The 2023 Out100 Opens Doors for the LGBTQ+ Community
Out's editor in chief salutes the Artists, Disruptors, Educators, Groundbreakers, Innovators, and Storytellers who have used their platforms to pierce through the darkness this year.
“You’re feeling nervous, aren’t you, boy? With your quiet voice and impeccable style,” Brandi Carlile sang in the opening lines of “The Joke” at the 2019 Grammy Awards. In that moment, I was watching TV at home, in awe of the singer as she strummed onstage in a black jacket sparkling with silver. I felt like she was right there, speaking to me. “Don’t ever let them steal your joy,” Carlile intoned. I knew what that joy was. I knew who “they” were too, those people who “kick dirt in your face” and “hate the way you shine.”
I also knew in that moment that Carlile was an artist of very rare caliber and power. Her sound was timeless, an anthem that could comfort the Other of any era. But my, how those words resonated in that moment. February 2019 marked two years into the Trump administration. The rosy days of It Gets Better and Supreme Court victories felt like a long-ago dream. Instead, hard-won LGBTQ+ rights were being clawed back, replaced by an escalating tide of violence and hatred against queer and trans people. The future felt so uncertain. But there was Carlile, with her ethereal voice, assuring us that she had “been to the movies” and “seen how it ends. And the joke’s on them.”
It is truly our honor to highlight Carlile as the cover star of the Out100, our annual list of LGBTQ+ changemakers. Her star has only grown brighter since 2019. This year alone, the lesbian icon took home two more Grammys for her song “Broken Horses” and appeared on the soundtrack of the summer, Barbie: The Album, where she covered “Closer to Fine” and introduced the Indigo Girls to a new generation. In our cover story, Carlile reflects on her fame, the responsibility she feels in an age of renewed anti-LGBTQ+ vitriol, and the special relationship she has with her fans. From her vantage point on the stage, she routinely witnesses the “congregation” — a gathering of women, LGBTQ+ people, and folks with “gentle ways” across generations. They receive her music’s hope and healing and return the gift with an awesome energy.
The Out100 is also a congregation. Here in this issue, Out’s editors have gathered Artists, Disruptors, Educators, Groundbreakers, Innovators, and Storytellers who, like Carlile, have used their platforms to pierce through the darkness this year. I’ve mentioned this in past letters, but the Out100 has a special place in my heart. As a closeted teen, I dared to peek at this list at my local Barnes & Noble. I marveled at the LGBTQ+ excellence and sheer possibilities of life on display. At the time, I didn’t know if I would even reach adulthood as a gay person. But there it was, printed in these pages: a future.
Across the country, right-wing forces are banning LGBTQ+ books and visibility in schools, libraries, and beyond. They are taking this promise of possibility away from our young people. But we’re not letting that happen without a fight. This year’s Out100 theme is Open Doors, and we’re proud to showcase figures like Wayne Brady, Pulse survivor Brandon J. Wolf, Sasha Colby, Gov. Maura Healey, and Dylan Mulvaney who hold the keys to a brighter future for our community.
After this year, we need all the open doors we can get. I felt that old despair return when O’Shae Sibley was fatally stabbed at a Brooklyn gas station after voguing to Beyoncé. When Lauri Carleton was murdered by a gunman at her California store for hanging a Pride flag. When threats of violence against our community continue to skyrocket — fueled by politicians who are effectively bartering our lives for votes.
But in the face of evil and tragedy, this was also a year of triumph and possibility. The Out100 is an opportunity to reflect on figures who are at the heart of groundbreaking cultural moments moving our community forward: Kim Petras’s historic win at the Grammys; Murray Bartlett’s beautiful gay love story on HBO’s most-watched show, The Last of Us; Robin Roberts, America’s most beloved anchor, marrying her longtime partner, Amber Laign; Colman Domingo’s electrifying performance as Bayard Rustin in a long-overdue biopic of the Black gay civil rights icon; Brittney Griner’s liberation from Russian imprisonment and triumphant return to the WNBA.
Make no mistake, we are in a fight for our lives. But the Out100 reminds us that happy endings — that happiness itself — are within our grasp. We hope that the folks in these pages inspire you to keep voguing, keep waving a rainbow banner, and keep being out in the face of adversity. Carlile was right. We’ve seen the ending of this movie before. And the joke, indeed, is on those who dare try to steal our joy.
Sincerely,
Daniel Reynolds
Editor in chief, Out magazine
@dnlreynolds
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.