"Straight Skinny, Gay Fat": How Body Standards Shape—and Shame—Gay Men

“Do you think coming out made your body image issues or eating disorder worse?”

I asked, already knowing the answer. I’ve heard it so many times before.

“Yes, 100%,” he said, without hesitation. The sadness in his voice cut deep.

I felt my chest tighten. It shouldn’t be like this, I thought. Coming out is supposed to bring freedom, not deepen the pain.

But for many gay men I’ve worked with, coming out doesn’t ease the pressure—it turns it up. Our community’s complicated relationship with body image is no secret, but the reasons behind it run deeper than surface-level vanity.

When "Straight Skinny" Isn’t Good Enough

I first noticed this unspoken standard as a closeted teenager watching Will & Grace. In one episode, Will and Jack joked that someone was “straight skinny” but “gay fat.” It was funny on the surface but hit with the weight of an unspoken truth: In gay spaces, being fit isn’t enough—you’re expected to be flawless.

That joke wasn’t just about body size; it was about the expectations placed on gay men to look better than straight men, as if our worth in the community hinged on how “desirable” we appeared. The competition wasn’t just external—it became a constant comparison game within our own circles.

From Brotherhood to Battle: When Community Becomes Competitive

In the early days of LGBTQ+ activism, unity and support were survival tools. But over time, as we fought through oppression, the AIDS crisis, and social stigma, something shifted. Brotherhood became rivalry, and support turned into subtle (or not-so-subtle) competition.

I see it in dismissive glances toward bodies that don’t fit the Instagrammable mold. I hear it in casual remarks shaming femininity, and I read it in the parade of “masc for masc” profiles on dating apps. Instead of lifting each other up, we sometimes push each other down—often without realizing it.

Some competition is inevitable—we date within our own community, after all. Imagine Mean Girls if all those characters were also competing for romantic partners. It would’ve been brutal. For many gay men, the dating pool becomes an arena where friends, frenemies, and potential partners are all opponents in the same relentless body comparison game.

The Hidden Cost of Constant Competition

Rejection leaves scars. Many gay men carry the trauma of being bullied for their identities—called slurs, ridiculed for being "too feminine," or ostracized for simply being different. Once out of the closet, the hunger for acceptance often turns inward, manifesting as a drive for physical perfection.

And when the very community that should provide support reinforces impossible beauty standards, that pressure only intensifies. This isn’t just about working out or looking good; it’s about survival tactics that spiral into harmful obsessions.

Rates of eating disorders and body dysmorphia are significantly higher among gay men than in the general population. Why? Because our bodies have become currency—tokens we use to gain validation, affection, and acceptance.

What Is Your Body Trying to Say?

As a therapist, I’ve learned that our bodies speak the language of our pain. When a client presents with disordered eating or body dysmorphia, I ask myself: What is their body trying to communicate?

For some, a chiseled physique isn’t just about aesthetics—it’s a desperate attempt to fit in. For others, those carefully curated social media posts are cries for validation. Avoiding other gay men who don’t meet certain body standards? That’s often about projecting perfection, masking insecurities that run deep.

Pain doesn’t always look like sadness—it can look like endless gym sessions, restrictive eating, or hyper-curated selfies. Our bodies become the canvas where our emotional scars are painted.

Redefining What Strength Looks Like

I’m not saying we should stop going to the gym or exploring our sexuality. I’m advocating for a healthier relationship with our bodies—one based on self-respect rather than shame or competition.

Imagine a community where we uplift each other, where compliments aren’t reserved for abs and jawlines but also for kindness, intelligence, and emotional resilience. We’ve all fought hard to be here. Shouldn’t we be each other's biggest supporters?

Let’s leave the competition to reality TV. Our real victories come when we learn to love ourselves—and each other—for more than just what’s visible on the surface.

Your body is more than a trophy. It’s your history, your resilience, and your story.

Let’s start listening.