Coming Out: the story behind the cover
by Eddie Stok, Creative Director of Are We Europe
It would be very easy for me to talk about my insecure years as a baby gay. But to be brutally honest with myself, that story isn’t all that interesting. If that’s the type of story you’re after, I would rather direct you to the myriad coming-out vlogs on YouTube. However, if I still have your attention, I would like to take this chance to talk about my much longer (and much more pervasive) struggle with being male.
Now you might say: “Eddie, you are a cis man!”
And to that, I would say: “Yes.”
Then you might ask: “What does a cis man have to come to terms with about being male? He’s already male.”
And I might say: “Ah, but what do you have to accept about having a tomato?”
After a short while you would probably say: “…what?” and then we might sit in awkward silence for way too long while you question where this conversation is going.
On the topic of maleness
In the eyes of cis-heteronormative society, a gay man is often already seen as “half a man” for not being heterosexual. I’ve even caught myself making this joke about myself when discussing the gender balance of a group of people (and reducing my maleness when trying to skew the count in favour of women), or trying to justify my presence at a “girls night” by pointing out that I can be there because I “don’t really count” as a guy. So, with half my maleness already forfeit, what am I going to do with what’s left?
For a long time, my instinct was to protect it and bolster it with every fibre of my being. I was hyper-fixated on every part of me that I perceived as not being masculine enough, and with nowhere else to turn, the internet was there to provide (mis)guidance. As a tall (1.88m), slender (*cough* underweight) 19-year-old, the advice was loud and clear: join a gym, get big, grow a beard, and become a beacon of masculinity coveted by men and women alike.
But before I could even start trying to be my “best masculine self”, the limitations of the advice were already creeping up on me. What could I do about my long, dainty hands and thin wrists? What could I do about my slender feet? What could I do about my lispy voice and kind, limpid eyes? And what, I wondered, could I do about my effeminate belly button?!
Apart from the belly button thing, which could be fixed through umbilicoplasty (yes it’s a real thing), there were a huge number of parts of me that were far from “ideally masculine” and could not be easily changed, if at all. Compounded by being of visibly-Asian descent in a world of white beauty ideals, and a period of aggressive cystic acne, my self-esteem plummeted.
What kind of man was I, if I could not meet so many of my own expectations?
On the topic of constructing an identity
While we like to think of ourselves as individuals, our identities only make sense in relation to other people. We can define ourselves in terms of how much we are like person A, or unlike person B. We can also define ourselves against a societal, historical or religious archetype. On top of that, we have our own opinions of what is or isn’t “okay”, whether or not that opinion is formed by others or just an intrinsic feeling.
For me, the intersecting and contradicting expectations of whiteness, Asianness, straightness, gayness, and maleness turned my own identity into a constant negotiation. My hair, lips and nose were too Asian, my hands, feet and mannerisms were too feminine, my voice was too gay, my fashion sense was too straight, my worldview and dancing were too white. Instead of being a whole person (in the holistic sense of the word “whole”), I had become a jigsaw of parts.
On the topic of cover design
When The Queer Issue was put onto our editorial calendar for 2021, I had trouble coming up with a direction for the cover. I believe we can only truly make beautiful things when we create from the heart and our own experiences, so I kept trying to relate this issue to the part of me which is overtly Queer: my homosexuality. After innumerable sketches with pride flags, and a detour through flowers and “queer-looking” models, I had finally landed back on a sketch I had made a couple of months before, about gender identity. Initially, I wasn’t sure about whether this cover concept would be clearly Queer enough, or whether I, as a cis-man, should have something to say on this topic at all. I was also afraid that my own experience would be too personal, and not universal enough to be able to represent such a wide variety of Queer stories and experiences. Luckily, this issue’s Editor-in-Chief, Anneleen, was immediately sold on the concept, and the final result you can see before you today.
If it hasn’t been made clear yet, as a gay man, I currently have much more strife about the “man” part of my identity than the “gay” part (this distinction alone shows I still see myself as a sum of separate parts to be analysed and scrutinised). This cover, titled “Constructed Identity”, was a vehicle to translate that strife into a visual medium. It is an ode to people who have to build themselves up from disparate pieces, both old and new, in an effort to emerge on the other side as a whole person. Defined on their own terms, and defying categorization. We might never reach a place where we look at ourselves and only see the whole, but maybe that’s okay. I hope you can recognise yourself in it, and that it helps you love some parts of yourself that you maybe find less deserving than others.
On the topic of tomatoes
You might ask: “But what about the tomatoes?!” and I would say: “I had hoped you’d have forgotten about that by now…”
Some people will tell you that the only way to do justice to a good tomato is to cook it into a rich flavourful sauce. Other people will tell you that the only way to do justice to a good tomato is to eat it raw, at its ripest. But at the end of the day, nobody can tell you what to do with your tomato. After all, it’s your tomato. And if you want to turn it into a Bloody Mary, then nobody has the right to stop you.
Love x
Eddie
