Amongst Trump Attacks, We Remain Committed to the OUT100
Editor in chief Aaron Hicklin reflects on this year's OUT100 in light of the recent election.
OUT100 honoree Robby Mook, Hillary Clinton's campaign manager. Photography by Gavin Bond. Groomer: Amber Amos for The Only Agency using Sisley Paris. Photographed at Hillary Clinton Campaign headquarters, Brooklyn, on September 30, 2016.
"If you're willing to fail interestingly, you tend to succeed interestingly," wrote Edward Albee, a three-time Pulitzer Prize winner, and one of the 20th century's great writers. I met him twice -- once in the 1990s to profile him for a British newspaper, and again in 2008 at a shoot for the OUT100. On both occasions I felt out of my depth, because I was. Albee was a fierce intellect with little time for the stupid or naive, and in his presence you might easily feel both. He died in September, and I am glad he did not get to see the results of this shabby political season, in which ignorance trumped intellect. Albee liked to provoke his audience, and likely his plays today would come labeled with trigger warnings. He believed fixed opinions should always be challenged. "Any play that doesn't offend somebody probably has something terribly wrong with it," he once said. "A lot of people should be offended, deserve to be offended. One shouldn't pull any punches. I'd rather be a disturber than a pacifier." That, in a nutshell, is the history of the queer movement at its best: disturbers of the peace who do not pull their punches. If there was ever a time for that spirit it is now.
Albee has been on my mind as we put together this year's OUT100. It has been more than 10 years since I joined Out and suggested to the editorial team that a better way to honor 100 people each year would be to photograph them all -- a monumental challenge at which we occasionally fail, and often succeed, but always interestingly. Much of that team are still with me, buttressed by others who have since joined and apply a similar fervor to this annual exercise. Along the way we've had the opportunities to meet and photograph our heroes, as well as the heroes of tomorrow. In that same issue with Albee, you can also see Gus Van Sant, Sir Ian McKellen, Rachel Maddow, and Denise Simmons, the then-newly-elected mayor of Cambridge, Mass., and the first lesbian African-American mayor in the United States. I just checked Wikipedia, and I'm happy to report that Simmons is now serving her eighth term. This is how change comes. And this is how Out chooses to celebrate it. Looking through those 10 issues of the OUT100 is to see change in motion.
When we photographed President Obama for last year's OUT100, the first time a sitting president had been shot for a gay title, we knew a milestone had been achieved. Being able, this year, to shoot the LGBT staff in his administration, represents a grace note to Obama's two terms in office, and a terribly poignant reminder of what might have been had the results of Tuesday's election been different. To see a dangerous and vile clown like Rudi Giuliani being touted as attorney general is spine-chilling, and his record as mayor of New York a foreshadowing of what we can expect. Now is the time to shout the names of people like Amadou Diallo and Patrick Dorismond from the rooftops. The first was an unarmed 23-year-old Guinean immigrant shot 41 times and killed by cops who were consistently defended by the mayor (all were aquitted). The second was a Haitian-American shot by cops and vilified in death by Giuliani. Both were entirely innocent, and both were victims of racial profiling in a pre-social media age.
Social media may have turned us all into journalists, but we still need a vital and energetic press. A few months ago I had the chance to see Hamilton, with this year's OUT100 Breakout Star, Javier Munoz, in the lead. Both a celebration of America's robust democracy and of our diversity, Lin-Manuel Miranda's musical represents everything that we should cherish about the United States. But one song, in particular, stuck with me. "The Room Where It Happened" is about the secret dealings that happen in places of power and which impact us all. It's always been the role of journalists to find a way to be in the room where it happens -- that is how we hold people to account. Donald Trump has many sins, but among the most dangerous is his attack on freedom of the press. That's what happens in his spiritual motherland, Putin's Russia, and we have to ensure it doesn't happen here. We have no idea how the next few months and years will evolve, but if we're to understand how the new administration plans to govern this country, we need to find a way to be in the room where it happens. Let's ensure that President Trump does not thwart that bedrock principle of democracy.
It goes without saying that this year's portfolio could not be representative without paying tribute to the men and women who lost their lives at Pulse nightclub in Orlando, and those who rose to the challenge in the aftermath of that grim assault on our freedom. But nor would it have been representative without acknowledging the extraordinary place the LGBT community finds itself in today. Just take a look at our cover stars -- a Latino HIV-positive leading man on Broadway (Javier Munoz), a stunning transgender African-American model chosen as a face for beauty giant Clairol (Tracey Norman), a legendary fashion designer-turned-movie director (Tom Ford), and Ellen DeGeneres -- who came out in 1997 when it was bold and brave in ways today's emerging stars can hardly imagine. She got some shit for that, as she tells managing editor R. Kurt Osenlund, but she emerged on the other side stronger, better, and more successful than ever -- for refusing to pull her punches. That is the story of our community, and of the OUT100, and it's one we need to keep telling, as urgently today as ever.
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Gus Kenworthy's open letter to the LGBTQ+ Paris Olympians
The gay silver medalist offers queer pearls of wisdom for LGBTQ+ athletes competing at this year's Olympic Games.
Paris is burning, honey! There will likely be more openly queer athletes at this Olympics than any previous Games. And as Paris would say, “That’s hot!” Let me start this letter by saying how fucking proud I am of each and every one of you. Whether you’re competing out and proud, still figuring things out for yourself, or perhaps keeping things under wraps for right now, you should hold your head high knowing that you’ve already done the damn thing: You’re an Olympian!
When I qualified for my first Games in 2014, my agent Michael said something to me that really resonated: “Once an Olympian, always an Olympian.” So I encourage you to soak up your experience in France and bask in that feeling of accomplishment. Nobody can take that away from you. Win or lose, you will forever be an Olympian. You’ve just added a title to accompany your name for the rest of your life. Congrats — you’re basically a doctor.
I competed in my first Games when I was still in the closet. I remember sharing a room with one of my best friends, Bobby, and yearning to tell him that I was gay. We were competing in Sochi, Russia, where there were and still are anti-LGBTQ+ laws in place. There was a strong anti-LGBTQ+ sentiment surrounding that Games. Needless to say, I didn’t feel welcomed.
The Olympics are supposed to be about inclusivity; it’s one of the only times that the entire world comes together for a greater good: for sport. Countries and their respective athletes get to set aside differences in politics, race, language, religion, and socioeconomic status to play and to compete on a global stage as equals.
Yet there I was in Russia, where legislation stated that any public announcement or display of my sexuality would be perceived as protest and punished as “propaganda of nontraditional sexual relations to minors.” At the time, I was too scared to speak my truth. I wanted to. I wanted to walk tall and take a stand for myself and for the community that I was born into but had not yet met, but it was all too overwhelming. I hadn’t even told my mum yet. I didn’t want to burden Bobby with my secret because I worried it might distract him and take away his focus from the competition, so I kept it to myself. But it got the gears churning in my head about what it might be like to actually come out.
For all the years leading up to that point, I had imagined coming out would be a step that I would take after retirement. I figured I would have my ski career and then, whenever it was over, I would get to come out and live my truth. A second life. A separate life. The two things just didn’t coexist in my mind because there was nobody to point to as a reference. Not only had there not been an openly gay professional athlete in my sport, but there hadn’t even been one in my industry.
Freeskiing, the sport I compete in, is part of the action sports industry, which includes snowboarding, skateboarding, BMX, motocross, mountain biking, surfing, etc. Outside of the Olympics, our marquee event is the X Games, which is kind of an edgy, hardcore alternative to traditional sports. My income wasn’t government-subsidized. I wasn’t being paid by a national team. I wasn’t a recipient of grants. My income was based entirely off of prize winnings, victory bonuses, and sponsorship deals, and I worried I would alienate myself by coming out. I worried I would lose my sponsors and my following and would risk being judged poorly at the events. As anybody in the closet can attest to, I built narratives out of fear and spun them until they were all-consuming. On February 13, 2014, after falling in the first of my two runs in the final, I managed to compartmentalize the turmoil going on in my head and heart and put down the run that I had gone to Sochi to do. I walked away with the silver medal — one of the greatest accomplishments of my life.
The following year, I decided I was ready to be me. I hoped maybe there was room in the professional sports world for a gay skier, but I decided that even if all my fears were realized, and I was pushed out of the sport, I had already accomplished enough to feel proud of, and I could walk away knowing that. I would forever be an Olympian — and an Olympic medalist, at that.
Not only did it turn out that my fears were unfounded — but in fact, the reaction was quite the opposite. I was met with so much love and support. The following season was the best of my career. I guess it’s true what they say: “The truth shall set you free.” Suddenly feeling unshackled and getting to compete as myself, I skied better than I ever had. I didn’t miss the podium at a single event that year. Nothing had changed with my training or my approach; I was just suddenly much more present. More centered. Happier. I had a weight off of my shoulders and didn’t have to worry about compartmentalizing, and it translated on the slopes.
I say all this to, hopefully, give you all some encouragement regardless of where you’re at on your journey of self-discovery, self-acceptance, and self-love. If you’re not ready to come out yet, that’s OK. I know it can be a struggle. But I also know that it does get better. Only you know what’s best for you and when is the right time. Despite not knowing who you are, I am rooting for you. “We are all rooting for you!” I hope you read that last sentence in Tyra’s voice.
If, on the other hand, you’re already out and proud, then congratulations! I hope you feel the love and support that is coming your way from me and the entire LGBTQ+ community. Regardless of which country’s flag you are representing, you are also representing the Progress Pride flag, and you are being cheered on by all of us that that flag represents.
I know the mix of e-mo-tions you’re probably feeling right now: excitement and nerves coursing through your veins like adrenaline. Harness it! Use it as fuel. You can do this! Growing up, I thought being gay was a disadvantage. But I’ve come to learn that it’s a superpower. Just by being yourself, you are going to make a positive change in the world. You are going to inspire and help so many people, young and old, during these Paris Games and beyond. That’s the ripple effect, and you are all about to make a huge fucking splash! Unless you’re a diver and then, um, hopefully, no splash at all. Like wait, was that a water droplet? I don’t know, I couldn’t see it.
So go! Win! Slay the house down boots! I have no doubt you will. You know why? Because that little plus sign at the end of LGBTQ+ means you’re better than your competitors. You’ve got this.
With immense Pride,
Gus Kenworthy
This article is part of Out's July/August issue, which hits newsstands on July 2. Support queer media and subscribe— or download the issue through Apple News, Zinio, Nook, or PressReader starting June 18.