people being less able to communicate how they really feel and being less authentic because it is easier to put on a performance when you’re dating digitally. I feel that people are increasingly tired of them.

There’s a real fatigue around dating apps that I see constantly in my therapy space. But I think there are definitely alternatives to apps and to nightclubs. I like to explore with my clients about what they might be interested in. Ultimately, before apps came along, this is how we sometimes met people; through similar interests, or through mutual friends, and so there was a commonality there that we have perhaps lost because of the apps and the digital world.

It’s really about checking in with yourself, and asking ‘What are some of the things that I enjoy doing? Are there any groups in my local area that I could join?

It’s really about checking in with yourself, and asking ‘What are some of the things that I enjoy doing? Are there any groups in my local area that I could join? This is also not necessarily from a place of ‘I need to find a partner in this group’, but an opportunity to meet new people and giving yourself the permission to be yourself. I think that is much easier to do when you’re doing something you enjoy, and so by being in a group with people who like the same things, you would actually be able to be more authentic. 

I want something serious but I’m finding the people I speak to are only looking for hookups. 

Dating apps can make people feel like commodities. It’s so easy to swipe either way and you don’t think too much about people in those scenarios, which reinforces a sense of disposability. There’s this ideology that there’s always someone better out there, just around the corner. I think this idea creates a restlessness and because people are generally quite busy and there’s lots going on in the world, this can make it hard for people to connect to their intentions and what they’re really looking for.

Everything is moving at such a fast pace. It’s really hard to slow down and take time to analyse yourself, reflect and ask ‘What are my intentions? What am I really saying to people when I’m meeting them?’ I think this makes hooking up easier for people. They don’t want to think too hard about meeting people, they want something simple and quick without too much drama. Serious and committed dating takes time. It’s a lot slower. This does make it harder to find but it’s not impossible.

Serious and committed dating takes time. It’s a lot slower. This does make it harder to find but it’s not impossible.

It’s really hard to go against what is culturally dominant and right now is fast and easy, which feeds into hookup culture. I think it’s become really normalised to talk about sex very quickly and if that is all the conversations you’re having, it becomes really hard to put up your boundaries and say ‘No. I don’t want to do that. I don’t like to do that. I want to do something else with this conversation’, but it’s important to set those boundaries from the outset and make your intentions clear. 

How do I set boundaries to ensure that the people I speak to know that I’m interested in dating rather than hooking up? 

I think the main thing I always like to say about boundaries is that they are guides for yourself. Boundaries are not things that we put up in order to tell people what to do with their lives. They are there for us to know what we’re doing with our lives, and for people to know what we are doing with our lives. If they want to change according to that, they can, but if they don’t, they don’t. Ultimately we can’t control that. We can only control ourselves.

It’s important to establish intentions: What is it that you want? What is it that you’re looking for? One thing that people often miss about boundaries is that it’s important to match what you’re saying with what you’re doing, because where our boundaries falter quite often is in the doing. We may be very clear with what we say and how we communicate our boundaries, but if our behaviour doesn’t match the boundary, ultimately we’re giving other people mixed messages and we’re also giving ourselves mixed messages which is ultimately you telling yourself ‘What I need and want is not important because I’m faltering on my own commitment to myself and I’m not valuing my own commitment and own intention’.

It’s important to establish intentions. One thing that people often miss about boundaries is that it’s important to match what you’re saying with what you’re doing,

Every time we fail to maintain a boundary, psychologically we’re telling ourselves that we’re not important enough and we therefore take away a piece of our self-esteem and confidence. Yet, every time we exercise our boundaries effectively, we get a boost of confidence, self-esteem and self-worth.

How do I find people to date when my friends are predominantly straight? 

This is potentially either simple or complex, depending on the situation. Yes, a queer person might not meet queer people if they’re only in straight spaces or only around straight friends, so at some point, there has to be a move away from those spaces and those people in order to meet more gay or queer people. That can be a case of joining special interest groups, hobbies, or clubs. There has to be a move towards more queer spaces in order to meet more queer people.

However, there may be psychological aspects that make that difficult. For instance, examining what feels comforting about your friends and the spaces that you’re in and what feels scary about moving into those queer spaces? Can the person work on those things? Can they ask for their friend’s support? Can they maybe even seek a professional for just a few sessions?

It’s not something that is a crisis but sometimes short-term therapy with a queer therapist could be really helpful to get a bit of confidence to be able to join new spaces. There’s some doing there about trying new spaces, but then there’s also some emotional work to do about uncovering why that might be difficult. 

I really want to date more but I’m worried about rejection. 

I often talk to my clients about the randomness or mystery around meeting people and finding a connection. For example, we might meet someone and get on straight away, and we can also meet someone and completely dislike them straight away. We are the same person in each scenario and yet, the combination of who we are and who they are, sometimes just doesn’t work. The “why” of rejection, or lack of connection, isn’t always clear.

Ultimately, we can only control ourselves and so the autonomy to make any changes in life relies on our capacity to self-reflect

We don’t really know what’s going on in people’s lives, and they don’t know what’s happening in ours. I find that people often assume a lot about what happened in a situation or interaction – the typical never-ending analysis of text messages. But ultimately, we can only control ourselves and so the autonomy to make any changes in life relies on our capacity to self-reflect and act based on what we feel is important. 

The post Gay guys: here’s your expert-led advice to getting off the apps appeared first on GAY TIMES.

From the self-esteem scars of school bullies to body type filters on hookup apps, there are plenty of contributors to this mental health crisis. But how do we solve it?

WORDS BY RYAN CAHILL
ARTWORK BY YOSEF PHELAN

TW: eating disorders. Please be advised that the following content may be triggering for individuals who have or are currently struggling with eating disorders. This warning is intended to acknowledge that disordered eating behaviours, body image distress, calorie counting, control over food consumption, weight loss, purging, and other aspects linked to eating disorders will be discussed. If you are currently in recovery, sensitive to these topics, or feel that this content may negatively impact your mental well-being, we encourage you to avoid reading further. It is crucial to prioritise your mental health and seek support from professionals or trusted individuals if needed. 

The emphasis on body image has always played a big role in the queer community, and especially amongst gay and bisexual men. In fictional media, advertisements and porn, particular body types have been championed above others. Even this very magazine has, in the past, played a part in perpetuating the idea that certain body types are more desirable than others with a string of covers featuring scantily clad, oiled and toned men throughout the 2000s and 2010s.

These cultural archetypes have real-life consequences and studies have found that there’s a prevalence of eating disorders and compulsive gym use amongst gay and bisexual men. In a research article from 2022, German academics found that gay men exhibited greater body image issues than their straight counterparts, in particular, “a greater discrepancy between self-rated current and ideal body fat” and “higher drive for thinness”.

“A lot of the bullying I received was based on the way that I looked”

The underlying causes of eating disorders are varied and complex – but, for some, the roots are laid early. James has lived with anorexia and bulimia since he was at school, believing that the condition was triggered when he experienced bullying and struggled to make friends. “A lot of the bullying I received was based on the way that I looked – I had grown before everyone else and was very tall and thin with glasses and long hair. I didn’t fit in, in many ways I stood out,” he explains. “I internalised really strongly that the way we look matters and that it was bad to stand out or be different. I tried to change my appearance to fit in more, but became very fixated on my body image, weight and shape. I started to use food to almost shut down my body so that I didn’t have to register the difficult feelings I had, and to try and disappear.”

James feels that the desire to fit in and to be desirable to others is hard-wired into us all on an evolutionary level, and feels that this has a part to play in why the prevalence of eating disorders is so high amongst gay and bisexual men. “I learnt from my own experience that social survival is as important as physical survival, and when society holds up ideals about how we should behave and what we should look like, these are hard to resist following, even if they are unrealistic,” James adds.

“As someone who has had to work really hard in my recovery on rejecting the idea of the ‘perfect body’, I have found it difficult when I have experienced how parts of the queer community freely judge the bodies of others and can be very image-focussed. The sad truth in my experience is that the way others respond to you is still too often based on the way you look, especially when it comes to dating and hook-up culture.”

While dating apps and porn are reflections, rather than the cause, of society’s body standards, they can be spaces where ongoing biases are confirmed rather than deconstructed. Some dating apps used within the queer community still offer the option for filtering prospective hookups by body types such as stocky”, “slim”, “muscular” and “large” – allowing users to disregard large swathes of the community with a single click.

Similarly, while tube sites and platformers like JustForFans and OnlyFans host content by a broad range of performers, many of the most popular videos and creators are those featuring a specific physique: thin, toned, and with muscles cultivated through long sessions at the gym. The fact that these types of porn actors are the most popular – while diverse body types are seen as a niche, or a fetish – only reinforces the idea that certain physiques are more valued than others.

“Bulimia allowed me to feel acceptance when people would comment on my weight loss”

Like James, Sunni’s first experience with an eating disorder was at school. After being in recovery from bulimia for 20 years, the condition returned in 2022 and he’s since been working on his recovery. For him, part of what sustained his eating disorder was the positive reinforcement that peers would provide. “[Bulimia] allowed me to feel acceptance when people would comment on my weight loss,” he says. Sunni also battles severe BDD (Body Dysmorphic Disorder), and feels like a preoccupation with physical attractiveness in the queer community has exacerbated this. “You don’t have to go far, be it on apps, social media or a gay space to find men flaunting their body and getting attention,” he says. “This feeds the notion that body image is directly correlated with attractiveness, acceptance and attention – especially in a world where you can feel incredibly lonely.”

But beyond body standards and dating apps, is there any further psychological basis for the prevalence of eating disorders among queer communities? Registered psychologist Dr Glenn Mason, whose specialisms include LGBTQIA+ mental health, argues that there are multiple factors at play. “It’s imperative to remember that eating difficulties can affect anyone no matter what their gender or sexual identity is,” he says. “However research does suggest it is higher within LGBTQ+ communities than heterosexual and cisgender populations. This can be due to many reasons such as increased levels of stress, discrimination, violence, bullying and social isolation.”

Despite the awareness within the LGBTQIA+ community that eating disorders are common, most media broaching the subject features cis, straight women – creating a ‘type’ that queer men don’t always conform to, arguably making it harder for them to reach out. But when they do make the first step, the results can be disappointing due to a lack of culturally-competent mental health treatment or service providers. “We know from research that there are many barriers LGBTQ+ people can experience when trying to access services,” Mason says.“More research needs to be conducted with specific gender and sexual identities so we can better understand how best to support those within the community experiencing eating difficulties.”

“The biggest barriers to getting help were the fact that I saw nobody like me who had similar experiences”

While change is urgently needed from mainstream mental health practitioners, we can slowly challenge stereotypes about eating disorders and who is affected all on our own. This is the approach James is taking, after noting that the people he spoke to about his struggles in school lacked both the knowledge and understanding to effectively help him. Now, in addition to continuing work on his recovery, he’s committed to spreading awareness in order to help others.

“When I started to struggle, the biggest barriers to getting help were the fact that I saw nobody like me who had similar experiences,” he says. “Being confident to talk about food, eating and body image in a compassionate way will help those who think they are struggling to open up without fear of judgement or shame. That could be the start of a journey towards getting help and recovery, which is something that everyone deserves.”

 

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Formal support for those grappling with eating disorders includes services such as the eating disorder charity Beat, as well as the mental health charity Mind – both of whom provide additional information and regular helplines for anyone who is struggling. However, some individuals may prefer a service which is tailored to the queer experience, which is where charities like health and wellbeing organisation LGBT HERO come in. Like James, LGBT HERO’s CEO Ian Howley is keen to encourage change through education and open discourse. “We need to be better about opening up and talking about how life affects our communities, how it affects you, me and all of us and maybe by having those conversations we can challenge some the stigmas surrounding eating disorders,” he says.

For those who might recognise themselves or someone they know within this story, Howley encourages individuals to break the silence: “If someone is living with an eating disorder, it’s important that you recognise it for what it is, do not feel any shame about it, and know that you are not alone,” he says. “Whether it’s talking to a trusted friend, family member, colleague or random person on the internet, it could be your first step to taking control.”

If you suspect that you are struggling with your mental health, you should book an appointment with your GP to discuss potential treatment plans and support. For shorter-term treatment plans, eating disorder charity Beat offers a free, confidential helpline 365 days a year for anyone looking to explore feelings related to an eating disorder (you don’t need a formal diagnosis). They also offer a one-to-one webchat and a “helpfinder” tool on their website that allows you to search for support services in your catchment area.

This interview is taken from the January 2024 issue of GAY TIMES. Head to Apple News + for more exclusive features and interviews from the issue. 

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