Bad Bunny: does a straight man deserve to be called a 'queer icon'?

In 2020, when definitions of sexuality and gender are undergoing major changes, can a straight man be a queer icon?

Yes, according to a glowing cover profile of Puerto Rican rapper Bad Bunny in the latest issue of Rolling Stone. Singer Ricky Martin, who publicly came out as gay in 2010, told the magazine that Bad Bunny, born Benito Ocasio, had become “an icon for the Latin queer community”.

Martin’s generous praise falls in line with the recent attention Bunny has received on social media and from LGBTQ publications. The eccentric, gender-bending rapper was praised for speaking out against the murder of a trans women in Puerto Rico during a live performance on US TV and adopting a drag persona in the video for his track Yo Perreo Sola.

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Bad Bunny sits at the helm of reggaeton’s crossover moment: performing at this year’s Super Bowl with Jennifer Lopez and Shakira and appearing on the top-charting Cardi B song I Like It. At the same time, his development as a liberated, LGBTQ ally is still in its infancy.

Yo Perreo Sola was released only two months ago. And Bunny’s sudden position as “queer icon” raises the question why, yet again, a straight man is receiving outsized praise and attention for his LGBTQ activism.

Not everyone is convinced by his newfound status. “Bad Bunny is not a queer icon but I am, you should buy my merch,” trans artist Chaseicon said in response to Martin’s claims.

Yet this is not a new trend. Popular LGBTQ media and culture has always fixated on straight men who align themselves with queer causes and aesthetics. Recent examples include the blatant queer-baiting of former Disney star Nick Jonas, who would promote his new music at infamous gay clubs and even received an Out Magazine cover. There are the winking, teasing lyrics and gender-pushing outfits of Harry Styles who, despite saying “I’m not just sprinkling in sexual ambiguity to be interesting”, has never actually delved into his relationship to queer aesthetics in ways that would actually be useful and concrete to young queer fans that look up to him. Then there are the scores of straight male actors who get casted in seminal queer roles, think Timothée Chalamet in Call Me By Your Name, and amass fervent followings through them.

These figures often become focal points of LGBTQ communities online, and are celebrated as groundbreaking. Yo Perreo Sola is already one of Bunny’s most-watched videos on YouTube, clocking in over 200m views.

Of course the phrase “queer icon” has long been used for non-LGBTQ allies in a slightly slapdash, tongue-in-cheek way. The term is also frequently applied by queer men to female pop stars such as Madonna, Ariana Grande, and Britney Spears. However, Martin’s labeling, and the kind of attention Bunny is receiving, is not just innocent doting from fans. Bunny is being positioned as doing comparable, or even more significant, activism than actual queer people in the Latinx community. This positioning extends to a recent LA Times profile (where Bunny confirmed he was straight and had a girlfriend, but said “it does not define me”) and various think-pieces celebrating his “new masculinity” or how he “bridges LGBTQ and Latinx identities”.

It becomes obvious there is more capital to be gained from wearing the queer activism of the moment like a costume than actually living and embodying it.

If Bunny really wanted to dispel homophobia within reggaeton music, he would use his large platform to feature the queer and trans artists that are frequently silenced and ignored within the genre.

Taking issue with Bad Bunny receiving praise for his activism is different than critiquing his actions. It’s a further indictment of how media and popular culture prefers its queerness to be served. As the queer hosts of music podcast Only Stans observed, when discussing Bunny’s Yo Perreo Sola visual shortly after its release: “People tend to celebrate these queer aesthetics from a very decidedly heterosexual male as opposed to celebrating the queer people who originate them and live these sort of ideals in their day-to-day lives.” When Bad Bunny blurs gender lines, it’s framed as “ending” toxic masculinity and homophobia. It’s not that attempts at combating these social ills are wrong. It’s that they are generally removed from the long history of LGBTQ people who came before.

We need to approach this kind of celebrity activity with the same kind of skepticism and scrutiny we apply to the brands and businesses for their Pride campaigns. Because if allyship so easily leads to higher record sales and Twitter trending topics , is it really a pure, selfless kind of support?

Bad Bunny’s adoption of a queer aesthetics has led to millions of views and listens online and, arguably, pushed him over into the mainstream in a way he wasn’t before. It’s great to see a message of a softer, more experimental, kind of masculinity be shared and celebrated.

This is not to say straight male artists should never again wear heels, or paint their nails, or speak out about issues important to their LGBTQ fans. But maybe we should reassess how we react when they do.