In our intro post, we laid out the details of this queer endeavor and said that the newsletter would launch January 1, 2023. We also said that we embrace Queer Chaos™. Case in point: we decided to send you, our early subscribers, our first post now instead of waiting so we can show you what we’re getting up to. We’re thrilled that there are so many of you here already, but now we’re greedy—we want more! So, go ahead and invite your friends to join the party.
The reason we named this project The Queerest Year is that we want it to be simultaneously inspirational and aspirational. We want to be inspired by all different manifestations and sources of queer content, and we hope to inspire others to deliberately intake more queer voices. Also, we aspire to have 2023 be our first queerest year with the hope that each new year brings on the next queerest year of our lives.
We plan on having a variety of content so nobody gets bored, but do want to have a few regular sections. This first section will be the most varied in content because we will use it to be organically introspective about the flow of this living project. We want to discuss how being bathed in queer culture alters us, or grapple with the difficulties of being even further out of step with mainstream culture (in a new and different way than how our queerness already marginalizes us). We certainly will grumble and kvetch about things because, let’s be real, we are very Waldorf and Statler. We are going into this experience with curiosity rather than expectations, so our joint musing will flow from that.
We also plan to share a back-and-forth conversation between us about a piece of queer content that had us talking about it well after we finished reading, watching, hearing, or seeing it. See below for the first one we wrote after finally watching Ammonite. Other stuff we plan to share includes references, recommendations, and lists to pass along queer art, media, content, and voices we’ve been into. We will highlight a few things that we found particularly entertaining, provoking, soothing, or just plain ol’ gay fun. We also plan to make and share playlists of some of the queer music blaring out of our speakers. And certainly there will be other features or content that we dream up along the way, so be prepared for more surprises.
A few housekeeping items:
If we love something you hate or we hate something you love, be cool about it. We’re all going to stay respectful here. Remember, our differences are what make the queer community boundlessly enthralling and bountifully inclusive; our strength is in being different. We are here sharing our own personal opinions and nothing more or less. We embrace the critique ethos as expressed by the Boulet Brothers in Dragula: “We are not here to judge your drag. Drag is art and art is subjective.”
While we set forth the guiding “rules” in our previous post, the rules might be tweaked and tightened here and there as we learn and reflect (and if we change any of our guiding principles or project plan, we will continue to be transparent and discuss the what and why of it).
Part of this project involves us muting non-queer voices on social media. This has been one of the hard parts thus far since not all people, understandably, disclose that they identify as queer. So we’ve both started the process of unfollowing people we know to be outside of the LGBTQ+ community (including family and friends). Allies can still follow and DM us, but we are not following any of their accounts for all of 2023.
Lastly and, most importantly, thank you for signing up to be a part of The Queerest Year. Thank you all for the outpouring of enthusiasm and support for this queer adventure and for the early flow of recommendations. With that said, if you’re a queer artist, journalist, or creator, please comment, DM, or email to tell us about your work. Or let us know if there’s anything you want to see covered. While we don’t know what we will learn about ourselves, our queerness, and queer culture through this project, we are so ready to embark on this adventure—a ride that privileges the journey itself and not any preordained destination. And, again, if you know anyone who might be interested in following along, please send this post to them or share on the socials.
We want this space to build queer community, bringing people together as we learn about and connect through all the incredible things we queers do to make the world a much more vibrant, interesting, weird, beautiful, and livable place.
Ammonite
The boring beige movie where Kate eats something other than a sandwich under big petticoats
Okay, we finally watched Ammonite (2020). The fact that we both adore Kate Winslet and didn’t rush to see her in a leading lesbian role says something. So now that we finally watched it two years after it came out, we have some thoughts and feelings.
A: I really wanted to like Ammonite. I wanted it to make me feel passion and wistfulness and longing. I wanted to see beautiful lesbianic lusty scenes between the two characters. I wanted lesbian relationships and lovely sea-side scenery and a cool smart nerdy scientist character who happens to be a lesbian (with her sexuality being important to the character but not the only thing). I really wanted that SNL parody about lesbian period dramas to not be so on the nose. I was sorely disappointed. Gawd, the vibes in Ammonite were so dour and the story was such a bummer, but not in a good bummer way. I don’t need or want a Hollywood romcom happy ending to feel satisfied or to enjoy a film, but I do need a film to show that the world understands that lesbians aren’t just frowning and tragic. Please tell me the world understands that.
H: Well, I am tragic and frown all the time, but at least my frowning tragedy comes packaged with a healthy dose of camp self-deprecation and rage. I completely agree that this film totally wastes Kate and Saoirse exploring their latent lesbianic leanings. This film somehow makes lesbianism, paleontology, and the consumption boring. You know what film I want to see? The one that tells the story of real-life sapphic queen Fiona Shaw’s character playing lesbian Yoda to Kate’s cloistered pearl—“Much to lez learn, you still have.” I remember liking Francis Lee’s directorial debut God’s Own Country (2017), but after seeing Ammonite I think he should stick with telling gay men’s stories and reveling in their angry mud sex on a sheep farm. My dykey life has taught me that many lesbians know a great deal about gay male life and culture, but gay men sadly know much less about sapphic culture—maybe that’s the tragedy that ensures our collective frowns (fyi, the reason is always misogyny). My favorite part of the film was how they took a historical figure—in this case, the badass paleontologist Mary Anning—and queered her without historical evidence of her sexuality in any way. The annals of history are replete with assumed cisheterosexuality, so I am fully here for the queering of history.
A: Oh, the historical violence on lesbians that is the relentless gal-pal-ing of nearly every lesbian and/or genderqueer couple to exist. (I am the “B- Time Traveler”, so I say “nearly every” without actually knowing the number of times this has happened, but I know it is so pervasive that I feel confident in making such a sweeping statement.) I guess that’s another reason for all the tragic and frowning lesbians. Anyways, I agree—I’m really into the idea of assuming “queer” first for historical people until there is disclosure otherwise. I hadn’t known that the filmmakers made Anning queer for the purposes of this film—interesting tidbit. I also think it’s criminal that Fiona Shaw, a true sapphic queen, had such a limited role here. I am not an expert in Lesbian Actors who Play Lesbian Characters (although now that I say that I feel like it’s a missed expertise opportunity), but I feel like it doesn’t happen nearly enough, especially for main characters.
H: Going forward my new career shall be actively (and erroneously) queering historical figures. My first task will be to rewrite the story of “Antonia” and Cleopatra. But back to our sullen sapphics… I wish this film had cleverly examined how women (and, of course, everyone else who was not a white cishet man) were both systemically and systematically excluded from the protections and rewards, including financial, of institutional privilege. Men of Science used Mary’s findings, which forever altered the history of science, to further their own work and esteem with little regard to Mary’s wellbeing. Even without doing research, I am certain that Mary was so much more than a frowning fossilist. I dare say that she, a working-class Victorian woman, even smiled regularly. Too bad in Ammonite there is infinitely more chemistry in the fossilized poo than in Mary and Charlotte’s sapphic passions.
All gay all day
The queer things we’ve been up to and into
Saying goodbye to Shatzi, the People’s Bubbi, lighting a candle for Sandi Toksvig, and celebrating Billy Porter.
The Watermelon Woman (1996) written and directed by Cheryl Dunye. We recently rewatched this groundbreaking lesbian film and talked about it (among other sapphic films) with our friends at the Sapphic Culture Club. Cheryl helmed (both in front of and behind the camera) this brilliant slice of lesbian life and reimagined Black film history to make this essential New Queer Cinema feature.
The Big Brunch (2022) created by Dan Levy. This show is such a loving celebration of the gayest meal of them, all thanks to the fashionable and Canadian-lovely Dan. Shout-out to all the talented queer chefs featured and to our new lady crush Sohla El-Waylly.
We’re Here S03 E01. Drag artists Bob, Shangela, and Eureka joyously showcase the power of drag as a transformative (in a multitude of ways) art form. While RuPaul’s Drag Race may have put a spotlight on drag, this episode in Granbury, Texas proves that drag, as well as queer safety, remains far from the mainstream.
Heather
Stranger Than Usual by Danelle Cloutier. In this new podcast, Danelle, our queer investigator, travels the globe interviewing people to bring place-based (and lesser-known) historical narratives to light. As a trained Public Historian, I am intrigued to see how Danelle will recontextualize history through their queer lens because the only meaningful way a community can retrieve, process, and remember a historical “event” is through the construction of representative narratives—narratives which can then reshape community memory.
Creepy Christmas Greeting Cards by Kim Thompson. My super talented friend @kim_a_tron (an all-around wonderful human) has a ton of fantastic art, including these vintage-style holiday cards. Support a queer Black artist AND send someone one of the best holigay cards ever made.
The Greatest Films of All Time by Sight and Sound. This week, we got the once-a-decade poll results—and the lesbians win! Lesbian filmmaker Chantal Akerman’s Jeanne Dielman (1975) was crowned as the new GOAT, which feels triumphant considering the list almost seemed immutable with Citizen Kane entrenched there for decades. While that #1 spot had changed in 2012 to Vertigo, Jeanne Dielman as #1 feels like both a revelation thanks to new perspectives being included AND a deep personal vindication after a lifetime of suffering the Film Bros. Also! The highest new entry on the list is lesbian filmmaker Céline Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019), a stellar film debuting at #30. Both of these lesbian-made films changed how I understand my queerness, my feminism, and art.
Amie
Write a letter to BG. Queer community member & WNBA star Brittney Griner is being wrongfully imprisoned in Russia—the situation is so fucked I can’t begin to cover it (also if you’re not closely tracking this regularly, get on it). BG’s wife Cherelle and family are asking people to send letters and/or emails, so take a few minutes to do a little something that will let BG know she’s remembered and loved. We are BG.
Op-Ed essay by Lauren Hough in the NYT. It feels hard these days to process the relentless violence against and ongoing trauma experienced by our community, but Lauren’s words here are achingly beautiful reminders about the importance of and need for safe queer spaces. Really, none of us are safe anywhere until all of us are safe everywhere.
Artist Salman Toor. The easy queer intimacy shown in Salman’s paintings is tender and lovely, while the short brush marks with dreamy washes (especially the frequently used emerald green color) bring a melancholy, haunted atmosphere to the scenes.