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Identity

A message to my fellow Christians: I hope you're having a super uncomfortable Pride month

I know from painful, hard-earned experience what discomfort can do to change minds.

Photo credits: Mary Katherine Backstrom, Steve Johnson/Pexels

Nobody should live in fear.

This post was originally published on Substack. You can find it here.

I was a small town, conservative girl when my husband and I relocated to Orlando, Florida. I spent my time going from work to the barn, work to the barn, crying as I brushed my horse's mane.

"I'll never make friends in this town,” I sobbed over the phone with my mom one night.

The next day at work, I met Matt.

He had a brilliant smile and a southern drawl and he sounded like home. He loved horses, too, having spent years doing rodeo. Our friendship was instant and easy.

He visited the barn and taught me how to lasso. I picked up his favorite latte on the way to work. And on our lunch breaks, he would gush all about the love of his life, Jesse. I assumed Jesse was a girl, but that assumption turned out to be wrong. When we all met for lunch one day, I couldn't conceal my shock.

"Oh my GOSH, Matt! You're gay?"

"Um, DUH." He laughed. “Did the cowboy hat throw you off?”

I then remembered he had recently pointed out a bar a few blocks from my house. He mentioned that it was a fun place to go, and I replied that one day we should….but I hadn’t noticed the rainbow details.

"MK, your gay-dar isn't malfunctioning. It's completely nonexistent."

Matt and Jesse told me funny stories about drag contests and bouncers who wore shorty shorts. They insisted I would love Thursday night karaokes, but I assured them it wasn't my scene.

I blushed and giggled a little at the idea. It sounded fun, if not a bit scandalous.

Two people smiling together wearing Pride gear

Pride is not just some party.

Mary Katherine Backstrom

A week or so after that hilarious lunch date, I was driving home from a friend’s house, when I witnessed a young lady get struck by a car. I swerved to the side of the road and jumped out of my vehicle, screaming.

In an instant, people poured out of the bar to assist in the emergency. I barely registered that they were dressed flamboyantly. Their make up didn't strike me as strange. In that moment, we were all scared human beings. Their hearts were racing just like mine.

A drag queen cradled the woman’s head in his hands as I called the police.

“Don’t move, baby girl,” he comforted the woman. “Don’t mess up these pretty braids.”

It was a fraction of a moment that felt like forever. I can still hear her crying for Momma. Thankfully, the club was a block from the hospital. The ambulance arrived in an instant.

When the lights and sirens finally faded, my adrenaline couldn’t handle silence. It was like every one of us had been shaken like soft drinks, and in that moment, we had all cracked open. There were hugs and prayers exchanged between strangers. I remember someone humming a hymn.

Then slowly, one by one, the crowd dispersed. We had to go back to our lives. But not before exchanging a couple of phone numbers, promising to disperse any updates.

I called my friends, Matt and Jesse. I knew the gay community was a close one and I wondered if they had heard any news.

Matt asked around, but didn’t hear much.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We will know more tomorrow.”

I decided to stay up until then.

The next morning, we all went to breakfast with the drag queens who had started a text thread for updates. We bonded over hash browns and our collective trauma—and after coffee, just some regular life stories.

The woman, we learned, was in critical condition. Two broken legs and a fractured spine. James, who had cradled her head so gently, had probably saved her life. Turns out, he had done so with great intention because not only was he a drag queen, but once a month he returned to his rural hometown to serve as a medic for the volunteer fire department.

A hero. An absolute gem of a human.

Two years later, those same gentle heroes were working their jobs at Pulse when a hate-crazed terrorist made his way through the doors with a semi-automatic rifle. When he first started shooting, some patrons kept dancing.

They thought it was part of the music.

That detail never fails wreck my heart.

They kept dancing.

They just wanted to dance.

I’ll never forget the pit in my stomach as I stared at my phone through the night. Praying each name in that years-long text thread was sleeping at home in their beds. After four sleepless nights, we received confirmation—two of the group had been working. Both had escaped and survived the massacre.

But it wasn’t a happy ending.

An act of hate forever changed their lives, and they were deeply, irreversibly altered. One turned to drugs and the other disappeared. I pray he is still alive, somewhere.

But, yes. They survived. Thank God, I should say.

In an act of terror that killed 49 and hurt scores more, they were the lucky ones.

But when I think of that word...”lucky”.

God, it honestly pisses me off.

That’s how low the bar is, y’all. That’s where we are as a society.

Our gay friends are sometimes just lucky to survive.

How can this be who we are?

If you talk to the LGBTQ community, and I mean really get to know them, you will hear a whole lot of heart breaking versions of what they consider to be “lucky.”

Their parents didn’t disown them. They are lucky.

They haven’t been physically assaulted. Lucky.

They survived a terrorist attack.

Lucky.

I am so deeply over this shit.

Nobody, nobody should live in fear. Nobody should feel lucky that they’ve avoided physical abuse, or emotional abuse, or my Lord, mass murder.

Six short years after the Pulse shooting, what is it going to take?

Look how broken America is. Look what this hate has cost us.

And look at the religious mouthpieces for hate who are becoming more and more emboldened.

Just last week, I posted a meme celebrating the beginning of Pride. It said:

Wishing all the homophobes a SUPER uncomfortable month!

I post it every year and I usually laugh my butt off. It’s too easy to predict all the comments. It’s the same old crap, different mouths, every year.

“Well, that’s not very Christlike.”

“I don't hate anyone! I hate the sin, but I don’t hate the sinner.”

“Ohhhhhh, well who is intolerant now?”

This year, I am truly done laughing. I used to abide this shit, but to be honest, I really can’t do it, anymore. I’ve read and I’ve lived through enough horrible history to understand this terrible truth: Polite hate is the most dangerous kind of hate. It loads the gun, then just backs away quietly.

Christians, please, open your eyes. It’s two thousand and freaking twenty four. I know that you know exactly how this works. You don’t get a pass for good manners.

I won’t let you hide behind pat platitudes when your beliefs give motive to terrorists.

You don’t get to say “it’s the sin that I hate” when that mantra makes bullets for terrorists.

And yah, I guess you could call me intolerant. Smack that sticker on my forehead, I don’t care. For years, I have tolerated far too much from the bigoted backrow Baptists. But the paradox of tolerance states that if a society's practice of tolerance is inclusive of the intolerant…in the end, intolerance will win the day.

And that’s exactly how people die dancing.

So yah, not only do I wish the homophobes reading an incredibly uncomfortable month—I hope this discomfort convicts your soul, and makes you question EVERYTHING. I hope the itch in your spirit spreads to places you can’t bend over to scratch.

I hope enough people walk away from your screeching that you are left alone with your hate. And I hope that hate makes you sick to your stomach when you realize the harm it has caused.

Being gay is not a sin. And Pride is not some party.

It’s a courageous protest that weak minded fearful bigots just can’t comprehend.

It’s authenticity in the face of oppression. Vulnerability in the face of violence.

Pride is the spirit of millions of people who have chosen to dance in the crosshairs.

Growing up in the church, I was frequently told that there are evil forces at work. That these forces were fighting against God’s will, and causing harm to His people. Now, I can see that the threat was true, but it was coming from inside the house.

There are evil, hateful forces at work right now…against the LGBTQ community. Some of those forces look like Saints when they’re hiding behind stained glass.

It’s gonna take a force, equal and opposite in power and passion, to turn the church around. So, if you’re a Christian who has been fence-sitting this issue, it’s time to get off the damn fence.

This June, I beg you to look past the prejudice and the preaching you’ve had crammed down your throat your whole life. Look past your anger, and your pastor’s fear. Look at these beautiful humans. Trying with all their hearts to claim the dignity and love and safety that they, as humans, deserve.

This?

THIS is what you are scared of?

These are the forces of evil?

If that’s what you think then, my friend, you’ve been brainwashed.

I get it. I was brainwashed, too.

But all along, I deep down in my heart, I knew there was something amiss. I couldn’t quite rationalize what I knew of God’s love with the hate I saw coming from church.

For twenty years, I was too afraid to challenge my faith. I thought that it might fall apart.

But that is EXACTLY why I wish all the homophobes a SUPER uncomfortable month. Because I know from painful, hard-earned experience what discomfort can do to change minds.

So, instead of doubling down on your hateful theology…I ask you, non-affirming Christians, in the name of our faith. In the name of God’s love.

Will you please put your weapons down?

Will you consider the lesson that I learned on the street in front of Pulse so many years ago?

Will you feel the heartbeats of your fellow humans, and for once SEE YOURSELF IN THEM?

I beg you to try.

I beg you to grow.

It’s already been far too late.

You can follow Mary Katherine Backstrom on Facebook, Instagram and TikTok.

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The reason Perez Hilton hopes his son isn't gay is actually heartbreaking.

"I purposefully would not put my son in dance class because dance class might make your kid gay," said internet personality Perez Hilton during his March 27 podcast.

The shocked co-host, Chris Booker, gave Hilton the opportunity to walk back the comments or say he was joking, but Hilton was persistent: "I think dance class can make your kid gay."

It was a bizarre, stereotype-laden assertion, not particularly grounded in anything aside from Hilton's observation that a lot of professional male dancers happen to be gay.

The backlash was swift, and at least some portion of it was deserved. Dance Magazine's Courtney Escoyne wrote, "Are there gay men in dance? Yes. Did dancing make them that way? No." GayRVA's Marilyn Drew Necci pointed to Hilton as proof that "you don't have to be straight to be homophobic."

The idea that a parent's decision to let their child take up one hobby or another can influence the child's gender identity or sexuality is steeped in harmful ideas that makes up the basis of a lot of junk science-driven "conversion therapy."

It's obviously not something Hilton meant to contribute to, but nevertheless, he got a few rounds of applause from social conservatives.

"I would prefer if my son was heterosexual," Hilton continued in another particularly startling comment coming from an out gay man.

There's a bit more nuance to this one, however.

When Booker asked what's wrong with being gay, Hilton replied, "Well, nothing, clearly, but I would prefer if my son was heterosexual. If I had to choose, I would prefer to be heterosexual, too. It would be easier."

There, he actually has a great point: As much progress as has been made when it comes to LGBTQ rights and acceptance over the past several decades, there's still a lot of work left to do. Homophobia, sexism, and racism are still hardwired into our culture as well-connected systems of oppression, and it's completely understandable that a parent would hope their child wouldn't have to experience that.

Even still, dance class will not make a straight boy gay any more than playing football will turn a gay boy straight.

The world isn't hard because being LGBTQ inherently makes it so, but because society still chooses to make it hard for LGBTQ people.

According to the Human Rights Campaign's "Growing Up LGBT in America" survey, 42% of LGBT youth say that their community is not accepting of people like them, they are nearly twice as likely to have reported being physically assaulted by peers, and a remarkable 92% say they see and hear negative messages about LGBT people on a regular basis.

The problem isn't LGBTQ people: The problem is a world that still can't fully accept and respect their existence. A more accepting world can produce significantly better outcomes for LGBTQ youth.

For example, a 2018 study published in the Journal of Adolescent Health found that the simple act of recognizing and using transgender people's chosen names can reduce the likelihood of depression and thoughts of suicide.

"Many kids who are transgender have chosen a name that is different than the one that they were given at birth," study author Stephen T. Russell told UT News. "We showed that the more contexts or settings where they were able to use their preferred name, the stronger their mental health was."

UCLA's Williams Institute came to a similar conclusion in a 2014 study, finding that the effects of discrimination can increase the likelihood that a trans person will attempt suicide. A 2017 study in the American Journal of Men's Health found the same about gay men and suicide attempts.

"I never have really spoken in depth about how hard it was me being a gay boy in a Latino and religious family and school environment."

Like other parents, Hilton admits that he doesn't have all the answers. He hopes that the nuance needed to make his point shines through.

"Is what I said problematic? Yes! Is parenting and our past baggage and family dynamics complex? Yes!" he writes in a direct message.

He clarifies that he would sign his son up for dance classes if asked, adding that the example was a bit of a hypothetical and noting that if it were possible to "make" his son gay, having Hilton for a father would probably do the trick faster than any dance class ever could. But he knows it doesn't work like that.

"Parenting is hard," he says. "Being a gay parent is harder. Being a gay parent in the public eye is even harder. None of this is easy. But at the end of the day, the only opinion that matters about how I parent my children is my own."

Hilton with daughter Mia and son Mario. Photo by Matt Winkelmeyer/Getty Images for Santa's Secret Workshop 2017.

If we're to give Hilton the benefit of the doubt, it's because he just wants his son to live a happy and healthy life.

It's just sad that, for now at least, that means he hopes his son doesn't end up being gay. "So much would have to change," Hilton tells Upworthy in a Twitter direct message:

"Not just externally but also in the households, in the relatives' homes, in the schools. I never have really spoken in depth about how hard it was me being a gay boy in a Latino and religious family and school environment. It is still hard for young gay boys in those communities. Not for all, clearly, but for many. So communities have to change. And the country needs to follow."

It's a hard truth, but he's right.

Hopefully, eventually, all that will happen. But in the meantime, it's on all of us to tear down those systems of oppression in society and for us to realize just how harmful our actions can be to members of groups that face discrimination — both visible and invisible.

There's nothing Hilton can do to determine whether his son will be gay or not, but there is something we can do to help make this less of a worry for families across the country: Take a stand for LGBTQ kids, for women, and for people of color.

Hilton and his son Mario attend the 2017 GLSEN Respect Awards. Photo by Valerie Macon/AFP/Getty Images.

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A church put women and LGBTQ people first. Attendance surged.

This church is redefining the relationship between the Black church and queer people.

On a rainy day in Harlem, Rev. Kyndra Frazier, 36, works at her desk at in a quiet office. She’s visibly relaxed, self-aware, and youthful.

Yet her journey to becoming a leader of one of the largest, most historic African American churches in New York City and exuding such confidence wasn’t easy.        

Rev. Frazier was raised in North Carolina. Her family were leaders in the Church of God, so from a young age she found solace and enjoyment in her faith. But her teenage years were conflicted.  

Rev. Frazier is queer — a life the church was starkly against.  

She struggled to reconcile her sexuality and faith, fasting and praying, to no avail. Her parents found out about her queerness while listening in on a phone call between Frazier and her secret girlfriend.

“I recall being ashamed and embarrassed by what they’d heard, Rev. Frazier says. “They let me know that they couldn’t trust me anymore.”    

It took about eight years for her immediate family to accept her. It took even longer for Frazier to realize she could love who she chooses and be a faith-driven person.  

This duality drew Rev. Frazier to First Corinthian Baptist Church (FCBC) and its executive pastor, Rev. Michael A. Walrond, Jr.

Rev. Walrond enjoys preaching in jeans. Photo courtesy of FCBC.

Rev. Waldron, 46, leans into the common themes of Black church identity in his teachings: faith, community, and a dedication to justice.    

Unlike many Baptist clergy, though, Rev. Walrond has extended his message of tolerance and inclusion to a group typically excluded from ministry: the LGBTQ community.

“We as people of color have so many things that we battle with,” Rev. Frazier says. “For many of us, not only are we Black, ... we're also queer. Churches have to do the work that centers those folks and remind them that they’re valid and loved in such challenging times.”  

Rev. Waldron’s progressive nature breathes through every part of the church. Since joining as the executive pastor in 2004, he's surrounded himself with women leaders, a rarity in most churches. His preaching style is casual; he wears jeans — unusual against his suit-and-tie counterparts in Baptist churches around the nation. (He once told The New York Times, “I like being loose when I go out to preach.”)        

But his mannerisms and unique style of preaching connect congregants to the deeper acceptance of each churchgoer in the room. At FCBC, you’re at home, you’re welcome, and nothing — from clothing to sexual orientation — gets in the way of that.

All three of FCBC's Sunday morning services are typically filled to capacity. Photo courtesy of FCBC.

The inclusive efforts have been largely beneficial. FCBC's membership has grown from 350 to 10,000+ people.

Lines of people wrap around the street on Sunday mornings. During the service, gospel music echoes through the white ceilings lined with purple and gold. Churchgoers are each immersed in their own spiritual experiences inside this space that exudes warmth and solidarity.      

It was on a similar Sunday in 2016 that Rev. Frazier came out to the congregation, something nearly unheard of in most religious spaces. For the FCBC’s queer membership, it was especially incredible.

“To see her pronounce who she was openly gay in the pulpit was a huge thing for me to see,” said Olando Charles, a queer member of the church. “If she can make it, so can I.”          

Olando Charles is an active member of FCBC and the HOPE Center. Photo by the author.

Rev. Frazier's visibility in the pulpit likely couldn't have happened without Rev. Walrond constantly striving to bring people of all backgrounds to the church.

While Rev. Walrond's actions aren't surprising to many of his congregants, his outreach — and style of operating a church — are unusual in American church culture: Catholic churches have fired openly gay priests, several churches have removed queer musicians, priests have been fired for vocally supporting LGBTQ rights, and women overall still struggle to be viewed as viable leaders in churches all over the country.

The pastors of FCBC are needed now more than ever.

To reach the most marginalized in the FCBC and Harlem communities, Rev. Waldron opened the HOPE (Healing On Purpose and Evolving) Center to provide free mental health and therapy services.

The HOPE Center is just a few blocks away from FCBC. Photo by the author.

He tapped Rev. Frazier in 2016 to spearhead the organization. The two first met in 2012, and their professional admiration and relationship grew from there.

Before accepting the position, though, Rev. Frazier knew she needed to come out to Rev. Walrond. “He made it clear that it wasn’t an issue,” she says, explaining that Waldron embraced her and saw her sexuality as a gift instead of a problem. He believed she would be able to advocate for the Black, queer people of Harlem who felt unseen in their churches.    

Rev. Frazier continues, “For him to believe in me and trust me to have autonomy to create mental health space was huge and empowering.”  

The center works with those who have experienced or are experiencing religious trauma, loneliness, depression, anxiety, and/or chronic spiritual abuse.

“I remember going to the church and people telling me I didn’t belong,” Tanzania Stone, a queer FCBC member recalls. “It was heartbreaking. I loved God, but they made it out to seem like God didn’t love me because of who I love.”

Stone went through several periods of time when she wasn’t engaged with the church.

“To be a woman of color and to constantly know that you’re being oppressed in society, you want to find refuge in a church,” she explains. “And to go to this place that you’re being told is a refuge, but when they find out who you choose to love, you find out you’re an outcast or an abomination? That hurts.”

Tanzania Stone often participates in FCBC outreach. Photo by the author.

Stone eventually found her place in FCBC and HOPE. “To finally be in a place where I’m being told, no, you are a child of God, you’re worthy of God’s love, it was so liberating,” she told me.

Rev. Frazier says her own experiences with dissenting family members and frustrations in the church motivate her work.  

“My goal here is to create a space for people of color,” she explains. “The stigma has been so great for Black and Brown folks seeking mental health services; this space is truly designated for us.”  

And she says this is just the beginning. A ministry for LGBTQ people — just like there are for men, women, married couples in the faith — is an essential next step to affirming the group.  

Frazier hopes that FCBC will be an example for other churches across the nation because, historically, churches have failed to provide a safe space for queer communities.

Rev. Frazier knows role likely couldn’t have happened 60 years ago (much less 10), given the fraught history of queer people in Black history.

Bayard Rustin — one of the most brilliant and strategic minds of the civil rights movement — was virtually erased from history books about the era because he was gay. Though his influence was often kept behind closed doors, it’s documented that Rustin was one of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s most trusted confidants.

Even outside of the church, the work of queer Black leaders and thinkers such as Audre Lorde and James Baldwin were somewhat ignored and not brought to light in mainstream history until recent years due to pervasive, deep-rooted homophobia.                      

Churches like FCBC are working to change that.

With roughly 79% of Black Americans identifying as Christians — the largest group of Christians in the country — it’s a crucial time for religious organizations in Black communities to support their most vulnerable.      

“We take the teachings of Jesus seriously,” said Rev. Frazier. “Black churches have historically been involved in politically challenging times, and we must continue to do so. We can do that by clothing and feeding others and giving them the support they need to move forward.”

Charles and Rev. Frazier often work together at the church. Photo by the author.

As FCBC continues to grow and find ways to not only be more inclusive, but also more affirming, it’s clear that the pastors aren’t afraid to try ways to include people who’ve previously been left out of communities of faith.      

Rev. Frazier puts it this way: “Understand that working towards inclusion is a matter of who’s growing, not who’s right and who’s wrong. That’s how you move forward.”  

Rev. Frazier is currently fundraising for a documentary called “A Love Supreme: Black, Queer and Christian in The South.” You can watch the trailer here and learn how to support the project here.

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'Queer Eye's' Tan France: I took the job to be blunt to, and befriend, Republicans.

Tan France wasn't supposed to be a TV star.

But as of publication, the fashion designer has over 183,000 Instagram followers and a number of giddy, straight husbands asking to take his photo to show their wives at his local grocery store in Utah. "I can't walk the street without somebody stopping me," he explains earnestly, still surprised that complete strangers would recognize him. (Maybe it's the hair?)‌‌‌‌

‌Photo by Paige Soviet.‌

France, who'd never held a job in the entertainment world before, says he was reluctant to audition for "Queer Eye," a Netflix reboot based off the original Bravo series, "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy," that's become an overnight cultural phenomenon since premiering in early February.

But France went to the audition anyway. And now he's a member of the show's Fab Five — the stylish, sincere queer guys who bombard their "heroes'" homes and make over their closets, diets, and, really, entire existences in just a few days.

‌Photo courtesy of Netflix.‌

The reason France ended up taking the offer, he says, had nothing to do with fame or fortune. It was the series' shooting location, of all things, that sealed the deal.

Unlike the original, the new "Queer Eye" found its heroes to "make better" in deep red, rural Georgia. For France — a British-Muslim immigrant to the U.S. with Pakistani roots — the opportunity to build bridges and befriend straight, southern Republicans was an opportunity he simply couldn't pass up.

I sat down with France to chat about the first season of "Queer Eye," what it's like representing gay Muslims on the world stage, and which member of the Fab Five he secretly loves best.

I'm so happy to talk to you. I went through season one of "Queer Eye" so quickly.‌‌‌‌

The response has been out of this world!‌‌‌‌

How so? ‌‌‌‌

I don't know if you know, but I'm the only one who hasn't ever worked in the entertainment industry before. I never had any desire to do so. I had to be convinced to go audition for this show. So for me, it's been really shocking. I receive, on average, a thousand DMs a day.

Oh my gosh.

Yeah. It's insane. It's lovely, lovely, and I'm very grateful, but it's insane. And then not really being able to go out of the house as much anymore, unless I'm either really dressed up or have a hat and shades on — that's been a major adjustment.

That's wild. And for many Americans, you're either the first or one of the first gay Muslims they've ever seen on TV. What's that been like for you?

I just am unapologetically myself, so it wasn't something I was really cognizant of until people really started asking about it the past few weeks. And so I've been like, oh shit, maybe I should be paying more attention to that [laughs]. People all over the world have been reaching out and saying, "I've never seen a version of myself on TV." And that's really powerful.

How comfortable are you taking on that role?

I don't feel uncomfortable because I am who I am, and I don't make any apologies for it. That's the case for all of [the Fab Five].

But I've never seen myself as any kind of role model or trailblazer, and I still don't. I don't like that kind of responsibility because I don't expect that people should live their lives a certain way because someone else lives their life a certain way. However, I do love giving exposure to a community that really hasn't had the representation it needs.

As a Muslim, how did it feel helping Cory in episode three? He was a big Trump supporter. Was helping guys like him something you considered before heading to Georgia to shoot?

It was something I thought about a lot before accepting the offer. And actually, it was the reason I took the show.

If the show had been filmed in New York or L.A., I don't think it would have been as enticing for me. [The original "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy"] was wonderful for its time. It moved the gay community forward and it gave us exposure we never had before. However, I didn't want just the original version back. I wanted it to be more [representative] of how we've progressed as a community.

So having the opportunity to work with a bunch of Republican people [in the South] was the most enticing part of this job for me. It wasn't about making them "pretty" — that's secondary. My job on the show is making sure I'm having very open, blunt conversations with people without hiding who I am.

Unfortunately, some of the conversations didn't make it [into the episodes]. Like, Cory and I had a very lengthy conversation in the car about Trump and the fact he doesn't love gays or immigrants, and I represent both of those things. [Trump's] made some derogatory comments about the Middle East, and again, I represent that.

Photo by Paige Soviet.

I read that Tom had at one point suggested you were a "terrorist"? But then he ended up giving you a yellow rose?

He sure did. You've seen the full [first] episode ... right?

Yes.

So I had a driving scene in the car with Tom that didn't make it [into the final cut], where we're shooting the shit — just talking about everything while I was driving — and then it came up in conversation that I am Middle Eastern. He hadn't realized I was Middle Eastern. So his first question was, "You're not a terrorist, are you?"

Wow.

Yeah. That was really important for me to be able to address that in a certain way where he didn't feel like he couldn't ask that question — and I told him he can't ask that question again.

There's a way of asking questions to find out what you're wanting to find out without being so offensive. There's a certain level of tact that's required [pauses, laughs] ...

Sorry, what was the rest of your question?

I asked about the yellow rose.

Oh, right, yes! Sorry, sometimes I go off on a tangent and I don't remember where I was going! So we had a really open conversation and he actually asked that question [about being a "terrorist"].

We ended up becoming really close. I love Tom. By the end of the week before I left, when the cameras weren't around, he came over and said, "I got a rose for you, which is yellow — the color of friendship. And I want you to know that I wasn't trying to be offensive by the question I asked. Now I understand you."

He said, "I want to have these conversations with other people. I love knowing that now I have a Middle Eastern friend, an immigrant friend, a liberal friend, that I never thought I would have had."

Oh my gosh.

I know!

Tom was definitely one of my favorites. I also loved A.J. too.

I loved A.J. I mean, it helped that he was really attractive [laughs]. But he was such a sweetheart.

That's awesome. Well, those scenes with Tom sound so powerful. I wish I'd gotten to see them.

You know, here's the thing: We're not trying to make a political show. I guess we make political statements by the nature of who we are. But I think [the yellow rose scene with Tom] would have been way too heavy. Baby steps.

Sometimes, subtlety can make the show accessible for a lot of people who may not have tuned in otherwise.

Exactly. And they can make their own assumptions. We don't necessarily have to ram anything down their throats.

Photo by Paige Soviet.

So how about some fun questions?

Yeah!

I know the Fab Five are all close with one another. But who do you get along with the best?

OK, I will actually be honest with you. I love them all. When we're together, we have the best time. I don't know if you follow my Instagram or if you don't —

I do.

I mentioned in a post that people seem to have really responded well to in my Instagram story: Antoni sat on my lap, and I [said], "It doesn't matter how many chairs there are in a room, my lap is always Antoni's seat." And that's true. It doesn't matter what's going on, if there are a lot of people around us, we are always so affectionate. We love each other very much.

There are differences between some of [the Fab Five] because, for example, some of the boys like to go experience the night life and go to bars and clubs. And me and Antoni, neither of us drink alcohol. So it made it so much more organic for us to build a bond quickly, because when those guys are out going to bars and clubs, Antoni and I were cooking in each other's apartments and watching "The Great British Baking Show."

I now go on vacations with his family. We basically married the same person [laughs], so they get along really well. We're all very, very close, but me and Antoni formed a bond like no other.

That's amazing. Can we talk about Antoni for a second?

Everyone wants to talk to me about Antoni! You love him, I know. [laughs]

I do! But he seems to be the most controversial Fab Five member. Is he just the talentless eye candy on the show, like some people have said?

OK, wait, Robbie, let me tell you this. Because you are now the third person in the last couple days who've asked me this.

All I get all day is DMs from people saying, "Oh my gosh, Antoni won't reply to my DMs; can you tell him that I love him?" I'm like, "OK, get a grip, everybody. He's not just a piece of meat [laughs]!"

Maybe I am jaded because we're so close, but I see him as the heart of the show. Truly. He's got a way of connecting with our heroes — that's what we call the clients we help — he has a way of connecting with heroes like none of us can. He's so truly genuine.

And look, people can have their own opinions with what he does with food. But in the first episode where he made Tom guacamole, he actually made a full meal. But we've only got time to show one thing! He's actually an amazing chef. He cooked for me almost every night because our apartments [when we were shooting on location] were right next door to each other.

For the record, I'm pro-Antoni.

Good! Honestly, no joke, he's probably the best person I've met in my entire life. Like, he's an angel sent down from heaven.

Photo by Paige Soviet.

So, I'm already craving season two. Any news?

OK, here's the thing. Netflix doesn't tell us anything [laughs]. All we can say is, we hope it's doing well. Instagram's fucking blown up, so I assume that's a good indication of how the show's doing.

It seems like it's doing great, but I don't know if I'm just being trapped in my own gay bubble.

[laughs] You know what's funny though? In Utah [where France lives], they have a very high Mormon population. And when I'm out in the grocery store, one of my favorite things in the world to do is go to the grocery store. For a British person, coming to America and seeing the ridiculous abundance in a grocery store is fascinating.

And every time I'm there now — at least three or four times — I'll get stopped by a man who I assume is straight and wants to take a picture with me to show his wife and kids. It's always straight men! It's always straight men.

That's so funny!

I know, I love it.

That about covers my questions, Tan. Is there anything you want to add?

I'd love to go back to the relationship thing with the other boys, because you're the only one who's asked who I am closest with.

Of course.

I am the closest with Antoni, but I never expected that my colleagues and I would become my best friends. Of course, every now and then there's going to [be a fight]. Actually, I like that we argue every now and then, because it's usually about the hero and what we want to do that episode — we have those kinds of arguments. And that makes for a better show.

But on the whole, [the show creators] chose five people who could be, and thankfully are, the closest of friends. And I think that's why the show works so well.

This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.

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