Gay men are by no means universally supportive of the women we claim to adore, though. Halperin argues that, in a misogynistic society, these figures often feel more radical and subversive than palatable gay men. Gay subculture has instead gravitated toward “strong” women and gender nonconforming people like drag queens.
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In his book How to Be Gay, queer historian David Halperin argues that the idolization of famous women could actually be a rejection of a mainstream culture that has embraced increasingly apolitical gay public figures. He calls this process “disidentification.” Muñoz suggests that when a gay man “identified” with Garland, for example, he was “writing his way into the mainstream culture in which his own story could never be told.” Why do LGBTQ+ audiences gravitate toward these figures? Queer academic José Muñoz thinks that LGBTQ+ people perceiving a certain queerness in people, characters, or stories that are not explicitly queer can be a “coping mechanism” to deal with feeling shut out of mainstream culture. Onscreen, there is a queer affection for the “ final girl” in horror films, Uma Thurman in Kill Bill, and death-defying heroines like Buffy Summers. In wider culture, this extends to a gay love for tragic operas about “ fallen women” and pop anthems like “ Survivor” by Destiny’s Child and “ Fighter” by Christina Aguilera.
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Gay men in particular often idolize women whose legacies are punctuated with survival, exploitation, and tragedy-figures like Judy Garland, Marilyn Monroe, Princess Diana, Whitney Houston, Amy Winehouse, Carrie Fisher, and Kesha. Their loyalty to her hasn’t faded since “ Leave Britney Alone!” went viral in 2007. LGBTQ+ fans have long rallied behind Spears’s struggle to regain control. The survivor who was torn down, but fought her way back up (“ Stronger”). The star who felt suffocated by fame (“ Overprotected”). The young woman who was infantilized but also hyper-sexualized (“ I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman”). The parallels between her music and public persona practically draw themselves: The teenager plucked from obscurity and thrust into the spotlight in an unforgiving world (“ Lucky”). It is hard not to attach poetic narratives like this to Spears.
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As an out gay man, watching my childhood heroine perform at Pride felt like a full-circle moment, one of mutual appreciation between Spears and her queer fans. And my obsession with her wasn’t just a phase: Twenty years on, in summer 2018, I was one of 57,000 fans watching her headline Pride in Brighton, U.K. I loved Britney before I even knew what being gay was, let alone that I was gay myself. I’d listen to it on my Walkman over and over again, memorizing every lyric and ad-lib. As a young boy, I owned her debut album on cassette tape-my first ever. I was 5 years old when Britney Spears released “ Baby One More Time” and changed pop music forever.