The Confession I Needed to Make About Being a Gay Creator

Over the last year, I learned something uncomfortable about being a Black queer creator navigating social media, brand partnerships, and the creator economy. And since my platform is built on honesty and community, it’s time I say it plainly:

I spent a year trying to make my content more digestible for straight people — specifically straight women.

Not because I wanted to, but because I thought I had to. They are the gatekeeper to the larger brands- they run the social teams and the marketing department.

What I discovered along the way says a lot about the industry, about how queer creators are valued, and about how I decided to show up.

Why I Tried to Be “More Palatable”

Let’s not pretend: Y'all, straight brands pay more.

And when you’re a creator trying to grow, trying to build stability, or trying to take care of yourself, you start noticing patterns quickly.

In my experience:

• Straight-owned companies invest more financially.

• Gay-owned companies invest through "validation" and popularity… but not at the same level.

• The creator economy rewards “safe,” digestible queerness — not the real thing. (this is not ALL LGBTQ companies, but it's a lot.)
  

That reality pushed me toward a version of myself that brands would find more comfortable, but that didn’t actually represent my identity or community.

The Two Types of Gay Creators Who Get Mainstream Approval

The industry tends to uplift only two categories of gay creators:

The “Hallmark Gays”

Friendly, soft, relationship-based, family-safe.They don’t show queer culture because they don’t really live inside it.

The Beauty Gays

The girlies see them as “one of the girls.” They’re glam, soft, aesthetic — and straight audiences understand them.

Both are valid. Both deserve recognition. But they represent a tiny portion of queer life.

What’s missing is the representation of the average gay man:

• the nightlife

• the stories

• the friendships

• the culture

• the heartbreaks

• the rebuilding

• the humor

• the mess

• the joy
  

That version of queerness? Brands call it “too gay.”

The Comment That Made Everything Click

One day, someone commented under a shirtless photo — nothing unusual, I’m from Florida, being shirtless is my natural habitat — and he asked:

“Do you ever get tired of being a sex symbol in the gay community?”

And suddenly, it all connected. No matter how much I evolve or diversify my content, my body and my skin tone get will read as sexual first because, A. fetishization and B. we're talking about gay men here, men are men regardless of sexuality.

If you put me next to a fair-skinned, smooth creator, in the same pose, same lighting, same vibe?

• I’m the “sexual one.”

• He’s the “aesthetic one.”
  

Not opinion. Pattern.

And for so many Black and brown gay men, this is our lived experience — appreciated, but not always allowed to have that range, or that range to be seen as valid.

But Representation Still Matters

Here’s the twist: I’m not ashamed of being seen as sexy.

I can't tell you how many black men have come up to me and said my confidence, my body, my presence has helped them feel seen, feel represented, feel powerful — and that matters deeply to me. It always has.

What I am done with is shrinking myself and my humor for brand safety.

From Now On, I’m Showing Our Actual Community

I’m doubling down on:

• queer experiences

• queer joy

• queer nightlife

• queer perspectives

• queer travel

• queer identity

• queer storytelling
  

Our world deserves to be shown — not sanitized.

And if certain brands or audiences can’t handle it? That’s fine.

I’ll get the bag another way.

Because authenticity ages better than conformity, and community lasts longer than a campaign.

Why I’m Sharing This Now

Because too many queer creators feel this pressure silently. Too many think they need to flatten themselves to be marketable. Too many think being “too gay” will hold them back.

I’m here to say: You don’t have to shrink to fit into rooms that were never built for us.

And if my platform can open even one door — or make one person feel less alone — then this conversation is worth having out loud.

Final Thoughts

Different audiences connect to different parts of me — travel, photography, humor, language learning, relationships, culture. But the foundation of everything I create is queer storytelling. That will always come first.

Thank you for being here, for growing with me, and for allowing me to show up as my full self — not the digestible version of me the industry thinks it wants.

If you enjoy conversations like this, or want more insight into queer travel, Brazil, LGBTQ+ culture, and community, follow me on Instagram @amir_morris and check out my upcoming travel guides.

Our stories deserve to be told loudly — and I’m not done telling them.