What it Means to be a Man: Athleticism and Queerness in the Artwork of Ryan James Caruthers
Since the rise of professional sports, athletes have been the heroes of a large portion of the worldwide youth, role models by which to live by — the epitome of what it means to be a man. However, this abundance of masculinity in sports culture tends to ignore the struggle of queer bodies attempting to persevere in the context of athleticism. Growing up, one is exposed to negative stereotypes of other certain communities. So, what happens if you don’t fit into the typical image that pertains to your race, gender, or sexuality? In his photographic series titled, Tryouts, Ryan James Caruthers — a gay photographer who is often the subject of his own images — challenges the normative expectations of gender identity and biased societal notions of masculinity. My aim is deconstruct the notions of what it means to be a man in present-day society and emphasize the often unseen struggle for queer men in athletic settings to preserve their own identities, without being pressured to convert toward the typical image of a standard athletic male: heterosexual, muscular, and popular.
Usually, when one envisions an athlete, the picture that comes to mind is exclusively one of normative masculinity. However, this places other groups of individuals at a disadvantage toward integration on the playing field, not necessarily due to a lack in physical skill, but rather appearance. Within Caruthers’ photograph, a white, pale, and lanky body is noticed making an effort to lift a ostensibly heavy barbell in comparison to his skinny frame. An absence of a spotter, a person who assists a weightlifter in order to minimize chance of injury, suggests that the body shown is struggling in solitude to achieve an artificial masculinity — one that society pressures him upon conforming to, but does not naturally associate with his identity. Henceforth, these artistic abstractions signify the hardships of inclusion that one must endure to obtain social acceptance and fit into a specific gender role.
One implication that Caruthers may be hinting at when attempting to raise such a heavy barbell is to highlight the reality of the difficulty it is to fulfill present-day athletic expectations as a queer individual. It seems to me that the idea of athleticism is so fundamental to masculinity that if you are a male that does not naturally have an athletic build what does that makes you? You are almost by definition an outsider. These unrealistic and high standards for queers to achieve in order to thrive among the athletic community is also paralleled by the high bar rests impeding Caruthers from easily relieving the stress. The weight holding down the body urges us as an audience to keep in mind the repercussions of categorizations and ill-mannered critiques of others, for they may hinder the ability of the individual to maintain their selfhood.
Equally important, the setting of the image also captures the inner feelings of the queer body when surrounded by heteronormativity. The locker room domain depicted in the artwork yields a common ground to the viewer, in that many can relate to the social characteristics that make up the hypermasculine environment. As an illustration, Jason Collins, a former Celtics NBA player, came out gay after 12 years of initially joining the NBA. Reporters pondered as to why it took him so long to unveil his sexual orientation, suggesting that “locker rooms were said to be dangerous places, and silence was the only option” (Crouch, Ian. “Parting shot: Jason Collins announces NBA retirement in his own”).
Correspondingly, in Tryouts, Caruthers accentuates the negative connotations of locker rooms, mirroring those of the NBA newsmen, as being breeding grounds for physical judgement. The reality is, men check each other out in locker rooms, and one reason they do so is to notice how their bodies compare to one another. A well sculpted body is commonly associated with traits of masculinity. For transgender athletes, this focus on the physical body pushes them into a binary system to which they may not apply, separating males from females but leaving no room in-between (Anderson and Travers 226). When queer bodies are confined to a binary system their own character as a non-heteronormative body is marginalized, promoting a false sense of power in gender identity categories.
Likewise, it is also important to notice the positioning of Caruthers in respect to the room; the figure is not centered in the middle, but rather packed into a corner. The purposefully selected orientation denotes he may too be “packed into a corner” — trivialized, almost trapped, as if an outsider, unrelated to the primary, heteronormative, body. Here, Caruthers highlights the deficiency of inclusion and the prevalence of a hierarchy of classification. Otherwise, if there was acceptance for diversity, he would have been located within the room rather insignificantly.
Alongside positioning, there seems to exist a lack of brightness within the room and a significant amount of shade covering the figure’s face. As a result, it appears Caruthers’ facial expressions seem to point to mortification, discomfort, and fear, all of which frequently associated with darkness. Historically, the use of dark color has correlated to negativity and dysphoria, this is perhaps best observed in cases where black faces on magazine covers were either darkened or lightened to alter the perceived tone or effect of the image’s content (Cole 149). Thus, the dim lit locker room may suggest the life stages when Caruthers struggles to conserve his character under severe circumstances. Alongside darkness, another historical artistic feature, nudity, has also been known to correlate with susceptibility and expression of one’s true colors, exposing physical disguises. Although not completely nude, the artist’s explicit decision to reveal his skinny torso conjectures a sense of vulnerability within a highly concentrated masculine environment.
Furthermore, it looks as though Caruthers’ chest appears abnormally concave inward. Perhaps the artist feels a sense of collapsing or he contains little air in his lungs, possibly lacking strength to continue with the societal stress and anxiety that is included in his life as a non-heterosexual body. Ultimately, the photograph pushes us to reflect upon the existence of social pressures forcing individuals to line themselves according to the athletic masculine normative expectations, or alternatively, threatens to label them as the possible ‘ugly duckling’ of sorts within the crowd. These factors together trigger undesirable effects such as personal embarrassment and shame, predominantly in public settings. In addition to the larger features within the art, there are less noticeable, yet equally powerful nuances. The eyes of the person appear exhausted, as if pleading for help, stuck in professed solitude. It almost appears as if the body makes eye contact with us and places our morals to the test: whether we are bystanders who watch as the force slowly crushes him, or we take action and help lift the weight.
Coupled with Caruthers’ barbell photograph, another image in his series revealing the intersectionality between masculinity, homosexuality, and athleticism is one depicting himself dressed in a soccer outfit and sitting on a bench by a soccer field with one leg propped up. Metaphorically, the several straight, white lines surrounding Caruthers in the image can be linked to the heteronormative environment that constitutes what it is like as a queer athlete. The lines create a cage of sorts, confining the athlete, suggesting claustrophobia and a sense of isolation. These lines correlate to the overpowering presence of the straight white identity, characteristics commonly affiliated with typical images of athletic figures, and also the marginalization of queer bodies. It’s also important to note that there ceases to exist much, if any, physical activity, suggesting that despite his efforts to pursue athleticism, Caruthers has been put on the sidelines and secluded. The athlete, seemingly abandoned by his team, positions himself in a way suggesting that he has injured his right knee. This could be interpreted as an analogy to the abandonment and social abuse the queer community has consistently faced in the presence of injustice.
At first glance it strikes me as if the artist has independently chosen to cope with the adversity that comes with competing in athletic settings as a young gay man. However, on closer inspection, Caruthers’ expression seems to reveal someone else may be imposing an unnatural masculinity and athleticism upon him, perhaps his parents? According to Ellis Baldwin, by coercing sports into children’s lives, today’s parents are wrecking the egos of kids whose interests simply do not encompass athletics: “they are placed in humiliating situations where they continually fail [and as a result] develop a negative sense of self due to the poor performances, instead of looking to character traits, actions and other abilities to build healthy self-esteem” (Baldwin, Ellis. “Negative Effects of Parents That Push Their Children Into Playing Sports”). In making this comment, Baldwin urges us to acknowledge and embrace each child’s traits and to avoid forcefully changing a child’s characteristics, possibly leading to a false sense of identity, which is precisely what Caruthers warns us to be cognizant of.
Nevertheless, some may still defend the view that there indeed exists inclusivity of gender identities in athletic settings, and that this is a mere exaggeration of extreme cases of prejudice against the queer community. Defenders against non-heteronormative athletes will argue that in the recent past many organizations and laws emerged that protect against the discrimination of LGBTQ athletes, such as Athlete Ally or Br{ache the Silence (programs that foster awareness for LGBTQ athletes and promote inclusivity in all levels, even Olympic), hence the wane of exclusion and segregation (“Resources for LGBTQ Athletes”). Although I grant that present-day athletics are diminishing prejudice against queer athletes, I still maintain the fact that inclusivity of the queer community in sports can and should improve. While there haven’t been many openly gay, much less queer, athletes, those who have come out hold great strength and courage. For instance, when Glenn Burke, a major league baseball player back in the late 70s, announced being gay, sportswriters unashamedly indicated they couldn’t possibly write something like “that” in their papers (Barra, Allen. “Actually, Jason Collins Isn’t the First Openly Gay Man in a Major Pro Sport”).
Since then, sportswriters and commentators seem transparent in their voices about queer athletes, but instead, have now iconized these individuals for identifying as non-heterosexual. This is a subtle immorality within us: as a nation that perceives social constructs and categories of identity within a set of hierarchies, we have grown accustomed to viewing queer athletes coming out as “big news.” In fact, this can be considered offensive to queer athletes because it creates a pervasive sensation that it is surprising if an individual whose characteristics or background differs from others within a particular sport can still obtain success.
This mindset that assumes heterosexuality is inherently detrimental to the LGBTQ community, for why can’t a gay athlete be just as typical as a heterosexual athlete? If this is the case, then it is safe to assume stereotypes will linger within the athletic community, proliferate, and consequently discourage the desires of those who wish to compete in a sport simply because he or she fails to align with the colloquial appearance of an athlete. And if the best of the best take substantial measures to come out, and even then few do, how can we expect our young and far less athletic generations to cope with their nonheterosexual identites? For this reason, it shouldn’t be a milestone in our nation’s history for queer athletes to come out. However, the universal perceptions that “boys will be boys,” that sports such as football, rugby, hockey, and others should only be played by men, that if you’re not involved with the world of athletics you’re not a man, create the misconception that this he really isn’t a ‘he.’
Caruthers’ photographs demand an answer for whether queer individuals can persevere through a society conformed to heteronormativity. Athleticism is a proxy for strength, which then equates to masculinity, thus constructing a phony perception that social strength and power depends on how masculine one is, as exemplified in the current White House. Who’s to say a queer body should be any less of a “man” as a straight male? Although no one has said so directly, it is under the impression that masculinity is a heteronormative concept, exclusive to the LGBTQ community. When, in reality, masculinity can be equally associated with straight whites, black transgenders, and latino bisexuals, and more. The possible irony in the previous statement only exists due to each generation of humankind being accustomed to a heteronormative patriarchy.
As such, we tend to view masculinity solely as heteronormative when in fact masculinity encompasses much more. Caruthers implores us to eliminate preconceived notions and categorizations of not just gender and sexual orientation, but also of all other forms of identity. The human population didn’t make it this far through segregation, but rather through overcoming that segregation through acceptance, coexistence, and diversity. In reality, everyone should make the ‘tryouts.’
Works Cited
Anderson, Eric, and Ann [VNV] Travers. Transgender athletes in competitive sport. Taylor & Francis Ltd, 2017.
Barra, Allen. “Actually, Jason Collins Isn’t the First Openly Gay Man in a Major Pro Sport.” The Atlantic, Atlantic Media Company, 2 May 2013, www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2013/05/actually-jason-collins-isnt-the-first-openly-gay-man-in-a-major-pro-sport/275523/.
Cole, Teju. Known and strange things: essays. Random House, 2016.
Crouch, Ian. “Jason Collins Comes Out.” The New Yorker, The New Yorker, 18 June 2017, www.newyorker.com/news/sporting-scene/jason-collins-comes-out.
Ellis, Baldwin. “Negative Effects of Parents That Push Their Children Into Playing Sports.” LIVESTRONG.COM, Leaf Group, 11 Sept. 2017, www.livestrong.com/article/523031-negative-effects-of-parents-that-push-their-children-into-playing-sports/.
LGBTQ Resources | NCAA.Org — The Official Site of the NCAA. www.bing.com/cr?IG=A7F1632D05184016B5C62CE4A162D0AA&CID=1C0913D0B8AD64621DC31899B9AB6538&rd=1&h=7Upd7H6o7FaemIPobJNZRN5IL0k5AEt-CU4dR1RG4s0&v=1&r=http%3a%2f%2fwww.ncaa.org%2fabout%2fresources%2finclusion%2flgbtq-resources&p=DevEx,5070.1.
