In the wake of the news of Catherine O'Hara's passing, I keep thinking about how she somehow managed to mother an entire generation of queer people without ever announcing it, without ever claiming it, without ever trying. She just... did it. Casually. In wigs. With impeccable timing.
Even when she wasn't playing someone queer, she was playing people who lived sideways. Who didn't apologize for their cadence, their drama, their excess, their inconvenient emotional honesty. And as a queer kid watching from the edges, that mattered. A lot.
Representation isn't always about labels. Sometimes it's about recognition. And I recognized myself in her refusal to shrink.
Then Moira Rose entered my life like a fallen chandelier with perfect timing.
Watching her Schitt's Creek character accept herself so unapologetically made me accept myself more. My excess. My softness. My contradictions. My tendency to feel everything at full volume. She never played shame. She never diluted herself. She showed me that being "too much" is often just being honest in a world that prefers people smaller.
And then there was the wedding episode. Moira showing up as the most camp, committed, sincerely unhinged pope to bless her son's love. I didn't just cry. I felt something quietly rearrange itself inside me. Because in that moment, she gave me something I never had with my own Mamma. The fantasy of a parent showing up without hesitation. Without confusion. Without negotiation. Just love. Loud, ridiculous, dressed in robes, saying: This is sacred.
That wasn't just television. That was reparative.What I always loved most was how real Catherine felt offscreen too. No performance of humility. No calculated distance. Just warmth. Presence. A sense that she knew exactly who she was and didn't feel the need to audition for approval. Her kindness felt unpolished. Her humor felt earned. Her choices felt conscious.
We met once, briefly, at a restaurant, almost half a decade ago. Nothing cinematic. No big anecdote. And that's exactly why it stays with me. She was present. Attentive. Human. The kind of person who makes you feel like the moment matters because you are in it.
Catherine O'Hara didn't just make me laugh. She made me feel safe being strange. She made queerness feel expansive, not defensive. She gave me a mother figure who taught me that love doesn't have to be quiet to be real.
Thank you for the wigs.
For the timing.
For the permission.
For the reminder to take the damn photo.
You were real. You were precious. And you made this world a little more survivable, and a lot more fabulous.
That stays.
Always.
Faraz Arif Ansari is a filmmaker whose first feature film, Bun Tikki, debuted last year. They also helm a clothing brand, Funkaar by Faraz. Follow them on Instagram @farazarifansari.
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