Movies have always spoken to me. In moments when the world feels far too quiet in the closet I live in, the screen is where I, like so many queer people, find solace and understanding. It is the space where we dream of living when reality keeps its doors shut. But when I look at the landscape of media available today, there is a stark imbalance in what we are actually offered. As a queer woman, I still routinely find myself deep-diving into obscure indie spaces just to discover a speck of authentic representation, or forcing myself to be content with mere subtext, implied queerness, and longing glances in the background.

It makes the view from my screen feel incredibly strange, especially since we are supposedly living in the golden era of the "rainbow economy." On one hand, the shift feels long overdue. We are seeing queer narratives celebrated in ways that would have seemed impossible a decade ago. Our local entertainment landscape features icons like Vice Ganda routinely breaking box-office records, just as the global stage sees a massive explosion of mainstream MLM (men-loving-men) romances like Heated Rivalry. Mainstream media has finally realized that queer joy can be undeniably lucrative.

Yet, that progress is far from equal. While MLM narratives are given the runway to break into expansive, multi-season mainstream franchises with joyful conclusions, sapphic or WLW (women-loving-women) stories are still frequently left behind as we are still scavenging for scraps on the fringes.

The truth is, the corporate enthusiasm usually stalls when women enter the frame. Media already struggles to write complex female characters, and when you add queerness to the mix, production rooms often seem to short-circuit entirely. Misogyny doesn’t magically vanish the moment a genre becomes queer. Even within LGBTQIA+ spaces that promise total inclusivity, the landscape can still feel heavily male-dominated, leaving women to experience a subtle, systemic exclusion.

It leaves us navigating a deeply frustrating, polarized spectrum. When we do get authentic, critically acclaimed masterpieces like Portrait of a Lady on Fire, we celebrate the raw beauty of it while quietly accepting that the love is structurally doomed to end in tragedy. But when mainstream television attempts a commercial alternative, the storytelling is too often hijacked by the traditional male gaze. Instead of genuine character development, our relationships are hyper-sexualized, framed as a fleeting experimental phase or a scandalous performance for an external audience.

It’s a deeply isolating feeling. The industry hesitates to fund us, and broader audiences are still frustratingly slow to show up for us with the same fervor given to other stories. When your reflection is constantly treated as a risky bet by executives and viewers alike, the cycle of erasure just keeps spinning.

But the stories allowed on our screens shape how we understand our place in the world. They teach us whether our lives are worth investing in, or if we are merely an afterthought. We deserve more than to see our identities treated as a fleeting trend, a tragic warning tale, or a performance tailored for someone else's comfort. True progress isn't about surviving on the margins, nor is it a competition for visibility. It is about the quiet, radical comfort of watching a story and finally recognizing yourself—undamaged, whole, and written with a genuine pulse.

Only then can queer media genuinely claim to reflect the full spectrum of love.

The Frontman