It’s Pride Month. Or at least, that’s what the calendar says.

In reality, it’s felt like Pride Millennium for a while now — years of rainbow flags, queer-coded marketing, and Hollywood scripts that seem less concerned with story than with sexuality.

Even Walton Goggins showed up with a look that screamed, 'I’m not gay, but I want the approval of people who are.'

Everywhere you look, it's not just representation. It’s omnipresence. From cereal boxes to superhero films, we’re living in a cultural moment when the answer to every creative prompt appears to be: “Gayer, please.”

Which brings us to "American Psycho," one of the most shocking and original movies ever made.

There's no need for a second adaptation of Bret Easton Ellis' controversial 1991 novel, but try telling that to Luca Guadagnino. The "Call Me by Your Name" director recently revealed he’s working on a new interpretation of Mary Harron's shrewd 2000 satire. Which raises the question: Are we finally going to get a "queer" Patrick Bateman?

Playing gay

Not that anyone's been asking for one; it's just that Guadagnino movies tend to be a showcase for nominally heterosexual actors seeking a some fashionable same-sex street cred.

The latest thespian to do so is Daniel Craig, starring in Guadagnino's recent William S. Burroughs adaptation, "Queer." Craig gamely inhabits the title role, which calls for the former 007 to be both shaken and stirred.

Guadagnino is hardly the only Hollywood player bent on departing from the straight and narrow, however. Frankly, everything seems to be gay today.

Metrosexual Zeus

Recently, Netflix canceled "Kaos" after just one season. For the uninitiated, this dark comedy starred Jeff Goldblum as a metrosexual Zeus in eyeliner. Campy, mythic, and unmistakably queer-coded.

I watched it out of curiosity. I left feeling confused — not necessarily offended, just immensely fatigued.

Let me be clear. I’m no homophobe. But when every cultural artifact, from prestige TV to shampoo commercials, feels like it needs a rainbow sticker slapped on top, I start to ask: What are we doing?

Take the most recent season of "The White Lotus" — an excellent show. Strong performances. Razor-sharp satire. And then came that storyline — graphic scenes involving two brothers.

The director might call it “bold.” I’d call it gratuitous. And I’m not alone.

Same-sex 'Seasons'

Or take "The Four Seasons," a new Netflix series based on Alan Alda's 1981 film about three married couples navigating friendship and divorce as they weather middle age. Sounds intriguing.

But this is 2025, after all, so naturally they make one of the couples gay. And naturally, that's all they do with the pair — content to have them sleepwalk through another formulaic subplot involving long, moody stares and romance scenes edited like soft-core opera.

"Representation" is the order of the day — and quantity seems to matter more than quality. Viewers are expected to applaud on cue at the requisite inclusion, no matter how gratuitous or ham-fisted. To raise objections is to risk exile. To even notice the pattern is to be branded backward.

Camp-soaked charade

And this trend didn’t start yesterday. We’ve seen it coming for years. Look back to shows like "Glee," "Euphoria," or "Sex Education," where what began as character development often slid into sexual politics as a sordid spectacle.

Even mainstream talent like Harry Styles — immensely gifted, undeniably straight — started dressing like a backup dancer in a Bowie tribute act: dresses, pearls, puffed sleeves. The vibe was clear: Masculinity needed to be softened, queered, or ridiculed to be palatable.

It’s not just on the small screen. "Gladiator II," the sequel no one asked for, was hailed in some corners as elevated and modern. However, the people doing the hailing could just as easily be described as delusional.

The original "Gladiator was," by and large, a masterpiece — gripping, powerful, unforgettable. The sequel, on the other hand, was a camp-soaked charade with no real story to anchor it.

What we got instead was Denzel Washington and Paul Mescal circling each other with simmering homoerotic tension. Less swords and sandals. More silk robes and smoldering glances. Less Rome, more runway.

And then there was this year’s Met Gala, allegedly a celebration of culture and style. In reality, however, it was a couture clown show, a drag ball underwritten by Vogue.

Saturation, not representation

Even Walton Goggins — 53, married (to a woman), manly in the Southern Gothic way — showed up looking like a 2006 queer icon. His look screamed: “I’m not gay, but I want the approval of people who are.”

That’s the thing. It’s not just “representation.” It’s saturation. Every ad. Every movie. Every awards show. It’s in the superhero franchises. In the rom-coms. In the cereal aisle. What started as inclusion has mutated into insistence. You will watch. You will clap. And if you dare say it feels forced, you’re accused of intolerance.

I’m not suggesting removing gay characters entirely. I’m asking why it feels like every cultural product is now filtered through the same aesthetic. Why is every story gay-adjacent, if not gay-immersed?

Let it be

Why are straight men in media now expected to dress like Elton John’s wardrobe exploded? Even sports commentary, car ads, and children’s programming now feel the need to signal their inclusivity with nods that often feel more performative than sincere. There’s a difference between making space and making everything about that space.

We’re not expanding the culture any more. We’re narrowing it, subtly suggesting that the only way to be edgy, artistic, or socially conscious is through this very specific lens.

I want real stories. Real variety. Let gay characters be gay. Let straight ones be straight. Let masculinity exist without being a punch line. Let women be beautiful without apologizing. Let some things just be.

But in today’s cultural algorithm, that kind of balance isn’t brave. It’s sacrilegious. So I ask again: Why is everything gay? Because to challenge it, even slightly, is now the ultimate taboo. And that, more than anything, should give us pause.