Like many queer millennials, I first experienced body positivity through Lady Gaga’s music and “born this way” philosophy. As a young, closeted queer person still trying to find my footing in terms of style, self-love, and identity, there aren’t a lot of artists in my generation that I feel like really speak to me. Being limited to my small town's pop radio stations and my parents' music collection, nothing I saw or heard in the mainstream resonated with me. I didn’t know any pop stars who were queer or reflected my own aesthetic preferences. Everything I saw was too straightforward, too bubblegum, and too boring.
When I first saw Gaga's Just Dance video in 2008, I nearly died. I couldn't take my eyes off the screen as she appeared drunk, unapologetically sexy astride an inflatable whale in a kiddie pool, with a blue lightning bolt on her right cheek. For weeks, I begged my mom to give me a disco bra. It wasn’t until Poker Face came out, when Gaga opened up about her bisexuality, that my fascination with her was solidified. By the time Fame Monster came out in 2009—and with it came darker, weirder images—I considered myself a “little monster.”
Gaga has broken many barriers, both musically and sartorially. But she also helped deconstruct the barriers between my self-hating, closeted teenage self and my sparkling genderqueer unicorn identity. Back when queer body positivity wasn't that common (how I wish people like Hari Nef and Laverne Cox had been visible during my childhood) and the term "genderqueer" wasn't known to most of the public Knowing that, Gaga was completely essential on this path to developing greater confidence in my queer body. The sex-positive, colorful, and gender-fluid images she evoked in her videos and clothing predated current images of body-positive icons by years, and she was one of the only mainstream artists to project such an image at the time. Gaga showed me the true beauty of queer bodies and helped me realize that I was a sexual, lipstick-loving, non-binary person. Before body positivity became mainstream—and before so many people told me I should represent my queer self authentically and proudly—there was Gaga.
Although I aligned myself with Lady Gaga on queer issues, this time in her career impacted my fashion sense more than anything else (Gaga's androgynous beauty looks would come later). It was through her “Bad Romance” video that I was introduced to the avant-garde designs of the late Alexander McQueen and quickly fell in love with them. Before Gaga, and before I became obsessed with every designer she worked with, I had never really been interested in or informed about style. But the musician's stunning outfits (like her machine-gun bra in the "Alejandro" video and the flesh-toned dress she rocked at the 2010 VMAs) showed me art I could identify with, as well as something that was simultaneously confusing and Empowering style. Gaining power within my own queer identity—an identity that many people feel confused about—feels like an extension of this class.
However, I didn’t begin to have that power until the release of her 2011 album Born This Way , a dedicated love letter to all her young queer fans who felt like they didn’t fit in. "Born This Way" became my anthem as I got closer and closer to acknowledging my queer identity. I didn't come out until two years later, but I took the time to listen to her third album on repeat to build myself up. Her body positivity and her preaching of unconditional self-love kind of saved my life. She helped me appreciate my weirdness and start hating myself less.
Gaga's influence has definitely had a similar impact on other "little monsters" I know on Tumblr. Because of Gaga, we have created a sacred space where we can discuss and express our changing sexuality and gender without fear and support each other through it. This internet space is dedicated to cheering each other on when we come out to our families and supporting each other when we are kicked out of our homes. We can express our beautiful, androgynous selves, documenting radical hairstyles and new piercings.
In this area, I am more of an observer and supporter than an active participant. But it helped me develop and strengthen my own body positivity and gave me tools to cope with the difficulties of queer identity. I wanted so badly to get involved and live an active life as a queer person, but fear stopped me. However, listening to Gaga's "Hair" on repeat became the catalyst for my first rebellious and strange behavior: dyeing my hair.
In the song, Gaga discusses her desire to be herself, how all the different ways she dyes her hair reflect her changing identity, and how her parents often stood in the way of this self-actualization. As a dyed-haired virgin who grew up with overprotective parents, this resonates with me. As a closeted queer person who desperately needed some way to express my identity, I finally took the plunge and dyed my hair blonde and purple at age 17. The change I once feared became a habit as I slowly transformed my mane every few months to get closer to how I felt inside.
Then, Joe Calderon was born. Gaga's (male) alter ego, from her "You And I" music video, took the VMA stage in 2011, and my genderqueer body could barely handle the excitement. Through the swagger and masculine posturing of this character that Gaga readily adopts, she seems to be telling me to embrace and acknowledge my masculinity. It seemed like she saw the real me underneath the ultra-feminine clothes I wore every day in high school. I was disappointed that Joe Calderon never came back after that night. He's not an act to me. But Gaga helped me find who I really was, stumbling drunkenly around the stage and living out (I came to realize) my own fantasies. I know I'm not a guy, but I'm not a girl either. I am ready to start living my truth.
I will be forever grateful to Gaga (or "Monster Mom" as I used to call her). She laid a solid foundation for self-love and authentic living later on. She taught me to express my sexuality without shame and to wear makeup when I wanted to. Liberation, she told me, could be as simple as changing your hair color or getting a new tattoo. She taught me all these things before “body positivity” started trending on Twitter or there were hit shows on Netflix starring transgender actors.
Most importantly, she taught me to never be ashamed of my genderqueer identity and that I had a responsibility to express myself honestly. Thanks in part to her music, my days of wearing chiffon tops and tweed pencil skirts are gone. I love button-down shirts, black lipstick, and vaginas that aren’t labeled “woman.” I was born this way, baby.
