Chels

Over the last few years, there’s been a rise in the use of both psychology and media studies buzzwords in general conversation, especially online. Everything from gaslighting to the male gaze have become common terms, and, to an extent, watered down, losing their original meaning through the online game of telephone spread through TikTok virality. For pride month, I’d like to spend some time highlighting some queer-specific media terms, exploring their origins and history, and their original meanings – and how their meanings have been restructured as a result of their surge in popularity.

I’d like to start with queer coding (and to an extent, the context of ‘coding’ in general). As the concept has become more widespread, the understanding of what it means to queer code a character, or in fact to code them a certain way at all, has become a bit muddled. Queer coding was a deliberate set of choices made following the introduction of the Hays Code in 1930. The code prohibited sympathetic or positive portrayals of queer characters, and characters who were queer or interpreted that way were required to either die or suffer as a result of their queerness, or be portrayed as socially unacceptable. 

This led to creatives finding ways to portray queer characters that would pass through Hays code censorship but still be understood by audiences, particularly queer audiences. Unfortunately, these coded characters became almost a blueprint for how to code villains and tragic characters as queer, to reinforce the social taboo of queerness. 

Queer coded men were often flamboyant, quick-witted, effeminate, or physically weak, and quips about their singleness later in life could similarly hint at queerness, though not always. For women, masculinity was central to queer coding, through masculine dress, short hair, and sharp/’ugly’ features, dominance and possessiveness, and again, being single. Where queer coded women were often portrayed as dangerous, queer coded men were demeaned and often played for laughs.

The biggest repeat offender when it comes to queer coding villains is Disney – so many of their villains, particularly in the 1970s-1990s (though by that time the Hays code had fallen out of use), are coded as queer. The Lion King’s Scar and Aladdin’s Jafar are precise and theatrical, while Ursula (The Little Mermaid) was designed and based on the legendary drag queen Divine. These characters are over the top, and their defining traits are their villainy, and the actions that code them as queer – it directly links queerness and villainy, and it’s interesting that the effects of the Hays code seem to have lingered much longer in children’s and family films.

There’s been some efforts to shift the conversation about Disney’s queer coded villains in the modern live action remakes. Maleficent’s sharp features contrast the softness of Aurora and the fairies, and she was cold and uninterested in the child Aurora, going as far as to curse the infant. This disinterest in the child hints at queerness as Maleficent does not conform to the expectations of women. In the live action remake, while Maleficent is transformed from a villain to an anti-hero, her queerness remains. It’s interesting, as there’s nothing explicitly queer about her character in the film, but audiences seemed to resonate with her, there was something that just felt queer about Maleficent. Perhaps it was some subconscious queer coding, too subtle to identify, but Maleficent felt queer in a way that was relatable, rather than cold.

Unfortunately, Disney continued to remake their classic animations in live action, and shortly following the success of Maleficent and Cinderella, they made Beauty and the Beast. They were very loud about how Lefou would now be, officially, their first gay character. Between a fleeting moment of the character dancing with a man, and an infatuation with Gaston that felt completely mean-spirited towards queer men, it was incredibly disappointing. To be honest, their queer coded villains of the past felt like more nuanced queer representation.

Queer coding hasn’t always been negative, though. While the origin of queer coding was predominantly to associate queerness with villainy, there was also queer coding done by and for queer people – most famously, the use of Polari in the 1960s radio show Round the Horne. The characters spoke in slang popular within the British queer community, and were played by two queer actors. While the British public enjoyed the radio show, at first, they were unfamiliar with the language used – it was an in-joke of sorts with queer people. They were being represented positively, and seeing a positive response from the audience, all from two queer coded characters.

Queer coding has stuck around – Hollywood cinema, and arguably television too, is built on conventions and shorthand, and the popularity of queer coded villains means that villainous characters are still portrayed as theatrical and over the top, villainous or anti-hero women are still masculine or uninterested in marriage and children. Many people have spoken about queer coding in modern media, and somehow, the idea of -coding characters became universal. You see conversations about book characters being ‘coded’ as a certain race in books, largely when an audience does not agree with the casting for an adaptation. You see characters being labelled as autistic-coded, often when creators don’t acknowledge that a character is portrayed with autistic traits. You also, in my least favourite kind of online discourse, see the term ‘minor-coded’ used for adult characters who are playful and childlike, or even just shorter than other characters. The thing is, even if it is the case that creators are hinting at a certain trait for a character, that doesn’t mean it’s coding. Queer coding is a very specific term with a long history in social attitudes to queerness and taboo, and to film history. The Hays code only applied to film, so I even hesitate to refer to queer coding in books.

While I think it’s great that we are expanding our media literacy by exploring tropes and techniques used to influence our interpretations of characters and media, I do think it’s important not to water down and misuse these terms.