28-06-2019
Master Television and Cross Media Culture Thesis Supervisor: Toni Pape
Second Reader: Jeroen de Kloet
Table of contents
Introduction...3
Theoretical framework: Defining queerbaiting...6
First definitions of queerbaiting...6
Further discussions on queerbaiting...7
Queerbaiting on Television and paratext...10
From text and paratext to fan text...12 UNIVERSITY OF AMSTERDAM
When Clickbait becomes Queerbait
An Analysis and Expansion of Queerbaiting on
YouTube
Merel Zwarter 10538232
Chapter 2: Coming out for more clicks and views...17
Queer visibility on YouTube: The coming-out video as queerbaiting...17
Is Joe Sugg queerbaiting: Homosocial behaviour and the promotion of sexual identities... 20
Luke Cutforth: Masculinity and sexuality...25
Conclusion: The creator’s side of queerbaiting...28
Chapter 3: Fandom, extreme fans and expectations...30
The Dan and Phil Phenomenon: Participation, intimacy and masculinities...30
Interactions of the fans: Real Person Shipping, extreme fans and taboos...33
Pressured by the fans: Outing and less inclusive gender expressions...37
Are Dan and Phil queerbaiting: Embracing the ship and the end of Phan...40
Conclusion...44
Bibliography...47
Introduction
Recently, Ariana Grande sparked multiple controversies with her latest tracks and music videos. In April, she and Victoria Monét released the song “Monopoly” which contains the lyric “I Like women and men”. The line is sung by both artists, however in contrast to Monét, who is openly bisexual, Ariana has been both praised for this expression of sexual fluidity and accused of queerbaiting
(McLaughlin). Notably, this is not the first time Grande has been accused of using the tactic: in February, her music video for “Break Up With Your Girlfriend, I’m Bored” had fans questioning “whether the singer was using bisexuality as a ploy for increasing her fan base” (Ritschel). By hinting at a queer identity in her songs, Ariana appeals to LGBTQ+ fans. This ambiguity, however, also avoids alienating a main (heterosexual) audience by never fully embracing a queer sexuality.
In addition to Grande, other celebrities have been criticised for queerbaiting in the past, for example, James Franco has made a living from playing gay roles in the media and assimilating those performances with his real-life identity. His affirmations of heterosexuality always “skirt just close enough to homoerotic possibility to keep queer audiences interested” (Roach 173). Thereby, he takes economic advantage of his queer fanbase without having to come out and face the potential stigma of society (Roach 173). Coming out as a celebrity is more than just being open about their sexuality, they are making a statement and thereby inspire and encourage other queer people to accept their own sexual identities (Smith). That said, celebrities who construct ambiguous queer personas for marketing tactics and gaining a queer following is nothing new, however the term queerbaiting – a term that has only been coined in 2010 - seems to be used more commonly in popular media, both by fans and journalists.
Queerbaiting has only recently been taken up by scholars, who have mostly focused on television examples. However, queerbaiting has been discussed by fans in relation to many different media forms like film, cartoons, comics, anime, video games, music videos and in social media. This thesis seeks to provide more insight in the queerbaiting debate and research, especially now that people are aware of the ploy (Needham 2). In academic context,
queerbaiting can be broadly defined as a term to call out producers for
deliberately implementing homoerotic subtext between two characters, without leading it to canon queer representation (Brennan Introduction 105). The core of queerbaiting seems pretty well defined, however, since most academic research
on queerbaiting has focused on television examples the term needs to be
adapted to other media contexts in order to consider if the current definition and theories of queerbaiting suffice for the many times the concept is used to criticize certain behaviours and strategies in popular media, including and especially on social media.
Social media has irrevocably changed the way celebrities are constructed. Platforms like YouTube, Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, Facebook and Snapchat have given users greater access than ever to celebrities and their personal spaces. Although these online personal spaces are filtered and curated by the celebrities themselves, there is an increased blurring of the celebrity’s public and private space (Roach 170). Moreover, social media has become a virtual space for ordinary people to gather fame online. The success of online celebrities shows how these digital technologies facilitate fame on user-generated platforms with “commercialization of amateur content” (Burgess and Green 23). Especially in the case of the YouTube celebrity highlights these lines between the celebrity and the real person and the ordinary and extra-ordinary (D. Smith 260). Through the practice of vlogging, YouTubers construct an online persona curated to be
perceived as authentic and ordinary. Moreover, the platform allows participation and for everyone to join. This changes the ways that viewers/fans and celebrities interact, which subsequently has an impact on fan communities and practices who are communicating on the same platforms.
In this thesis, I am interested in how queerbaiting is constituted on a social platform like YouTube and how current theories of the concept are applicable to YouTube vloggers. Furthermore, I elaborate on the expressed fan culture on the platform and question how the relationship between the fans and the YouTube creators expand queerbaiting discussions. The fact that most articles on
queerbaiting examine television, even though queerbaiting is evident in various other media texts, points to a gap in currently available scholarship. Moreover, as the above example exemplifies the context of online personas and celebrities need to be considered when contextualizing the concept when they are non-fictional. Therefore, limiting academic research to television ignores more complex and nuanced explanations of the queerbaiting discussion. For this reason, this thesis aims to critically analyse queerbaiting on user-generated platforms like YouTube with the goal of broadening its current definition and to embark further research and discussion in other media forms. In doing so, I will posit the unique challenges of applying current theories of queerbaiting to
different media texts. Using YouTube vloggers as a case study will show that queerbaiting in an online media context is an assemblage of negotiations and narratives constituted in both text and paratext of fans and creators. This research interrogates the delicate line of audiences being baited for economic gain and attention and being able to enjoy homoerotic subtext, homosocial friendships and different portrayals of masculinities, which can have a transformational and positive impact on queer fans within the social media sphere. Therefore, I argue that queerbaiting is not a homogenous concept and should not be considered as such when researching queerbaiting in relation to other mediums.
In order to analyse queerbaiting on platforms like YouTube, current theories and definitions on queerbaiting will be discussed in the theoretical chapter. Especially focussing on cases of television since that has been the majority subject of the research done on queerbaiting. This will allow me to draw critical connections between queerbaiting in a more traditional media context and queerbaiting in a social media context. In addition, I consider relevant theories and concepts from both queer theory, fan studies and celebrity studies in order to expand the queerbaiting discussion by considering the term on YouTube. The research corpus contains three cases of YouTube vloggers who have been accused of using queerbaiting tactics. In the second chapter, I will focus on the producer’s side of the queerbaiting discussion. Thereby asking questions, why vloggers create videos with queerbaiting tactics and why certain videos are considered queerbaiting on the platform. In this chapter, I will discuss two specific cases of videos uploaded by Joe Sugg and Luke Cutforth and the use of the ‘coming-out trope’. By relating the cases to theories of homosociality and YouTube’s attention economy I show that in order to attract an audience, vloggers use multiple tactics to increase their amount of views and clicks. Moreover, the construction of certain personas and performed masculinities builds a large following, however when trying to attract viewers, I argue that YouTubers need to be careful how to approach certain tactics since the identities they claim or insinuate can be presumed in a certain way that involves historically situated identity politics.
In the third chapter, I will analyse the case of Dan and Phil and focus on the fan’s side of the queerbaiting discussion. Thereby, discussing the changed
relationship between fans and producers and how this influences the cases of queerbaiting. In this chapter, I focus on their fandom, showing how fans are
asserting agency and ownership not only over the online personas, but over their real identities. Therefore, multiple agents need to be taken into consideration when accusing cases of queerbaiting, since creators’ intentions are differentiated from the meaning of the text, multiple narratives are possible. In this chapter, I argue that fans desire certain sexual identities to be expressed which can turn toxic when real identities are involved. Therefore, fan practices like shipping pressure the YouTube creator’s content and can delimit more fluid portrayals of gender expressions.
Due to its length, this research comes up against inevitable limitations: it cannot examine every possible theory of inquiry. Therefore, this thesis only focuses on male/male pairings on YouTube, thereby leaving out other LGBTQ+ representations on the platform that are important for further discussions of queerbaiting. This research does not intend to prove the existence of
queerbaiting, nor is the goal to determine in the three cases who is at fault. With this thesis, I want to provide more insights for further research on queerbaiting, online fan cultures and possibilities for more inclusive behaviours and
masculinities. By engaging queerbaiting with various theories, concepts and multiple sides of the current discussions on the topic, I develop queerbaiting as a critical concept that instead of restraining, increases queer possibilities.
Therefore, my research object will broaden and modify the theory of queerbaiting and show its conceptual motility.
Theoretical framework: Defining queerbaiting
In previous academic research on queerbaiting there has been a focal point “on the what rather than the why” (Nordin 14). The ‘what’ involves defining the concept and what queerbaiting means, while the why concerns the reasoning behind the ploy. This thesis will involve both the ‘what’ and the ‘why’ of queerbaiting. In order to broaden critical analysis of queerbaiting and to
understand what queerbaiting means on YouTube, it is important to look at why it occurs. This will highlight why queerbaiting appears in various mediums in our current society (Needham 13). Therefore, this chapter will first present the existing ideas and theories regarding queerbaiting. Especially, I will focus on the writings on queerbaiting on television since it is the context in which queerbaiting is originated. With this, I discuss the relevance of contemporary theories and concepts of queer theory and fan studies that will be applicable to YouTube and to which I will refer to in my analysis. In the last part of this theoretical chapter I will
consider queerbaiting on YouTube, by discussing concepts outside the realm of fiction like fandom, shipping, fan fiction and the online celebrity. Furthermore, I will discuss the relationship of the fan and producer, elaborating on where queerbaiting is situated.
First definitions of queerbaiting
The first scholar to give an academic definition of the term queerbaiting was Judith Fathallah in her article “Moriarty’s Ghost: Or the Queer Disruption of the BBC’s Sherlock”, written in 2014. She presents the concept as:
a strategy by which writers and networks attempt to gain the attention of queer viewers via hints, jokes, gestures, and symbolism suggesting a queer relationship between two characters and then emphatically denying and laughing off the possibility. Denial and mockery reinstate a
heteronormative narrative that poses no danger of offending main-stream viewers at the expense of queer eyes. (Fathallah, Moriarty’s Ghost 491) However, before Fathallah introduced the term into the academic field,
queerbaiting has been defined among fan communities on the internet since the 2010s. On social media, with sites like Tumblr, fans expressed their frustration with purposely homoerotic subtext in mainstream television shows and the lack of canon LGBTQ+ representation: “we can have all the hints that the characters are gay that we want! … And I AM SICK OF IT. I WANT THE REAL DEAL”
(Bookshop). Moreover, queerbaiting is expressed as a painful experience on the blogging site, because it insinuates proper representation, however, then makes the audience belief it was just in their imagination (Atlanxic). Especially this dismissal of potential queer readings by producers or other fans is considered harmful when audiences “are told that they should be ashamed of themselves” (Atlanxic).
Similarly, in Making Things Perfectly Queer: Interpreting Mass Culture, Alexander Doty problematizes queer subtext since it will stand in the way of explicit queer representation: “Connotation has been the representational and interpretive closet of mass culture queerness for far too long. [This] shadowy realm … allows straight culture to use queerness for pleasure and profit in mass culture without admitting to it” (xi-xii). The dismissal of queerbaiting often relies on the argument that fans imagine queer subtext and that it is supposedly
wishful thinking, however, according to Doty, they come out the complex field of queer discourse that always has been a part of audiences and media texts (16). Elizabeth Bridges, in her article, agrees and states that many of the hallmarks of queer coding and subtexts derive from the hints and nods queer people have historically used to identify each other (119). The denial of queer subtext by producers or writers is, therefore, considered harmful by many fans and scholars and a pinpoint in the current definitions of queerbaiting. However, according to Ng, these dismissals of queer narratives “cannot extract the text from the queerbaiting discourse” (Ng par. 9.3).
In its most familiar usage, according to Joseph Brennan: Fans use queerbaiting to accuse media producers and actors who are believed to have “deliberately inserted homoerotic subtext in order to court a queer following, and yet never actualize this subtext” (introduction 105). Thus, how fans are generally defining the term is like Fathallah’s conceptualised: that it is suggested that the producers and writers are aware of the queer audience and their readings, however never acknowledging them. Therefore, queerbaiting in these early writings is seen as a harmful strategy to increase ratings and capture audiences. In my own analysis, I will discuss the relation of queer readings, queer subtext and its denial in YouTube videos, which could be considered as the ‘what’ of queerbaiting on the platform. Moreover, I agree with Ng that once a text is considered queerbaiting it cannot be extracted from a queerbaiting discourse, therefore both the side of the fans as well as the producers should be analysed to consider ‘why’ queerbaiting exists on YouTube.
Further discussions on queerbaiting
After the first definitions of queerbaiting in the early 2010s, other scholars have discussed the concept, including the influential dissertation by Emma Nordin, where she relates the concept to hermeneutics. In seeking the origins of the term, she traces internet communities through chat rooms, blogs and forums, while also discussing the usage of the term before the internet (Nordin 4). In line with the earlier definitions of the term, Nordin suggests that queerbaiting is about the fan’s interpretations of the intended suggestions of a show (14). Thus, the tactic is a deliberate practice, assembled through the “communication between writers, networks and their fans” (Nordin 17). She concludes by stating that today, proper “queer representation is possible” and therefore should not be constantly denied (Nordin 63). Nordin thus defines queerbaiting as a media
practice which is consciously (mis)used by producers and writers since they are aware of their fanbase and their (queer) readings. In my analysis I will investigate the fan-queered interpretations and writings of YouTube videos and agree with Nordin that queerbaiting is constructed by fans believes, however, in the case of YouTube vloggers it is more complicated.
In previous writings on queerbaiting the term is both generated by fans and historically situated (queer coding), therefore, a conceptual motility of the term is necessary since it is constantly changing and evolving (Brennan,
Introduction 107). Although the concept is not a set term for some scholars, the object of research concerning queerbaiting mostly remains within the field of television shows, therefore most definitions are extended forms of the earlier descriptions of queerbaiting as “an exploitative industry tactic that is harmful” (Brennan, introduction 105). This focus on queerbaiting on television texts leaves a major field unexplored. That said, queerbaiting debates on YouTube differ from debates of traditional media and fictional narratives, therefore a homogeneous definition of queerbaiting is unhelpful in my attempt to apply the term in a different media context. Notably, two academic writings have begun broadening the concept of queerbaiting by taking the term outside the field of television. Jessica Kathryn Needham, in her research, similarly recognised the limited field of research discussing queerbaiting, therefore she focuses on the ways queer
representation is negotiated in video games as a starting point for the expansion of the term. Emily Roach, in her article, takes the discussion in yet another
unexplored area (within the academic field): that of boybands and pop
celebrities, considering the role of celebrity and their identities in the context of queerbaiting and fan fiction. In my analysis, I will continue to expand the
queerbaiting debate outside the realm of fictional narratives and discuss the construction of the YouTube celebrity and the online persona in contrast to the context of traditional celebrities (see last section of this chapter, p. 14).
Not all scholars have approached queerbaiting in the role of the harmful marketing trick that it is often positioned. In his article, “Queerbaiting: The playful possibilities of homoeroticism”, Joseph Brennan, a scholar who has devoted multiple articles on queerbaiting, approaches the term from a more positive angle, addressing the thin line between purposeful subtext and fan service. Therefore, he wants to shift the focus of queerbaiting as only cruel and expands the utility of the concept by tying it to the term ‘hoyay!’ (short for ‘homoeroticism yay!’) (Brennan, Playful Possibilities 190). Hoyay is a term created by fans
celebrating homoerotic subtext as wishful thinking rather than true queer subtext (Brennan, Playful Possibilities 194). Brennan does not deny the existence of queerbaiting; however, he argues against its strategies to be “representational harm” and considers the possibilities that queerbaiting tactics offer (Playful Possibilities 202). Brennan, therefore, takes a more “playful” approach to
queerbaiting and provides a different point of view in the queerbaiting discussion. That said, I hold a different position with Brennan’s discharge of queerbaiting’s potential harm: the argument that the insertion of homoerotic subtext is just “fun and playful” (Playful Possibilities202) seems to ignore the feelings of many queer fans described in the beginning of this chapter who demand proper queer
representation. However, his connections of queerbaiting to hoyay and the homosocial desire provide more insight in queer readings and fans’ longings which show that queerbaiting as a concept is more complex. Both the view of queerbaiting as a harmful marketing trick or the view of it as playful fan service seems to focus on the ‘what’ of queerbaiting. In my analysis I will not solely focus on the ‘what’ and question the connections between the intentions and the consequences of various agents, showing that in the cases of YouTube vloggers more interactions and relations between fans and creators take place concerning queerbaiting and that the ‘why’ and intend of queer subtext involve multiple complex narratives.
In analysing the television show Merlin (2008-2012), Brennan argues that the relationship between Arthur and Merlin that has come near the edge of homosexuality in “a homosocial-homosexual desire spectrum” (Playful
Possibilities 192). Here, Brennan connects the promising erotic fan readings of the (intimate) male friendship of Arthur and Merlin with the ‘male homosocial desire’ introduced by Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick. In Between Men, Sedgwick contemplates the “male homosocial desire” to argue for a continuum between homosocial and homosexual (1-2). Notably, Brennan argues that in this spectrum, homoeroticism lies somewhere in the middle (Playful Possibilities 193). To which Needham agrees and argues that intimate interactions drift in this continuum, thereby, positioning homosociality on a spectrum with homoeroticism (Needham 56). The concept of the homosocial spectrum will be of use for my own analysis and I argue that all cases of queerbaiting are located somewhere on the
homosocial continuum and while creators and producers keep their
representation in the middle (homoeroticism), there is a real desire for actual queer representation on the homosexual side of the spectrum from the fans.
However, this desire can demarcate the ends of the spectrum which is problematic and leads to misunderstandings. Moreover, in the discussion of queerbaiting on YouTube it becomes apparent that the location of the YouTuber on the homosocial spectrum is often unclear and can be viewed in multiple ways since I argue real boundaries on the homosocial spectrum cannot exist.
Queerbaiting on Television and paratext
Before I consider queerbaiting on YouTube, it is appropriate to start at the foundation of where the concept is primarily discussed by scholars: television. Since the term found its place among academic research, television shows have been the focus of the queerbaiting discussion. According to Needham this is firstly because television as a medium is the perfect place for audiences to engage with paratexts, because of the television format TV series have larger gaps between episodes and seasons (26). Moreover, audience engage with these gaps and spaces that are created for audiences and fans to alter their
interpretation and understanding of a text (Gray 42). Therefore, this is the place where audiences can modify and change their meaning of a text and construct queer readings (Needham 26).
Secondly, fan research and queer narratives have always been related to television
(Needham 27). Notably, the focus of most research concerns the male/male relationships of ‘slash’ fans. However, a focus on female characters and the inclusion of canonical characters has recently been taken up (Needham 25). The third reason according to Needham is that television is connected to a “history of queerness” (27), referring to Keller and Stratyner, she argues that these
representations, however, are usually conformed to be palatable for mainstream (heterosexual) audiences (28). When this is combined with the gaps of television where fan practices are active and paratexts are consumed explains why
queerbaiting is such a common practice in television (Needham 28-29). Again, queerbaiting is seen as both historically situated and generated by fans, however in television texts, most definitions and studies of queerbaiting seem to focus on the text and the denial of its queer interpretations.
In previous scholarship there have been various television shows discussed when connected to queerbaiting. It started with the queer readings of the
television show Sherlock (2010-2017; Fathallah; Valentine; Sheehan; Collier). The show contains numerous moments of queer coded subtext between its
protagonist Sherlock and John Watson, next to interpretation of the possible queer identities of Sherlock and the main villain Mortiarty. However, the showrunners kept dismissing these understandings and therefore the show is accused of queerbaiting in a harmful way, since it is disingenuous to ask LGBTQ+ fans to identify with a character and get invested in a show before such a denial (Fathallah, Mortiarty’s Ghost 498). In a similar way (and the most researched), the show Supernatural (2005-present) is discussed in relation to queerbaiting (Brennan; Nordin; Boulware; Lowe). Drawing on interactions between characters Dean and Castiel, which imitates a romantic narrative through queer-coded language: “for example longing looks, sighs, romantic lighting and one-on-one scenes featuring physical closeness and obvious sexual tension” (Bridges 123). In contrast, McDermott investigates the interactions between the fans and the producers of Supernatural. Thereby, discussing the dismissal in relation to claiming authority of the authentic text and the desired queer narratives of the show (141). Therefore, the responses of a show’s producer to the fans’ readings and the discussions in online forums surrounding queerbaiting influences the interpretations of a television series.
Similarly, more recent scholarship (including McDermott) has analysed the interactions between the producers and viewers in relation to queerbaiting of the television show Teen Wolf (2011-2017; Caravaca; Elliott and Fowler; Boulware). The show has been discussed regarding queerbaiting on both a textual level (queer-coding between characters Stiles and Derek) and on a paratextual level: the interactions of both the creators and actors of the show with the fans for marketing campaigns. For example, in 2012 a promotional video was created, where the two actors of the show depict intimate homosocial behaviour in real life to stimulate fans to vote for the show’s nomination in the Teen Choice Awards (Needham 29). Therefore, queerbaiting in these television series refer to the producers deliberately using queerbaiting tactics to lure queer audiences into possible queer representation, while still conforming to heteronormativity, either textual or paratextual.
Most research on queerbaiting in television is concerned with male/male pairings, however television shows like Rizzoli & Isles (2010-2016; Ng) , The 100 (2014-present; Ng; Waggoner; McNutt; Le Cudennec) and Once Upon a Time (2011-2018; Nordin; Suddeth) are discussed because of their female/female pairings; both non-canonical and canonical. Thus, queerbaiting in television is not only discussed with pairings whose queer subtexts are only implied, but
queerbaiting is commented on pairings whose queer identities are represented in the actual narrative of the show. For example, the canonical female couple in The 100 is discussed of queerbaiting in relation to the historically situated ‘Bury Your Gays’ trope. Nordin similarly discusses the show Vikings (2013-present) in
relation to queerbaiting when the death of a queer character happens right after a love confession (Nordin 35). Noticeably, the most important observations of queerbaiting on television are that first, queerbaiting is mostly viewed as a strategy for producers or a trend in television to gain a queer audience, however scholars disagree when this inserting of homoerotic subtext becomes problematic or harmful, as discussed in Brennan’s reading of the show Merlin who approached homoerotic subtext from a more celebratory viewpoint. Second, some scholars focus solely on the text and that is where queerbaiting is situated, however some place it in the interactions between the producers/writers and the fans, and others place queerbaiting in fan practices and beliefs. My approach considers all these observations of how queerbaiting is discussed and situated by drawing on the research of scholar Eve Ng.
An influential text in the discussion of queerbaiting has been “Between text, paratext, and context: Queerbaiting and the contemporary media
landscape”. This text, by Eve Ng, has contributed to the broader understanding of the phenomenon of queerbaiting, theorizing queerbaiting in a more expanded sense. She extends previous studies of queerbaiting by discussing both canonical queer representations as well as non-canonical. Instead of focussing on the producer/viewer engagement in fan cultures (Collier; Elliott and Fowler; McDermott), and fan activities online (Nordin), she draws on the writings on paratexts of Jonathan Gray and especially refers to promotional content and producer commentary (Ng par. 1.3). According to Ng, the engagements around queer readings have affect on the viewers’ experiences of queer narratives, which she labels queer contextuality (par. 2.7).
There are two central points of ‘queer contextuality’: first, what current queer representations are acceptable in mainstream media, and second, how the historical and contemporary context of inadequate queer representations came about and requires improvement (Ng par. 9.5). Therefore, queerbaiting is a term that evolves and resulted from paratextual queer discourse at a time of specific queer contextuality (Ng par. 2.8). Thus, previous definitions of queerbaiting are not necessarily wrong, however queerbaiting is used in a much broader sense and it is not a strictly defined concept. Instead, “text, paratext, and queer
contextuality are all at play, and it is their specific configurations that determine how queerbaiting discourses arise for any particular show” (Ng par. 3.7). Ng’s connection of queer contextuality and queerbaiting relates the audience’s
assumptions and interpretations to the actual intentions of a show and therefore acknowledges its meaning-making outside the primary text (Needham 24). This description of queerbaiting influences my own analysis since it acknowledges more complex and nuanced interpretations of queerbaiting. Particularly, the concept of queer contextuality helps me to make connections between the text, paratext and the fan text of YouTube videos, therefore allowing for more
complicated readings from both the fans’ and the creators’ side of online forms of queerbaiting. By not focussing on the dismissal of queer readings, it allows for more ambiguous interpretations of the subtext. In contrast to Brennan, however, this does not mean that viewers’ understandings of queerbaiting practices as harmful are ignored.
From text and paratext to fan text
In this part of the theoretical framework I want to take a closer look at the unofficial paratexts concerning queerbaiting: namely, fan practices and texts, since in previous scholarship queerbaiting has been approached as a fan induced concept and the term has been situated in fan practices and beliefs (Nordin). So, not only will I discuss critical writings on shipping, fandom and slash that
influenced research on queerbaiting. I will elaborate briefly on the fan culture of YouTube and how the construction of a celebrity on social media platforms differs from traditional media and changes the relationship with the fan.
When fans like certain characters together they start to ‘ship’ them. Shipping is when fans declare their desire for a non-canonical or canonical
fictional relationship (Potts 181). According to Gemma Bothe Anzca, shipping is a practice in which alternative readings of a text establish a fandom (6). She
argues that the shipping of two characters can be of those of canon relationships, or (as in most cases) the romantic pairing not represented within the canon of the show (Bothe Anzca 6). Shipping of same sex pairings is called slash and has been discussed in the academic field for the last 20 years, with major writers like Henry Jenkins and Camille Bacon-Smith as big influencers. Slash fan fiction
debuted within the Star Trek fandom due to desired pairing of characters Captain James T. Kirk and Spock (Collier 10). This led to the meaning of slash as fan
characters (Collier 8). Therefore, slash shipping cannot be discussed without considering the fandom and fan creations in mind. Moreover, fan practices include more than fan fiction. Today, the most common format of fan-text on the internet are videos, called “fanvids” (Orson 74). These videos often contain montages of visual material from canon media texts and have become
increasingly popular in recent years. YouTube is the largest platform for fanvids, though fans share them on blogging sites like Tumblr (Orson 74). Elliot and Fowler argue that “slash fiction has proven itself an interactive method of re-evaluation for producing queer-positive readings” (154). With that said, they believe that slash is used when television shows lack proper representation. Collier agrees with this and states that fan fiction produce a narrative space “to work through issues of misogyny and homophobia” (15). Moreover, Jenkins argues the
“fascination” and “frustration” with media texts and fandoms, fans didn’t feel the need to write fan (Convergence Culture 258).
Significantly, shipping can happen outside the realm of fictional media, such as television, film, gaming, literature and anime. The shipping of real people has inspired multiple fan fictions and slash pairings, often called Real Person Fiction (or RPF) (Roach 168). However, the slashing and shipping of real persons and lives is often considered a taboo (Potts 182) and according to Victoria Arrow attracts criticism from both outside and within the fan communities (323). This “moral” code of real person shipping is maybe best explained by Jennifer McGee when discussing the reasoning of fan fiction writing:
When audiences become “fans” of a media artefact, they enter into a relationship with the characters they enjoy, a relationship encouraged by the creators of the artefact. The fact that this relationship is of necessity a one-way relationship does not make it any less meaningful for the fan, or less valuable to the creator. (161)
So, with fans of fictional shows and characters it is a one-way relationship. The fan can care about the characters, however, the fictional character can in return not care about the fan. This “relationship” changes when it involves a real person that is idolised. In her article, Emily E. Roach examines how these lines between the public and the private space of the celebrity have become blurred in the digital age (168). By discussing queerbaiting in a celebrity context, she considers the impact social media has on the (de)constructing and reading of the image of
the celebrity (Roach 168). She states that “when celebrities begin to interact with their fans in a way that appears to acknowledge or otherwise capitalize on the popularity of certain RPF ships, it is these interactions that can sometimes be cited examples of queerbaiting” (Roach 170).
One of the most common defences of RPF is that the “people” being written about are not really people at all. Instead, RPF writers argue, they are carefully constructed personas, created for the consumption of the public in the same way entirely fictional characters are. (McGee 174) Roach agrees that the celebrity image is itself a form of fiction. The construction of a celebrity includes paratexts like: “promotional material, interviews, critical reception, gossip about their private lives in the tabloid press, and fan cultures, including fanzines and websites” (Kooijman 29). Therefore, celebrities are constructed as ordinary people that enable fans to identify with, next to their admiration for their extraordinariness (Kooijman 29). Daniel Smith notices that the construction of a celebrity on YouTube is similar: turning the ordinary into extra-ordinary (257). Moreover, this celebrification of ordinariness results in an increase of self-awareness (D. Smith 258). Therefore, the YouTuber’s personality and self-promotion are based upon discourses of ordinariness and authenticity. Importantly, video blogs, or better known as vlogs, are amongst the most popular videos on the platform and is both an “intimate” and “interrelational media form” (Berryman and Kavka 311). Vlogs are typically filmed in a private domestic setting like the bedroom and shot in close framing and direct address, thereby producing a sense of intimacy and authenticity. This discourse of authenticity mixes the constructed persona of the YouTuber with his or her real-life identity. Furthermore, YouTubers are self-aware of this authentic image and construct a YouTube persona - that in contrast to traditional celebrities - is established through self-presentation of an ordinary, simple, personal life like his or her viewers (D. Smith 260). In this way, the celebrification of a YouTuber influences the construction of the online persona since the YouTuber is very aware of his “authentic” image which he or she needs to maintain. In this thesis, I will further investigate the blurring lines of the private and public image of YouTube personas (or celebrities) and draw connections between presented intimacy, authenticity and masculinity.
Scholars start to recognize the expansion of fandom in the new media landscape. In this digital age, Erin B. Waggoner makes three observations
concerning (current) fan culture: first, fans can respond to queer narratives in real time to express and share their opinions and emotions (1883). Second, fans use “fandom-based coping mechanisms” like fan fiction and reedited videos in response to queer representations (Waggoner 1883). The third observation discussed by Waggoner regards social media campaigns, namely that fans band together for activism to make LGBTQ representation visible (1884). Furthermore, Nordin argues that social media has affected the positions of the audiences’ power over the products and producers (1). Therefore, on YouTube viewers and fans are not just distributing pre-constructed messages, but are “reframing, remixing and sharing” thereby shaping media flows to fit their needs (Bakioğlu 192). Moreover, according to Khan, the interpretations of comments are “form of engagement” which contribute to the assemblages of information on the platform (237). Thus, users of the platform who do not actively use these participatory features can still read the discussions and opinions of others in the comment section. In this way, the comments beneath the videos on YouTube become part of the media text consumed. This shows that the relationship between the
producers/writers and the fans of a media text have changed significantly due to the digital age and has increased the scope of what a fandom involves.
In previous scholarship, there seem to be two main views of fan culture in this changed media ecology: that of the fan seen as activists and that of fans seen as exploited. The now more complicated producer/fan relationship makes it, on the one hand, possible for fans to make their voices, opinions and criticisms publicly heard (Hellekson 181). This form of fan activism – where fans require certain improvements – arises in fan communities online. On the other hand, the participatory culture increased the scope and possibilities for fandom building and made creators aware of this. People feel closer to their favourite texts and creators (Ballinger 4.2), which makes them engage more through comments and fan creations. This helps the media text gain popularity and more publicity since participant fans produce free labour. This, however, shows that fans don’t feel immediately exploited for their free labour. In fact, fans are aware that their participation helps a show or YouTuber gain more attention but do so because they simultaneously are able to participate in a community. Fans feel exploited when the main text is only about gaining more revenue through clicks, shares and views. Myles McNutt calls this “relationship” between fans and producers a
social contract (4). With this concept he means the relationship between fans and producers who both are active on social platforms like Twitter. The activeness of producers and their willingness to interact with fans, are in return “payed” by loyal (queer) fans who promote the show by sharing related content and willingly participate in polls and create their own fan art (McNutt 2). However, often those hopes are let down when a series ends with no satisfactory resolution and
thereby breaking the social contract, leaving the audience feeling manipulated and betrayed. This is the moment where queerbaiting comes in place (McNutt 4).
Collier is interested in this expression of fan culture in response to queerbaiting strategies and argues that fans are now asserting their authority over the text (119) by having the opportunity of speaking out against producers and within fan communities, therefore the power dynamics of a media text has shifted. According to McDermott, understanding these fan-creator relations are a key site to understanding the concept queerbaiting since it within these
interactions where the discourse of queerbaiting is constituted (134). Elliot and Fowler agree and conclude their article by stating that:
queerbaiting, although a toxic media practice, paradoxically has served as a catalyst for necessary conversations about queer erotics, queer
representation and queer readership, inviting precisely the kinds of fan-generated work that showrunners […] often seek to paradoxically
discourage (for the sake of artistic vision) and encourage (for the sake of baiting views). (161-162)
This shows the complexity of the relationship and interactions between producers and fans and how the practice of queerbaiting fits in the middle. Moreover, fans on social media express their frustrations with the media text and these
interactions. Their concerns building communities so that their common dissatisfactions would be heard (Elliot 106). On YouTube, fandoms and
communities are discussing and creating within the same platform of the main text. Media texts on user-generated platforms are thus directly influenced by the participatory tools available for all its users. Therefore, the increased relationship and interaction between the fans and the YouTube persona cannot be ignored when discussing queerbaiting on the platform; not only are these interactions the space were queerbaiting arises, it is the same virtual space where communities are built, and fandoms grow. Situating queerbaiting at the place of these
interactions, I discuss if the current definitions and meanings of the term seem appropriate when used on YouTube. When analysing ships of YouTube pairings and the accompanied fan texts, I refer to concepts like the homosocial desire (Sedgwick 1-2), inclusive masculinity (Morris and Anderson 1201) and Real Person Shipping (Roach 169). Looking from both the creator’s side as well as the side of the fan, I will discuss the interrelations between text, paratext and fan text of YouTube vlogs an elaborate on the influence of a fandom when in this digital age “fans have become collaborators with an illusion of ownership” (Collier 25).
Chapter 2: Coming out for more clicks and views
In order to consider queerbaiting on YouTube, I will first briefly discuss queer discourses and context on the platform. It is necessary to elaborate on how queer visibility on the platform is discussed by both scholars and users of the popular website. In that way, connections between queerbaiting in a traditional media context can be made with queerbaiting on the user-generated platform.
Furthermore, in this chapter I will consider queerbaiting on YouTube from the producer/creators’ side focussing on the ‘coming out videos’ circulating the platform and how this “trend” has led to accusations of queerbaiting. I will discuss two specific cases of videos uploaded by the YouTube creators Joe Sugg and Luke Cutforth and concentrate on their reasoning for uploading and creating these videos relating it to theories of homosociality and the attention economy. My analysis demonstrates that on YouTube queerbaiting could be a form of clickbaiting, however, in the case of queerbaiting identity politics get involved therefore the ploy could be harmful. Moreover, I argue that the two cases show differences in the construction of their online personas and claiming the authority
over their texts which is related to their presented identities, performed masculinities and homosocial behaviours.
Queer visibility on YouTube: The coming-out video as queerbaiting
YouTube is globally one of the most visited platforms on the internet and has become an influential social networking site for many young people in
contemporary societies (JandI 4). A place for entertainment for most and a creative outlet for others, YouTube is a space for observing and supporting, as well as to create communities. Within this digital world of amateur, professional and semi-professional content (JandI 4), openly queer people are becoming more visible than within traditional media (Lovelock 2). In the theory chapter is
discussed that the critique on media texts results from the lack of proper LGBTQ+ representation in mainstream media (Doty xi-xii). YouTube, as a platform, has provided a space for people to upload their own content making them available for a global audience. Its usability and accessibility increasing the amount and variations of the representations available online to consume (Wuest 24).
Vloggers often express their personal experiences and feelings, which can be both humorous and joyful memories as well as embracing or painful moments. YouTubers are supplying a platform where individuals can express themselves and share their emotions and opinions with others online (Morris and Anderson 1205). Therefore, the practice of vlogging has produced many videos that teenagers turn to for advice, comfort and aspiration. Moreover, gay youth possibly find confidence through vlogging, particularly when they find a
community that listens, responds and supports them through whatever is going on in their lives (Gregg). Over the years, a significant number of people have publicly come out through the platform. So much so that ‘coming-out videos’ seem to have become their own category on the site. Lovelock noticed this “trend” and questions if “every YouTuber [is] going to make a coming out video” (1). He refers to an article written by Richard Lawson published by Vanity Fair, who felt like this trend of coming out almost turned into a cliché. How positive these videos might be, in the case of popular YouTubers with a large audience it can sometimes feel like a performance (Lawson).
Notably, Bryan Wuest makes a distinction between the coming out videos of known YouTubers (called microcelebrities or semi-professionals) and those created by relatively unknown people (28). For these people, the coming out video is often a part of their journey since it is usually their first and/or only video
uploaded. With their coming out videos they are seeking a community for support and advice. In the case of the YouTube celebrity, the coming out video is often uploaded when he or she is already established as an online (queer) persona (Wuest 28-29). Some examples are the coming out videos by YouTubers Ingrid Nilsen, Joey Graceffa, Connor Franta and Troye Sivan (Lovelock 2). All follow the same vlog format: the popular YouTuber sits in front of the camera, addressing the viewer directly in a private setting, moreover the rehearsed videos follow a well-known and standard YouTube format (Cover and Prosser 90). According to Wuest, queer teenagers have been using the platform for years, watching many coming out stories, learning and connecting with other LGBTQ+ people (20). It cannot be denied that the internet and platforms like YouTube especially have had a significant effect on queer visibility and made an impact on many people struggling with their own sexuality. Not only did queer content increase, but the intimate and authentic stories found online have been of tremendous value according to Wuest, even more so than the visibility of queer context on current television and film (22-24). Notably, journalist Lawson states that coming out videos “always do really well and get a lot of attention” (n. pag.). Thereby, he asks if other vloggers notice the popularity of these coming out videos and make their own versions, however, not to announce their gay sexuality, “necessarily, but something. Some other deep, true thing about themselves” (Lawson).
Even though Richard Lawson does not mention queerbaiting in his article, he seems to observe that YouTube creators are very aware of what audiences resonate with and how to get their attention. Furthermore, the sharing of
personal and intimate videos has made amateur creators into semi-professionals (JandI 4). These YouTube celebrities gain revenue with views, clicks and shares, therefore always create content with that in mind. YouTubers are constantly seeking attention and often follow popular videos by others to get it. In her web article, journalist Ellen O’Brien comments that the possibility of queerness often comes along with increasing attention (n. pag.). Furthermore, she argues that hinting “a queer sexuality can attract attention” even if the vlogger is not part in the LGBTQ+ community (O’Brien). Indeed, it seems that this notion has
influenced some content uploaded by big vloggers. One of the more popular ways for vloggers to associate themselves with the LGBTQ+ community is through collaborating with popular YouTubers that are openly gay or lesbian (Morris and Anderson 1208).
Mostly when queerbaiting is discussed in relation to YouTube, it is with the more familiar usage of the: the deliberate insertion of queer subtext to gain a queer audience without actualizing it. To illustrate this, blogger Teoh Lander-Boyce argues that on the platform queerbaiting is when a heterosexual YouTuber signalises homosexuality “to provoke a response” but plays it down with humour or as “the audience’s misinterpretation” (LGBTQ+ on YouTube). Notably, instead of describing queerbaiting to gain a bigger audience he chose to use the words “provoke a response”. This is the aim of most videos uploaded on YouTube, to get as much attention as possible through clicks, comments and shares; “Attention-getting techniques employed by consumer brands have trickled down to
individual users, who have increasingly, and occasionally improbably, used them to increase their online popularity” (Marwick qtd. in Marwick 138). Additionally, journalist O’Brien argues that: queerness must now exist in an environment driven by profitable “clicks, views, likes, and comments” (n. pag.). In other words, it is within these vlogs, comments, video reactions and other social media
platforms apart from YouTube that queerbaiting is situated; or within these configurations of texts, paratexts and queer contextuality (Ng par. 3.7).
As Richard Lawson suspected, various YouTubers took notice of the big response coming out videos received and started to upload content “related” to the subject to capture the attention of the viewers interested in these videos. A video that illustrates this quite well is “The Coming Out *challenge*!” uploaded by Shane Dawson. In this video, he and other YouTuber Ricky Dillon impersonate other YouTubers who have come out on the platform. When explaining their reasoning behind the video Shane says: “I thought it would be fun to do
YouTuber’s impersonations [...] where we did it about people who have come out of the closet, since that has been a very popular thing and something we should applaud” (“The Coming Out *challenge*!”). However, the video was accompanied by a thumbnail of an image of the two almost kissing thereby suggesting
something else. The use of captivating and ambiguous titles and thumbnails is a way to invite audiences to click on a video and is often referred to as
‘clickbaiting’, which is “a marketing strategy and term used to call out producers or creators for attracting audiences with appealing, ‘baiting’ content” (Zannettou et al. 1). Since the video by Shane was posted before their “actual” coming out videos (“I’m Bisexual” by Shane and “My Sexuality” by Dillon), many fans and viewers were speculating their sexualities in the comment sections and were intrigued or persuaded to watch this video to confirm their suspicions. Therefore,
it seems that cases of queerbaiting on YouTube (and other social media) use the same tactics of this common practice of clickbaiting. That said, other media does not have to involve “clicks” and interfaces in order to use queerbaiting strategies. For example, when films promote the representation of a LGBTQ+ character to attract a larger (queer) audience, when in the end that representation is not satisfactory.
Nevertheless, this video by Shane has been criticized and by some called queerbaiting (Camisadan) even though this play with ambiguous titles and
thumbnails has been a common practice on the platform, especially in relation to the coming out narrative. Some other examples are “In the closet with Marcus Butler” by Jim Chapmen and “The Truth Comes Out” by Sawyer Hartman, all uploaded around 2015-2016. Notably, there are two vloggers that have been particularly criticized for their use of ambiguous (queer) presentation: Joe Sugg and Luke Cutforth. Both creators have produced a video insinuating a coming out story which received more blatant accusations of queerbaiting than the videos mentioned above. In the rest of this chapter I will analyse these two cases in more depth, focussing not only on the primary texts but on the two YouTube personas themselves in relation to the concept of queerbaiting, thereby discussing their reasoning behind these videos and why their clickbaiting techniques in these cases were not accepted. In order to discuss these cases properly I will look at the reception and comments of the videos next to the main texts, however in the next chapter I focus on the fan/viewer’s side and their influence in more detail.
Is Joe Sugg queerbaiting: Homosocial behaviour and the promotion of sexual identities
On the 1st of February in 2015 the YouTuber Joe Sugg uploaded a video titled “MY
BIG ANNOUNCEMENT!” on his channel ThatcherJoe. In this video, Joe announces the release of his graphic novel after answering some questions first. As
mentioned before, this video has been accused of queerbaiting due to its
kissing fellow (male) YouTuber and roommate Caspar Lee (see image below). In this particular
case, viewers mostly criticized the choice of thumbnail. Since Joe and vlogger Caspar Lee were shipped by many fans, they found the thumbnail deliberately misleading. Moreover, the homoerotic images in connection to the promotion of his graphic novel (now available on Amazon) rubbed people the wrong way. YouTuber Jazza John discussed his issues concerning this case in a reaction video titled “Is Joe Sugg Gay Baiting?”. In this video, he comments on the fact that many viewers indeed thought that Joe Sugg was going to come out through this video (“Is Joe Sugg”). These reactions were not necessarily negative, however that the ambiguous title and misleading thumbnail suggested something else is clear.
As discussed before, YouTube has been a platform for (young) queer people to identify and connect with others in the LGBTQ+ community. They admire those who make their own struggles and intimate stories public and often seek those out who have similar experiences as themselves. With this in mind, Jazza suggests that Joe Sugg should at least change the thumbnail, because of the possibility of a potential young queer person clicking on the video it hoping that “their favourite YouTuber” comes out of the closet and shares the same queer identity (“Is Joe Sugg”). This possibility of queer people seeking out queer content on the platform like a coming out video seems to be the main argument against queerbaiting on YouTube. For example, YouTube user Emily Eaton commented to Jazza’s video with: “watching coming out videos was a great way for me to
become more comfortable in my sexuality and if queerbaiting becomes accepted in the YouTube community then I feel that that will get taken away” (“Is Joe
Sugg”).
Notably, what made Sugg’s video receive a more negative response in contrast to the many other videos with suggestive titles and thumbnails was the content of the video itself. In the video, Joe first answers various questions asked by his fans before announcing his big news. In fact, one viewer asks Joe what he thinks of the ‘edits’ of him and Caspar circling the internet (“MY BIG
ANNOUNCEMENT”). With this question, the viewer refers to edited photographs where the two are photoshopped in romantic positions, which is a common fan practice when a pair is shipped. Edits have been part of the fandom and slash culture for a longer time and are wildly spread among sites like Tumblr (Wille
108). Brennan, in his text, discusses the need for fans to bring out sexual
possibilities with ambiguous texts to create “an unambiguously homosexual text” (Woledge qtd. in Playful 202). However, in the case of Caspar and Joe the edits have been created with pictures that were unambiguous. Moreover, these fictional homosexual texts are made of real-life people instead of fictional
characters in television or film. In the video, Joe addresses the created edits with: “It is not a real thing alright, just stop it ... It is super creepy. Please stop with these weird fan fictional edits of me and my roommate, it is just weird” (“MY BIG ANNOUNCEMENT”). In other words, Joe is not amused by these fan created pictures made of him and his friend. Despite this, he chose to use the images as a thumbnail for his video even though most of the 7-minute-long clip is about something else entirely. On top of that, when Joe comments negatively on the edits, he inserted a written apology for his thumbnail in the video since he writes: “Soz 4 da clickbait thumbnail lolololol xoxo” (“MY BIG ANNOUNCEMENT”). This shows, that Joe is very conscious of what his misleading thumbnail and title are suggesting.
Sugg’s awareness of his deliberate (click)baiting is what for Jazza John felt like rubbing salt into the wound (“Is Joe Sugg”). Jazza states that it could be harmful for viewers struggling with their own sexuality to find this video of what could be one of their favourite YouTubers coming out, however for it to be shut down and called “weird” and “creepy” afterwards. Thus, it was the specific content of the video what sparked the many queerbaiting discussions around Joe’s video. The sharing of queer identities through the act of coming out has become an important part and a social practice for the LGBTQ+ community. By connotating a coming out video Joe claimed a queer identity, however, does not affirm to this in the content of his video. Sharing various claimed identities, according to Wuest, support young queer people into accepting their “otherness” and resist feelings of negativity (25). Therefore, videos that use the ‘coming out trope’ to gain more views, like the many cases mentioned in this chapter, to then ignore this claimed identity entirely in the videos itself is problematic.
In another video on YouTube named “Queerbaiting on YouTube” created by Beckii Cruel, she discusses these “coming out videos”. She argues that a
heterosexual person that queerbaits or produces non-serious videos about coming out, invalidates the experience and meaning of sharing identities for many queer people (“Queerbaiting on YouTube”). In the case of Joe, he claims a homosexual identity with his video, however instead of not addressing this he
straight up denies this queerness and calls it “weird” and “creepy”. Joe, therefore, claims his heterosexuality in this video, even though he was fully aware that the video title and thumbnail suggested otherwise. YouTubers like him are thus knowingly insinuating certain identities in order to increase their economic and social capital within YouTube’s attention economy. Both Jazza and Beckii argue that queerbaiting on YouTube is destructive in a similar way that was done by scholars in the early stages of the queerbaiting discussion, where it is defined as a harmful ploy to increase ratings and capture audiences (Brennan, Introduction 105). Thus, this spectacularization of the coming out video is perceived to work against the interest of the queer community since it is on the one hand
misleading and taking away the importance of sharing identities of minority groups and on the other hand it results in the escalated use of the ‘coming out trope’ which might make actual coming out videos harder to find what has been of great importance for the increase of queer visibility online.
A big reason that viewers where baited into thinking that Joe Sugg was coming out was because many shipped him together with fellow vlogger Caspar Lee. Both Caspar and Joe started their YouTube channels in 2011 and their audiences have grown tremendously over the years. In 2015, Sugg’s channel already counted 3,5 million subscribers growing to 8 million subscribers in just 2 years (“Thatcherjoe”). Similarly, Caspar’s channel gained 7 million subscribers, which made them two of the biggest British YouTube celebrities (James). Caspar and Joe started to collaborate in videos since 2013, together with other known YouTubers like Zoella (Joe’s sister), Marcus Butler, Alfie Daynes and many more. Around this time challenges and ‘collab’ videos were a big trend amongst YouTube content and a big part of the vlog culture. In their article, Koch et al. explain that collaborations on YouTube are attracting the audience of both
channels, thereby, increasing the revenue of both creators (1). Joe Sugg has been aware of this since the beginning of his career and has constructed his YouTube persona around these collaborations. His sister Zoella was already a big vlogger at the time and one of the first videos Joe created was with his her. This video – with now more than seven million views – launched his channel and became quite popular in a short time (“The Sibling Test”).
In 2014, a year after their first video, Caspar and Joe decided to become roommates and moved in together. This resulted in an increase of their
collaborative videos and number of subscribers (“Thatcherjoe”). This also sparked many fans to ship them and started naming them ‘Jaspar’. When looking at the
comment section below their collaboration videos, it is apparent that many comments discuss Caspar and Joe’s relationship. The comments are mostly positive with expressions of how much they love Jaspar and their chemistry. For example, someone commented on one of their videos: “Joe just makes Caspar laugh every time and it makes me so happy” (“Jaspar Open Mail”). Many collab videos include their shipname in the title, like “Jaspar reunited Q&A” and “Jaspar Open Mail”. This shows how conscious Joe Sugg and Caspar Lee are of the ship and their viewers’ investment in their relationship. Moreover, the increasing attention and fanbase was not only noticed by Joe and Caspar, but by other instances as well.This led to two movies: Joe & Caspar Hit the Road (2015) and Joe & Caspar Hit the Road USA (2016). When promoting the first film, Caspar uploaded the trailer on his channel using a thumbnail of him and Joe standing on a boat in the classic Titanic (1997) pose (“JOE & CASPAR HIT”). This not only illustrates that both Caspar and Joe are aware of their audience and fans, but that they are very conscious of their own appearance and branding. In this image Caspar is poking fun at their ‘shippers’ by literally standing on a ship. Moreover, this promotional photo shows that the pairing of him and Joe are part of their online personas. The ship of Jaspar, therefore, has become part of both Joe’s and Caspar’s online personality and self-promotion.
On the 11th of May in 2014 both Joe and Caspar uploaded a similar Q&A
video (Question and Answer) about getting to know the other roommate. When answering these fan questions, the video cuts to a little scene where the two friends play out their answer in a comedic way. In both videos it is apparent that the two vloggers are highly aware of the attention they get on their close and intimate friendship. That the fans are especially invested in their closeness is exemplified by the question if they have seen each other naked (“Getting To Know”). This shows that the viewers want more personal and private details of their already public friendship. Another question: “How is the ghost situation going in your flat?” is answered with a short scene of Joe lying in bed getting scared after hearing a noise (“Getting To Know”). When he turns his bedside lamp on, it is revealed that Caspar is sleeping next to him. This scene hints at the possibility of them sleeping together, not romantically per se, but it is displayed that they seek comfort with each other when they are afraid. This video is just one example of them displaying homosocial behaviour. The two men often depict a close and intimate friendship where they are not afraid to show their fondness of each other in both texts and paratexts like social media. For example, Caspar
comments on Joe’s videos with “You are the best roommate ever” and “Already want to do this again with you, was so much fun!” (“Getting To Know”; “Jaspar Open Mail”). Moreover, they are not shy in touching each other through hugs, nudges and the occasional peck on the cheek (Idika) thereby, depicting
homosocial behaviour that slightly moves to the homoerotic spectrum of the continuum between homosocial and homosexual discussed in the theoretical chapter (Sedgwick 1-2).
Another moment in the video that illustrates this movement on the continuum is when Joe is asked to draw Caspar in 30 seconds and display a parody of the classic scene from the film Titanic. At the end Caspar asks Joe: “Aren’t you going to undress me” to which Joe replies: “No! What sort of video do you think this is?” and “There are young girls watching these, Caspar. Have some control” (“Getting To Know”). This humorous way of passing the possibility of homoeroticism is quite common in the videos uploaded by Caspar and Joe and can be perceived in two ways. In the early discussions on queerbaiting, the “emphatically denying and laughing off the possibility” was part of the definition (Fathallah, Mortiarty’s Ghost 491). According to Mueller, the use of comic relief after homoerotic subtext (queerbaiting) moments makes a text “with homophobic undertones” and argues that the LGBTQ+ viewers and fans are aware of this difference and is therefore harmful (185). Thus, the limiting of the possibility of homosexuality using humour can be considered a queerbaiting strategy. In contrast, Morris and Anderson refer to McCormack’s concept of ‘ironic heterosexual recuperation’ and look at this from a different perspective, describing this behaviour as embracing “gayness” in an ironic way “to consolidate their heterosexual identities” (1208). In the case of Joe, it is
noticeable that after every moment of homoerotic behaviour, he makes a certain comment to affirm his heterosexuality. For example, after depicting the scene of them sharing a bed, Joe tells a story of him accidentally sending a sexual text message to his grandma instead of to the girl he liked (“Getting To Know”). With this he does not seem to completely embrace the association with ‘gayness’ since he feels the need to constantly address his (straight) sexual identity and thereby closes off other possible readings of queerness.
Blogger Lander-Boyce states that Joe was not aware that his video crossed a line and was merely using his typical clickbaiting techniques (LGBTQ+ on YouTube). Obviously, Joe was not aware that the video “MY BIG ANNOUNCEMENT” would receive this much negative response since his “apology” in the video
suggest that he does not think using ambiguous thumbnails and titles is a wrong thing to do (“MY BIG ANNOUNCEMENT”). However, using the ‘coming out trope’ to promote his graphic novel is where he crossed the line: by explicitly linking it to a gay identity with his thumbnail showing images of two men kissing.
Therefore, he made it seem to be about claiming a homosexual identity, however, the content of his video made clear that was not the case. When Joe affirms his heterosexuality, he denies the possibility of a more fluid character or gender expression and many found this harmful for potential queer viewers. Furthermore, Joe with his video was aware of his audience and suggesting a queer narrative is not uncommon territory in his videos with Caspar. In these cases, his and Caspar’s homosocial behaviour suggests that moving to the homoerotic spectrum is fine and even enjoyed by their many subscribers. It is important to note that this focus on claiming an identity is something embedded in (the queer community of) Western society and is not self-evident. The
behaviours in these videos can, thereby, be excused precisely because they are not linked to a claimed identity. When Joe asks his fans to stop making romantic or sexual edits of him and Caspar is where he himself draws the line in the homosocial continuum. With this, Joe claims his authority over his texts and constructed persona since he will insert homoerotic subtext to attract the viewers, however they cannot create their own texts. Therefore, Joe does not seem aware of how suggesting certain identities with his videos and claiming another identity can be considered harmful to the queer community.
Luke Cutforth: Masculinity and sexuality
Another video that has been accused of queerbaiting shows many similarities with the video of Joe: Luke Cutforth similarly used the coming out trope to gain more attention, however, despite the fact that they used similar strategies, the way they both handled the criticisms and accusations of queerbaiting was very different.
The video is called Coming Out (sort of). It has nearly 100,000 views and features a young man in a white T-shirt looking uneasy. He is called Luke Cutforth, better known as LukeIsNotSexy, and he is not announcing he is gay but that he has a girlfriend, Emma Blackery, a fellow YouTuber. (Butter)
