A few days ago, actor Kristen Stewart made headlines for “gazing” at Cate Blanchett at the Cannes Film Festival, sending shockwaves through Twitter. Despite stans’ enthusiastic use of terms like “big mood” and “goals” for the homoerotic charge they sensed (or projected) between the bisexual Stewart and the straight Blanchett, it was a minor meme in the news cycle — but it caught my attention. And it annoyed me.

What was it about shipping a queer woman and a straight woman merely because they looked at each other that rubbed me the wrong way? Shane McCutcheon-lite Stewart eye-fucking the sultry Blanchett is a harmless fantasy, but one that caught on with a strange intensity among queer people online. From suggestions of Stewart “looking longingly” at Blanchett to blatant jokes about Stewart’s aggressive lasciviousness, the hypersexualization of a few decontextualized images happened about as fast as, well, [insert Uhaul joke].

The dearth of LGBTQ+ women in media is a real result of misogyny and queerphobia, which probably explains why we queers get so damn excited when a celebrity bravely steps out of the celluloid closet. Even when the news isn’t all that surprising — as in the case of Stewart herself a few years ago, or of Janelle Monae just last month, who’d been followed by rumors of her queerness since her ArchAndroid days — the reaction, especially among queer fans, can be powerful. Though the queer experience is no monolith, and each of our perspectives are colored by circumstance and privilege, we understand just how risky it is to publicly live as something other than straight and cisgender — even in Hollywood, even now.

Perhaps that’s what bothered me about this particular meme. As I watched Twitter unroll the playful pearl-clutching and the tired Carol references, I tried to imagine this sort of fuss being made over two out queer women caught within two feet of each other, or between women who weren’t white, cis, and gender-conforming. Perhaps it had to do with my resentment that straight actresses like Blanchett herself can play queer women with zero professional repercussions, while LGBTQ+ actors and celebrities are cagey about their sexual and gender identities for years, if they ever come out at all. How many queers are permitted to play queer characters without being pigeonholed or even edged out of their careers? And how many of them aren’t white, cis, and gender-conforming, not to mention conventionally attractive?

In thinking about my reaction to the fuss, I also can’t ignore my own experiences as a gender-nonconforming dyke. Straight women who see me as an experiment or assume that I must be attracted to them because I am gay have sexualized me without my consent; other straight women have presumed that I have the potential to be sexually aggressive, and even dangerous, because of my gender presentation. I can’t see a meme like this without also thinking about the fact that most mainstream depictions of queerness don’t include people who look like me, and people who are gender-nonconforming, trans, or nonbinary overall. How does this type of absence figure into a meme like this one? Would StewChett have happened if the perceived aggressor hadn’t been a queer woman? If Stewart had been more masculine-presenting, or not white, or both? If either women hadn’t been cis?

The content of fantasies can tell us a lot about our desires, but so can the negative space the fantasies leave behind. There’s no harm in daydreaming about how cute (or hot) it would be for Stewart and Blanchett to hook up. But it’s also no coincidence that two white cis women — only one of whom is actually queer — are the stars of this fantasy gone viral. Because one of the things that’s so great about fantasies is that they’re safe. And for those who are threatened by real, honest-to-goodness queer sexuality, there’s nothing safer than two women who are, in all likelihood, never going to do anything together.

Davey Davis writes about culture, sexuality, technology, and genderqueer embodiment. They are the author of the earthquake room (Tiger Bee Press, 2017).

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