Queer Shame and Reclamation: Transforming Internalized Homophobia in Girls Can Kiss Now

The Thematic Claim: From Shame to Queer Power

Jill Gutowitz’s Girls Can Kiss Now argues that queer shame is not an innate feeling but a learned response to cultural forces—homophobic jokes, male-gaze exploitation, and the “step on me” phenomenon that eroticizes submission. The book traces how these forces train queer women to yearn without acting, to distrust their own desires, and to equate lesbianism with danger or illness. Yet the same cultural tools that inflicted shame can be reclaimed: gossip, speculation, and fandom become vehicles for community and self-definition. Gutowitz models a journey from internalized homophobia to proud, playful reclamation.

Shame Internalized: Three Moments of Cultural Poisoning

1. The “Uber Dyke” Lesson (Chapter 3)

In Chapter 3, Gutowitz dissects a scene from Bring It On that taught her to distrust her instincts. Missy, the cool, confident cheerleader in a choker and wallet chain, is immediately labeled an “uber dyke” by the villain Courtney. The movie never condemns the homophobic slur—instead, Torrance only scolds Courtney for being mean, not for being homophobic. To thirteen-year-old Gutowitz, the message was clear: liking Missy meant being gay, and being gay meant forfeiting normalcy. She began policing her own tastes, suppressing admiration for anything that could read as queer. The “uber dyke” moment encapsulates how 2000s media weaponized casual homophobia to make queer desire feel shameful.

2. Perez Hilton and the Villainization of Lesbianism (Chapter 3)

Perez Hilton’s campaign against Samantha Ronson—calling her “lezbot” and “SaMANtha,” blaming her for Lindsay Lohan’s addiction—conflated lesbianism with mental illness and predation. Gutowitz internalized this logic: “If Lindsay struggles with her mental health and she’s dating a woman, that must mean the crazies and junkies are the people who end up being queer.” She saw queerness as a force to fight, something that could be beaten through willpower. Hilton’s profitable exploitation of outing and slurs reinforced the idea that being gay was scandalous and shameful, and that visibility came at a cost.

3. The Yearn Cage (Chapter 5)

Gutowitz describes the “yearn cage” as a mental trap built by lesbian cinema: movies like Blue Is the Warmest Colour and Lost and Delirious taught her that love means suffering, that you can want but never have, and that tragedy is the natural endpoint. She internalized the script “you can finally want things, but you can never act on them.” This yearning became a love language—glances across rooms, never approaching—that felt safer than risking rejection or homophobic backlash. The cage was comfortable because suffering felt like the correct feeling.

Reclamation: Turning Tools of Shame into Power

1. Reclaiming the “Uber Dyke” as Iconic

By Chapter 12, Gutowitz has built a “current lesbian canon”—a fluid, subjective list that includes oat milk, anxiety, and the moon. This canon is itself queer because it is malleable and constantly morphing. She reframes the “uber dyke” not as a slur but as a compliment: Missy was cool, hot, and confident. Gutowitz now celebrates the very markers she once feared. The shift from “lesbian detected” to “pioneer, baby!” shows how a symbol of shame can become a badge of pride.

2. Reclaiming Gossip and Speculation

In Chapter 3, Gutowitz admits her own participation in “Gaylor” Taylor Swift theories, questioning whether she has become a villain like Perez Hilton. She concludes that her speculation seeks community, not harm. Where Hilton used outing to profit from shame, Gutowitz uses queer reading to find connection—a reclamation of the same tools. She acknowledges the complexity: “I can also understand that he himself might have felt wounded and afraid… Maybe he too wanted to be less alone in the world.” The difference is intent and impact. Gutowitz’s reclamation is a conscious attempt to turn speculation into a generative force.

3. Reclaiming Love Over Yearning (Chapter 14)

During quarantine, Gutowitz experiences a breakdown while listening to Taylor Swift’s folklore—a werewolf transformation that forces her to confront her obsession with fame and achievement. She emerges with a new priority: “I no longer want to be special—just to be with [Emma].” This is the final reclamation: rejecting the yearn cage that said love must be tragic and unattainable. She chooses presence over longing, partnership over performance. The book ends not with a kiss but with a commitment to mundane, enduring love—the opposite of the glamorous suffering she once romanticized.

Complexity and Contradiction

Gutowitz refuses a simple arc from shame to pride. She admits she still wrestles with the internalized script: “It’s been nearly impossible to suck it out, no matter how hard I try.” She also recognizes that her own queer speculation might cause harm, even if her intent is benign. The book does not claim to have escaped shame entirely; instead, it offers a process of constant negotiation. The “step on me” phenomenon—where queer women eroticize submission—is another layer: Gutowitz suggests that even when we reclaim desire, we may still be replaying old scripts of worthlessness. But naming that pattern is itself an act of reclamation.

Symbols and Characters in the Thematic Web

Study Questions and Answers

1. How does Gutowitz use the Bring It On scene to illustrate the internalization of shame?
   The scene taught Gutowitz that her instinct to admire Missy—who was cool, confident, and gay—was wrong because being gay meant being outcast. The movie never criticized the homophobic slur, so Gutowitz learned to suppress her tastes and police her own behavior.

2. What is the “yearn cage,” and how does it reflect broader cultural messages to queer women?
   The yearn cage is Gutowitz’s term for the cultural script that says same-sex love must be tragic, unrequited, or brief. It emerges from lesbian films and rom-coms that depict yearning as the highest form of love, discouraging queer women from pursuing actual relationships.

3. How does Gutowitz differentiate her own queer speculation from Perez Hilton’s?
   Hilton outed celebrities maliciously for profit and attention, causing real harm. Gutowitz speculates about Taylor Swift’s queerness to find community and meaning; she examines her intent and worries about becoming a villain, but concludes her energy is “positive and lighthearted.” The difference lies in intent, impact, and willingness to self-critique.

4. What role does the lesbian canon play in reclamation?
   The canon is a subjective, ever-growing list of queer-coded people, objects, and concepts. By curating it, Gutowitz transforms the scarcity and shame of the 2000s into abundance and pride. The list’s fluidity reflects queerness itself, allowing her to claim ownership of what was once hidden.

5. How does the book’s ending—choosing Emma over fame—represent a reclamation of queer love?
   Gutowitz had long prioritized celebrity and achievement as a way to escape her identity. In Chapter 14, she realizes that love with Emma is “more fulfilling than fame” and no longer needs to be special. This rejects the yearn cage’s tragic narrative and embraces a queer love that is ordinary, present, and daily—not spectacular or suffering-based.