Author: Jane, lgbtq+ blogger, USA
I still remember the first time I saw a queer character on television who felt real. Not a punchline, not a tragic figure destined to die, but an actual person with depth, flaws, and a storyline that mattered. It was a small moment, but it shifted something in me. Suddenly, the world felt a little less lonely.
That’s the power of representation. And over the past few decades, LGBTQ+ visibility in media has transformed in ways that would’ve seemed impossible not long ago. But while we’ve made incredible strides, the journey is far from over. There are still gaps to fill, stereotypes to dismantle, and stories waiting to be told.
How Far We’ve Come
Let’s be honest—the early days of LGBTQ+ representation in mainstream media were rough. For most of the 20th century, queer characters were either villains, tragic figures, or comic relief. They existed on the margins, coded rather than explicit, and almost always punished by the narrative. The infamous “Hays Code” in Hollywood essentially banned any positive portrayal of homosexuality from the 1930s to the 1960s, setting the tone for decades of erasure.
But things started to shift. Shows like “Will & Grace” in the late ’90s brought gay characters into millions of living rooms. “The L Word” gave us one of the first ensemble casts of lesbian and bisexual women. “Brokeback Mountain” made waves in 2005, proving that queer stories could be both critically acclaimed and commercially successful. These were watershed moments that opened doors.
Fast forward to today, and the landscape looks dramatically different. We have queer-led shows like “Heartstopper,” “Pose,” “Schitt’s Creek,” and “The Umbrella Academy.” We have trans actors like Elliot Page and Laverne Cox in prominent roles. We have children’s shows like “Steven Universe” and “The Owl House” with LGBTQ+ characters, normalizing queerness for younger generations. Major studios and streaming platforms now actively seek out diverse stories, recognizing both the moral imperative and the market demand.
The numbers tell part of the story too. According to recent reports, LGBTQ+ representation on television has steadily increased, with more characters across more genres than ever before. It’s not just limited to dramas or comedies anymore—we’re seeing queer characters in sci-fi, fantasy, horror, and even superhero franchises.
The Challenges That Remain
But here’s the thing: quantity doesn’t always equal quality. And visibility doesn’t automatically mean authentic representation.
One of the biggest challenges we still face is the persistence of harmful tropes. “Bury Your Gays” is a perfect example—the disproportionate tendency for LGBTQ+ characters to suffer tragic deaths or unhappy endings. Just when we get invested in a character’s journey, they’re killed off, often for shock value or to further a straight character’s storyline. It’s exhausting and sends a damaging message about whose lives are considered valuable.
Then there’s the issue of tokenism. Sometimes it feels like queer characters are included to check a diversity box rather than because the creators genuinely care about telling our stories. These characters often lack depth, exist solely to support the main (usually straight) characters, or have their queerness treated as their only defining trait.
Representation also remains deeply uneven. Gay white men continue to dominate LGBTQ+ visibility, while bisexual, transgender, non-binary, and queer people of color remain underrepresented. Bisexual characters, in particular, face erasure and harmful stereotypes—they’re often portrayed as confused, promiscuous, or eventually “picking a side.” Trans representation, while improving, is still too often sensationalized or focused solely on transition narratives rather than the full spectrum of trans experiences.
Behind the scenes, the situation is even more complex. While we’re seeing more LGBTQ+ characters, we need more queer writers, directors, and producers telling these stories. Authentic representation requires lived experience in the creative process. Too often, queer stories are filtered through a heteronormative lens, resulting in narratives that feel hollow or rely on outdated stereotypes.
There’s also the ongoing political backlash. In recent years, we’ve seen increased censorship and attacks on LGBTQ+ content, particularly anything involving younger audiences. Book bans, legislation targeting drag performances, and campaigns against inclusive education all create a hostile environment that makes studios nervous about taking risks. The “Don’t Say Gay” laws and similar policies across various regions have a chilling effect on what gets made and what gets shown.
What the Future Could Hold
Despite these challenges, I’m cautiously optimistic about where we’re headed. The conversation around representation has evolved—it’s not just about being visible anymore, but about how we’re visible and who controls our narratives.
I’d love to see more stories where queerness isn’t the plot. Where LGBTQ+ characters can exist in rom-coms, action films, thrillers, and fantasies without their identity being the central conflict. Let us save the world, solve mysteries, fall in love without angst, and just… be. Shows like “Our Flag Means Death” and “Heartstopper” have shown that audiences are hungry for joyful, affirming queer stories.
We also need more intersectional storytelling. Being queer doesn’t exist in a vacuum—it intersects with race, disability, class, religion, and countless other identities. I want to see more stories that embrace this complexity, that show how different parts of our identities shape our experiences. More stories like “Pose,” which centred Black and Latinx trans women, or “Reservation Dogs,” which included Two-Spirit characters within Indigenous narratives.
The future also needs to embrace diverse genres and formats. Queer horror, queer sci-fi, queer animation—these spaces offer incredible opportunities for creative storytelling that challenge norms and imagine new possibilities. And with the rise of streaming platforms and independent content creators, there are more avenues than ever for marginalized voices to bypass traditional gatekeepers.
I hope we’ll see more LGBTQ+ people in positions of power within the industry—not just actors, but showrunners, executives, and decision-makers who can greenlight projects and shape the direction of entire studios. Real change requires systemic transformation, not just surface-level diversity.
Why This Matters
Sometimes people ask why representation matters so much. Can’t we just enjoy stories without analyzing them? But here’s the truth: media shapes how we see ourselves and how others see us. For LGBTQ+ youth especially, seeing positive reflections of themselves on screen can be lifesaving. It tells them they’re not alone, that their feelings are valid, that they deserve love and happiness.
For those outside the community, representation builds empathy and understanding. It normalizes what was once considered “other” and creates space for acceptance. Studies have shown that exposure to positive LGBTQ+ characters in media can reduce prejudice and increase support for equal rights.
Personally, I think about the kid I was—closeted, scared, convinced I was the only person who felt the way I did. I think about how desperately I needed to see myself reflected back, to know that my story wasn’t automatically tragic. We’ve come so far in making sure fewer kids feel that isolation. But we can’t stop now.
Moving Forward
The progress we’ve made in LGBTQ+ representation is real and worth celebrating. But it’s also fragile, and it’s incomplete. We need to keep pushing for authentic, diverse, joyful, complex portrayals. We need to support queer creators and demand accountability from major studios. We need to resist censorship and protect the gains we’ve achieved.
Most importantly, we need to remember that representation is an ongoing process, not a destination. There’s no finish line where we can say “good enough.” As society evolves and our understanding of gender and sexuality expands, our stories need to evolve too.
I’m excited about what comes next. I’m excited for the stories we haven’t seen yet, for the voices still waiting to be heard, for the moments that will make some kid in the future feel a little less alone—just like I did all those years ago.
The future of LGBTQ+ representation in media isn’t just about being seen. It’s about being seen fully, authentically, and without apology. And I genuinely believe we’re getting there.
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