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Growing up Gay in Vietnam: Seeing and Experiencing the World through

Multimodal Visual Autoethnography

Thesis · May 2023

DOI: 10.13140/RG.2.2.21901.51683

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Growing up Gay in Vietnam: Seeing and Experiencing the World through Multimodal Visual
Autoethnography

Giang Nguyen Hoang Le, MA, M.Ed.

Ph.D. in Educational Studies

Submitted in partial fulfillment

of the requirements for the degree of

Doctor of Philosophy in Educational Studies

Faculty of Education, Brock University

St. Catharines, Ontario

© 2023
 DEDICATION

This dissertation is dedicated to my mother:

Nguyen Cat Thu Thao

who has always shown me the love and care that nourishes who I am now.

She is a hard worker and devotes her life to the family, which means everything to her. I know

she notices that I am not like other boys, but she still loves me, and I can see her effort to

understand me and accept me for who I am. Mom, I will be waiting!

 Acknowledgements

This dissertation is dedicated to my parents, whose influence on my life has been remark-

able. Their support for my studies abroad has been unstinting, and I am eternally grateful for their

love and care. Most importantly, I acknowledge that my memory, which is key to this study, has

been constructed by their love and care for me as their child. Although I am not sure when they

will accept my non-normative gender and sexual identity, I want them to know that I am still

waiting patiently for their acceptance -- that is the biggest wish of my life.

“Con yêu bố mẹ rất nhiều & con luôn mong ước rằng một ngày nào đó bố mẹ sẽ chấp nhận giới

tính của con vì bố mẹ ơi, con luôn mãi mãi là con trai của bố mẹ. Con thật lòng hi vọng sẽ vẫn

mãi là niềm tự hào của bố mẹ dù con có giới tính nào đi chăng nữa. Con yêu bố mẹ thật nhiều.”

I would like to write these words in Vietnamese for my parents saying that I love them very

much. Whether or not they accept my gender and sexual identity, I am forever their son, and I wish

them to be proud of me.

I also would like to express my gratitude to my supervisor, Dr. Fiona Blaikie, for her trust

in me and her tremendous support during my Ph.D. journey at Brock as her doctoral student. I still

remember how on my first day at Brock she offered me a campus tour and introduced me to eve-

ryone in the Faculty of Education. I still remember her warm and lovely invitation to meet her

family at her house in St. Catharines. Her patience in helping me move forward with my writing

has been invaluable. I am thankful to John, Fiona’s husband, as a critical reader for offering

thoughts to enhance my writing for this work.

 My scholarship has also been framed by my committee members’ thoughts, support, and

guidance. I would like to thank Dr. Gerald Walton (Lakehead University), Dr. Leanne Taylor

(Brock University), and Dr. Julian Kitchen (Brock University), for their constructive feedback and

critical thoughts that have certainly helped me improve my comprehensive portfolio and disserta-

tion. I appreciate Dr. Taylor’s support and guidance when I was a teaching assistant for her course,

Diversity Issues in Schooling. I have learned so much from her teaching as an educator in the field

of social justice in education. I am grateful for Dr. Walton’s advice on methodology and his posi-

tive and encouraging comments on my work. His insights as a well-established gay scholar are

precious. I am thankful for Dr. Kitchen’s helpful materials on queer theory and self-study research

that have given me lots of ideas for my dissertation. I acknowledge the constructive feedback and

ongoing support from my internal examiner, Dr. Richard Mitchell (Brock University). I am also

grateful for Dr. Karleen Pendleton Jimenez (Trent University), my external examiner, who showed

support, care, and encouragement when they read my dissertation and at my defense.

I am grateful also for the opportunity to be involved in my supervisor’s book project on

visual and cultural identity constructions of global youth and young adults, published by Routledge

in 2021. While participating in this project I learned about gender and sexuality and about youth

and young adults’ visual and cultural identity constructs from many important scholars, such as

Dr. Donal O’Donoghue (University of Arkansas), Dr. Deevia Bhana (University of Kwazulu-Na-

tal), Dr. Jessica Ringrose (UCL), Dr. Paul Horton (Linkoping University) and Dr. Helle Rydstrom

(Lund University). As an editorial assistant I communicated with these scholars and immersed

myself in their works, which in turn offered me ideas for my own study. These scholars’ study of

the complexities of gender and sexuality in various contexts has framed my own understanding of

youth’s visual identity constructs in relation to the fluidities of gender, sex and sexuality.
 Last but not least, I want to thank my boyfriend, Dinh Phuong, for his endless love and

deep understanding of what I am doing and my passion for research. Also, many thanks go to Mai

To, my Vietnamese friend in Canada, who has always tried to get me out of my office to enjoy

some social activities, e.g., walking, shopping, and having some coffee. I would like to thank my

collaborators on multiple writing projects during my Ph.D. studies, many of which have been

published in top-tier scholarly publications and as conference papers. I thank Ethan Trinh, a queer

Ph.D. scholar at Georgia State University, Atlanta, USA, for their wonderful contribution to our

collaborative work. We are co-thinkers in our Ph.D. research. I thank Vuong Hoang Tran, a

Vietnamese Ph.D. student, whose gender and sexual identity is as a gay man, at Nipissing

University, for his writing and support. There are many to name and I wish I could acknowledge

all of them in this restricted space. Without them, my journey as a young scholar would never have

been filled with so much joy, encouragement and rewards.

 Abstract

In this multimodal visual autoethnography, I examine my experiences as a gay child and student,

and later on as a scholar in Vietnam, a heteronormative society. Framed by visual identity

constructs, I focus on landscapes of being, belonging, and becoming in my family life and at high

school. Visual identity constructs refer to how I constructed and performed my non-conforming

identity visually as a gay boy in Vietnam through a clothed and accessorized body. My dissertation

work contributes to a growing body of scholarly literature on the experiences of Vietnamese gay

people, including young men’s visual identities and gender performances in social, cultural, and

educational contexts, such as schools and in the popular media.

I draw on identity construction theory, gender hegemony theory, queer theory, and

intersectionality to build the theoretical framework. Data was collected from my memories via

multiple methods: art-journaling and writing-stories. I viewed writing as a method of inquiry and

analysis together with thematic analysis to unpack my memory data. The findings are narrative

worlding vignettes arranged into key themes, which indicate the framing and reforming of my

visual identity constructs. The theme-based vignettes show the vulnerability and danger of

contested conventions I encountered and the influence of social; familial; and cultural factors,

including my parents, especially my father and grandfather, my gay friends, and Asian male pop

stars on my performativity. My study serves as a call for young gay people to be represented in

education settings, especially in Southeast Asia, such as Vietnam. Schools should become more

accepting and inclusive for this community.

 Table of Contents

Acknowledgements ...........................................................................................................................
Abstract .............................................................................................................................................
List of Tables ....................................................................................................................................
List of Figures ...................................................................................................................................
Chapter I: Introduction .................................................................................................................... 1
Rationale ..................................................................................................................................... 7
Positionality and Context of the Study ..................................................................................... 12
Chapter II: LITERATURE REVIEW ........................................................................................... 18
Queer Theory, Gender, Sex, and Sexuality............................................................................... 18
The Inclusivity of Queer ....................................................................................................... 29
Gender Hegemony Theory ........................................................................................................ 37
Identity Construction ................................................................................................................ 41
Intersectionality......................................................................................................................... 45
LGBTIQ+ Communities and Issues and Gay Men in Vietnam and Beyond ............................ 53
Gay, Popular Culture, and Media ......................................................................................... 56
Gay People and Curriculum Materials in High Schools ....................................................... 59
Asian Queer Studies .................................................................................................................. 61
Localizing Queer ................................................................................................................... 62
Chapter III: METHODOLOGY AND METHODS ...................................................................... 65
Autoethnography....................................................................................................................... 65
Connecting the Self to the Social .......................................................................................... 66
Autoethnography and Queer ................................................................................................. 68
Inspired by Autoethnography to Write My Own .................................................................. 71
Multimodality ........................................................................................................................... 73
Memory Data ............................................................................................................................ 76
Ethical Considerations .............................................................................................................. 79
Data Collection ......................................................................................................................... 81
Writing Stories ...................................................................................................................... 81
 Art-Journaling .......................................................................................................................... 83
The Diary ............................................................................................................................... 85
Drawing ................................................................................................................................. 85
Photographs ........................................................................................................................... 87
Data Analysis ............................................................................................................................ 87
Writing—A Method of Inquiry and Analysis ....................................................................... 88
Thematic Analysis ................................................................................................................ 91
Emergent Themes: Data Interpretation into Themes ........................................................ 93
Narrative Worlding Vignettes ............................................................................................... 94
Chapter IV: FINDINGS ................................................................................................................ 97
Vulnerability and Danger ........................................................................................................ 101
Vignette: Grandpa ............................................................................................................... 101
Vignette: My Cousin ........................................................................................................... 104
Vignette: That Boy in the School Parking Lot.................................................................... 106
Vignette: The Queer One: Outlier....................................................................................... 110
Contested Conventions ........................................................................................................... 114
Vignette: My Dad ............................................................................................................... 115
Vignette: The Gang ............................................................................................................. 118
Vignette: The School Uniform Part 1 ................................................................................. 120
Vignette: The School Uniform Part 2 ................................................................................. 123
Vignette: Framed Body Management ................................................................................. 126
Vignette: Pressure to Look Good........................................................................................ 127
Vignette: The Coming from the West ................................................................................. 131
Creating My Look ................................................................................................................... 133
Vignette: The Twink Look.................................................................................................. 133
Vignette: The Korean Look ................................................................................................ 135
Vignette: Tiểu Mỹ Thụ—Beautiful Little Bottom Gay Boys ............................................. 137
Vignette: Dyed Hair ............................................................................................................ 140
Vignette: Big Round Eyes Matter ....................................................................................... 142
Vignette: New Clothes, New Looks ................................................................................... 143
Social Media ........................................................................................................................... 146
 Vignette: Filters .................................................................................................................. 146
Vignette: Flirting with Boys on Facebook .......................................................................... 148
Vignette: The App............................................................................................................... 150
Performativity Shifts ............................................................................................................... 154
Vignette: That’s Too Girly.................................................................................................. 154
Vignette: You Must Act Manly .......................................................................................... 157
Vignette: The Haircut ......................................................................................................... 161
Boys’ Loves ............................................................................................................................ 162
Vignette: Fantasies .............................................................................................................. 163
Vignette: Gay Romantic Relationships............................................................................... 165
Vignette: Unrequited Love with a ‘Bad Boy’ ..................................................................... 167
Chapter V: DISCUSSION .......................................................................................................... 176
Discussion on Conventions and My Look .............................................................................. 176
Vulnerability and Danger .................................................................................................... 176
Contested Conventions ....................................................................................................... 179
Creating My Look ............................................................................................................... 187
Discussion on Media, Performativity Shifts, and Loves......................................................... 190
Social Media ....................................................................................................................... 190
Performativity Shifts ........................................................................................................... 192
Boys’ Loves ........................................................................................................................ 196
Chapter VI: CONCLUSION ....................................................................................................... 200
Challenges in Writing about Myself .................................................................................... 200
Courage ................................................................................................................................ 209
The Significance of the Study .............................................................................................. 203
References ................................................................................................................................... 212
 List of Tables

Table 1. Themes and Narrative Worlding Vignettes ................................................................. 102

List of Figures

Figure 1 Quang Vinh.................................................................................................................... 24

Figure 2 Trithipnipa Thippaphada’s Reverse Transition ............................................................. 33

Figure 3 My Drawing of a Gay Boy ............................................................................................ 80

Figure 4 My Drawing of My Imiganition to be a Princess .......................................................... 86

Figure 5 My Grandpa ................................................................................................................. 102

Figure 6 My Cousin ................................................................................................................... 105

Figure 7 That Boy in the School Parking ................................................................................... 107

Figure 8 Linh .............................................................................................................................. 111

Figure 9 The Queer One............................................................................................................. 113

Figure 10 My Dad ...................................................................................................................... 116

Figure 11 My Gang .................................................................................................................... 118

Figure 12 Bi ............................................................................................................................... 119

Figure 13 My Sketch of Me as a Gay Boy ................................................................................. 121

Figure 14 High School Sports Uniform ..................................................................................... 123

Figure 15 Cartoon Pins on Clothes ............................................................................................ 125

Figure 16 Look Good in the Mirror ........................................................................................... 128

Figure 17 A Good Gay Top ....................................................................................................... 129

Figure 18 The Twink Look ........................................................................................................ 134

Figure 19 A Korean Look .......................................................................................................... 136

Figure 20 V from BTS Boys’ Band ........................................................................................... 137

Figure 21 Me, Being a Gay Bottom ........................................................................................... 138

Figure 22 The Beauty Ideal of Vietnamese Gay Bottom ........................................................... 139

Figure 23 Me with Red Hair ...................................................................................................... 141

Figure 24 Park Ji Hoon Beauty Ideal ......................................................................................... 142

Figure 25 Trying on New Clothes.............................................................................................. 145

Figure 26 Me with Filters........................................................................................................... 147

Figure 27 Dress up for a Date .................................................................................................... 149

Figure 28 Grindr......................................................................................................................... 151

Figure 29 Me on Grindr ............................................................................................................. 152

Figure 30 Grindr Gay Top ......................................................................................................... 153

Figure 31 The Incident in a Club ............................................................................................... 155

Figure 32 Look like a Straight-acting Boy................................................................................. 156

Figure 33 Act Cool ..................................................................................................................... 158

Figure 34 Nickhun ..................................................................................................................... 160

Figure 35 The Under-cut Hairstyle ............................................................................................ 161

Figure 36 Asian Male Idols ........................................................................................................ 164

Figure 37 I’m in Love ................................................................................................................ 167

Figure 38 The Rebellious Jack ................................................................................................... 170

Figure 39 Jack as a Mature Man ................................................................................................ 172

Figure 40 Jack in a Club with a Drag Queen ............................................................................. 174

 1

Growing up Gay in Vietnam: Seeing and Experiencing the World through Multimodal

Visual Autoethnography

My motivation for entering a doctoral degree program and conducting research on gender

and queer lived experiences and challenges is my personal story as a queer

child/student/teacher/scholar in the Vietnamese context of being, learning, living, and becoming.

Drawing on my cross-cultural learning experiences in the East and the West, specifically, Vietnam

and Canada, I have come to understand that this doctoral work has never been simply just about

me but about entire communities of young queer men in Vietnam. I have always had a powerful

sense of belonging to these communities. I critically reflect on my personal experiences as a gay

son, student, and teacher in Vietnam to offer insider knowledge and to create an ethical and

reciprocal connection/relationship with members of these communities, and with scholars beyond

these communities. This study is conducted and designed as relational autoethnographic research

(Adams et al., 2015; Ellis, 2004). As such, it focuses on mutual responsibility and care between

researcher and the participants whose stories, experiences, or other sources of affect stem from

memories and emotions of LGBTIQ+ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, and more) young

people in Vietnamese social, educational, and professional contexts. As an insider within this

vulnerable community, I act as both researcher and participant (Creswell, 2007; Tilley, 2016).

Defined by identity construction theory (Cerulo, 1997; Taylor, 2015), visual identity

constructs refer to the framing of my body image as a gay boy in multiple Vietnamese contexts,

such as my family and my high school. Under the influence of internal and external social and

cultural factors—family values (the expectations of me as a first-born son), as well as the media
 2

and popular culture (i.e., fashion, music, movies, and Asian male celebrities)—I view identity as

shifting and porous, continuously evolving across time, place, and space (Blaikie, 2020). Identity

and fluidity for humans are social constructs when both identity and fluidity can shift and evolve

from moment to moment in the life course and from place to place. They can change by the feelings

that people have through socialization and attachments to different communities they belong to.

Identities, therefore, are socially constructed, performed, and influenced by contexts and affects.

Throughout my dissertation, there are critical terms about gender and sexual diversity that need to

be defined. Gay refers to many constructs. Gay, in my work, refers to culture through which people

like me express their visual identities, involving clothes and styles that frame their performativity.

Gay can be sexuality that includes sexual desires, dreams, and behaviours. Queer is an inclusive

term I use to appreciate the unfixedness of identities and critique practices of labelling in relation

to gender and sexuality. For example, in several contexts, such as in Vietnam, where the

understanding of gender and sexuality is limited, being gay has many labels: physically weak,

vulnerable, and feminine (Horton, 2014; Le, 2021).

Within the autoethnography of my life story, there will undoubtedly be people with different

perspectives on gay boys ’self-presentations in Vietnam. My teachers and colleagues as well as

my parents have held heteronormative perceptions towards me because I was a gay boy and am

now a gay man. But they, too, have contributed to my evolving knowledge and experience of being

and becoming a gay boy in Vietnam. For instance, my parents and teachers, like many Vietnamese

adults, assumed that gay people always looked feminine, with long hair, with white flawless skin,

and with girls’ clothes. For them, being gay meant speaking like a girl with a soft tone. Gay boys

and gay men tend to be shy, timid, and less communicative when in the company of straight boys

or men (Horton, 2014; Martino & Palllotta-Chiarolli, 2007; Swain, 2002). I reflect on my
 3

experience as a first-born son at school; at a workplace, where I was a college teacher; and at other

social places. The social places that I examine in my study are gay clubs; gender talk shows at

some colleges; and social media hubs, such as gay dating apps, Facebook, and Instagram. I started

using social media, especially Facebook and some dating apps for gay men in Vietnam in 2007.

These places, especially digital media, are gendered (Pink et al., 2016) through the ways young

gay men construct, negotiate, and perform visual identities as gay people. Specifically, I look at

how these places have shaped my own identity. Nguyen (2019) discusses gay friendships among

Vietnamese boys through the Youtube sitcom My Best Gay Friend, which sheds light on the lives

of gay boys in Vietnam, including how the visual identities of gay boys are constructed via

friendships.

Boy is a key term. Boy is a construct that refers to a boy in high school, between the ages

of 14 and 17 years old; so a boy is actually a youth, based on the UNESCO definition (2014). In

the Vietnamese education system, high school or secondary education is compulsory and consists

of three years, Grade 10 to Grade 12, before higher education (i.e., college or university; Nguyen

et al., 2018). The experience of being a youth varies substantially between countries and regions.

Therefore, the term youth is a fluid and changing construct. The role and perception of youth in

the framing of gender and sexuality (Connell, 2005) is contextualized by social and cultural

constructions. Being a youth in Vietnam can be tough as it is often associated with being a good

child (Burr, 2014), and parents hold power over youth as dependent and passive beings (Pham &

Le, forthcoming). Being a good child means being obedient to adults and conforming to social

norms rooted in Vietnamese parenting and schooling. Further, expectations of children are

normatively gendered—boys need to be physically strong, while girls need to be studious and

submissive (Horton, 2014, 2019a, 2019b; Horton & Rydstrom, 2019; Le, 2021; Le et al.,
 4

forthcoming). Being a gay boy is socially and culturally constructed by Vietnamese traditional

parenting, media, and popular culture.

Being both researcher and participant is difficult, as it entails reflexivity in writing as both

process and product (Ellis, 2004). Autoethnography offers unique insights, for example,

Vietnamese social and cultural norms, such as shame, filial duty about heterosexual marriage, and

duty to protect the family line (Horton & Rydstrom, 2019; Nguyen & Angelique, 2017;Truit &

Truit, 2015), pressure LGBTIQ+ people to conform to heteronormative practices. I explore how

heteronormativity is integrated into the media to shape Vietnamese gay boys ’visual identity

constructs and performances (Horton, 2019a). Gay boys may have to negotiate between their

identities as gay boys and the social and cultural expectations of how they should perform their

gender and sexuality. Via media and popular culture in contemporary Vietnam, I explore celebrity

culture and the influence of gay and non-binary visual celebrities who influence visual identity

constructs and gender performances of the Vietnamese gay population. Significantly, not all

Vietnamese young gay men are homogenous in gender identity or gender presentation. In this

dissertation, my focus is on a subset of Vietnamese young gay men. The subset refers to

Vietnamese gay youth who are high schoolboys, whose visual identities are feminine and porous.

Following queer theory (Butler, 1993, 1999; Foucault, 1997, 1989, 1982; Sedgwick, 1990,

1993), I conceptualize queer as an umbrella term that includes gay by theorizing queer as a form

of emotion and struggle involved in being and becoming different from others whose identities are

seen as normal and dominant in society. Queer theory is a “theoretical vanguard that troubles the

heterosexualist and patriarchal assumptions built into sociological renderings of the subject”

(Green, 2007, p. 26), providing an understanding of the complexity of queer. From queer theory,

gender and sexual identities are heterosexualized through social and cultural norms (i.e., boys play
 5

with boys ’toys, and boys need to be physically strong while girls play with dolls, wear dresses,

and need to be shy and cute ; Adriany, 2019; Craine, 2010; Mee, 2010). These norms marginalize

those with non-normative gender and sexual identities, such as gay people (Le, 2021; Le et al.,

forthcoming).

I examine popular culture in Asian countries, such as China, South Korea, and Thailand,

and the influence of the United States of America. The cultures are expressed via movies, fashion

styles, and music videos and celebrity influencers who play a role in shaping and reshaping queer

youth’s visual identities and mindsets when performing or hiding their non-conforming gender

identities. Relating these influencers' hegemonic performances and identities to queer theory

(Butler, 1993, 1999) and gender hegemony theory (Connell, 2008; Paechter, 2018; Schippers,

2007), I study how celebrities, especially male pop stars, present their visual identities to shape

youth and young adults' gender performances and identities, including gay boys ’gender

performativity. My study opens a discussion about celebrity influence on the gender performativity

of gay people in Vietnam. I identify and address the contribution of celebrity influencers with

unisex1 visual identities to constantly form and reform Vietnamese gay youth’s visual identities

and gender performance perceptions.

My research questions are as follows:

1. How do I conceptualize my visual identity constructs and processes of being,

becoming, and belonging as a gay boy in Vietnam through/via multiple

1
Unisex refers to those with non-binary gender performances through their fashion styles, behaviours, and attitudes.
Their styles are gender neutral, indicating that they can wear gender-blind garments, such as oversized T-shirts and
baggy jeans. Unisex clothes are designed for use by both men and women. Unisex is, itself, a problematic term that
reinforces the gender binary and mis-identifies gender as sex (Walton, personal communication, September 2022). I
use this term due to its popularity among the Vietnamese young population, especially LGBTIQ+ youth. We use it
as a critique of category in our gender performances.
 6

autoethnographic approaches: art-journaling, writing stories, writing as inquiry and

analysis, and thematic analysis?

2. How do I form my conception of being a young gay boy in relation to the role of popular

cultures, celebrity influencers, and social media?

3. How do my experiences relate to the development of other Vietnamese young gay

boys ’visual performances/identities and gender and sexuality mindsets?

To answer these questions, I engage in art-journaling (Ellis & Scott-Hoy, 2008) and writing stories

(Richardson, 2001), writing as method of inquiry and analysis (Richardson & St. Pierre, 2017),

and thematic analysis (Braun & Clarke, 2006). Visual artworks (Blaikie, 2021; O’Donoghue, 2019)

embedded in my writing are also important for providing a space where I recount my old memories

to create narratives as key to this research. Visual artworks include my photographs and drawings

that help frame my stories. Images expressed via these artworks are “multivocal in assisting to

tease out complex relations” (Roger & Blomgren, 2019, p. 3) that are narrated and discussed in

my stories.

I recall a great many of my personal memories that are lived experiences as a gay boy in

several Vietnamese social and cultural contexts, in my family, and in high school. I concentrate on

the period when I was a high school student in Vietnam. This is the time that I began constructing

and also reconstructing my visual identity as a gay schoolboy. This does not mean that school was

the only place of being, belonging, and becoming. I view “gay schoolboy” as a visual identity

construct, which also signified my visual identity construct at home, where I was still learning to

perform my gender and to explore my sexual identity as a gay boy. The family life at home was a

critical sphere in which I framed my visual identity as the first-born child. The concept of a gay
 7

schoolboy, hence, is examined throughout my narratives across places and spaces, not limited to a

school setting.

I conceptualize memory data to be transgressive data (St. Pierre, 1997, 2013, 2018).

Transgressive data is sensual, affective, and emotional, as it stems from dreams and fantasies (St.

Pierre, 2013; Trinh et al., 2022). Data becomes sensual and affective when it is filled with complex

and hidden emotions and experiences that can only exist in the “space of our dreams…the space

of our primary perception” (Foucault, 1984, p. 343). My memories are framed into narrative

worlding vignettes (Blaikie, 2021; Stewart, 2010, 2019). Worlding means encapsulated moments

in which we find a sense of belonging and are attuned to situated particularities (Blaikie, 2021),

for example, the moment I found gay boys in high school and created a group of best friends where

we cared for each other, or the moment I hooked up with a boy on Facebook and felt a need to

look good through nice clothes and stylish accessories on a date with him. These moments are

narrated in my vignettes. Utilizing art-journaling (Ellis & Scott-Hoy, 2008) and writing stories

(Richardson, 2001), I include a series of selected narrative worlding vignettes, which become my

research findings. The findings are grouped into various themes that are examined and discussed

by links to queer theories and literature, the construction of masculinities and femininities, and

identity construction.

Rationale

My research is beneficial not only to me, as a gay researcher, but also to gay youth and

young adult communities in Vietnam and beyond, because non-conforming gender issues are still

considered taboo in Vietnamese social, professional, and educational contexts, and thus, there is

not much attention paid to this area of scholarly investigation (Hong et al., 2009; Horton, 2014,
 8

2019a, 2019b; Khuat et al., 2009; Le, 2021). Indeed, I could not have written this dissertation in

Vietnam, since I would not have been able to find a supervisor.2 Being gay, queer, and exposing

other non-normative gender and sexual identities (i.e., lesbian, bisexual, and transgender) is not

tolerated legally in many Asian social and cultural contexts, such as Myanmar, India, Indonesia,

and Brunei (Encarnación, 2014). Recent news (Fahim & Farzan, 2021) about Turkish police using

tear gas at the Pride parade broke my heart, since it shows that being gay is unaccepted around the

world. Therefore, I do not write this work only for me or for non-normative gender and sexual

identity people in Vietnam, but for everyone around the world who is oppressed for their out-of-

category gender and sexual identity.

My doctoral dissertation fits within the context of gay gender identity constructions and

presentations through my autoethnographic voice telling my personal story. Situated in a

Vietnamese context, my work seeks to decolonize the knowledge and understanding of the

construction of masculinities and femininities. Looking into the notions of queer and gender

hegemony, from my personal perspective, is to localize them within Vietnamese contexts of being,

belonging, and becoming. In these contexts, gay boys are exposed to exotic and sensational trends

promoted by social media, such as Facebook, Instagram, and by movies and pop music. These

boys have a desire to keep up with trendy fashion styles of clothes, accessories, and even make-up

that is popularized by unisex celebrity influencers. A shift to look at the experiences of audiences

reflects the difficulty in gaining access to celebrities; moreover, it supports an emerging idea that

celebrity should be considered a commodity. Therefore, the idea offers a chance to examine the

ways that “people consume celebrity and the changes involved in this consumption in the short and

long term" (Driessens, 2015, p. 194). Acknowledging this pattern of consumerism, I look at the

2
Talking and writing about being gay is not accepted in Vietnamese academia (Khuat et al., 2009; Le, 2021).
 9

visual identity development and gender mindset transformation of young gay boys in Vietnam

under the pivotal influence of contemporary queer celebrities from the gay audience’s perspective.

Another unique point of this study is the use of multiple methodological approaches,

including art-journaling (Ellis & Scott-Hoy, 2008), writing stories (Richardson, 2001), and the

autoethnographic story (Adams, 2011; Ellis, 2004). My work is an autoethnographic story as a

diasporic scholar, visual researcher and Vietnamese gay man with the lived stories and thoughts.

My life story, as key to this dissertation, is a critical autoethnography that aims to capture a picture

of myself in a glass borderless frame— a picture in which an image of me is represented. Through

this image, Alexander (2020) notes, “There are sightless borders of containment; containments

called race, sex, gender, culture, and occasions of human social experience fixed in time and space,

floating in a fixed liquidity of memory” (p. 32). Framed by personal experience in a cultural

context, the “critical” in critical autoethnography is the engagement of the self—the researcher

with the theorizing of the self in relation to their understanding of the broader social and cultural

phenomenon. Tilley-Lubbs (2016) notes that critical autoethnography offers the audience a lens

(i.e., story-telling) through which they can look into lives of vulnerable and marginalized

communities, such as gender and sexually diverse people. My audience is gender and sexual

minority people who might find themselves in my stories of being hated, bullied, and alone in a

homophobic context. My audience also can be teachers, parents, and educators who are trying to

understand their students and children with gender and sexuality non-normative identities.

Through my life story, feelings of the socially and culturally unaccepted individuals are revealed,

and therefore, adults (i.e., teachers, educators, and parents) can become more tolerant and find

ways to support their children whose gender and sexual identities are evolving and unfixed.
 10

In this study, art-journaling and writing stories are interwoven to become a unique data

collection method for autoethnographic writing. These approaches also enable me to document

and display personal narratives through visual art. The images used are my personal artifacts,

which include photos and drawings extracted from a personal diary that I have kept since I was in

Vietnam. Some drawings were created for my art-journal to help me recall critical incidents in my

memories, for example the scene where my gay friends and I were insulted by other men in a club

because of our feminine body image. I also have drawn my dream of a romantic relationship with

a boy I had a crush on in high school. Incorporating these images into my narratives, I make

visuality a mode of autoethnographic writing. In my art-journal, texts and images are entangled

(Blaikie, 2020) and become transgressive data when data in my study is non-traditional (St. Pierre,

1997). Transgressive data is non-traditional data, which can be data coded and decoded from

interviews and fieldwork. Data in this study is not interview data collected from fieldwork. In fact,

my data is drawn from my emotions, dreams, and a complex sense of belonging to my childhood

places in Vietnam. The interweavement of art-journaling and writing stories makes my life story

as a Vietnamese gay boy both personal and academic and helps frame my research

autoethnographically.

From an educational perspective, this research provides an in-depth understanding of how

to live a non-normative life as a gay schoolboy in Vietnam. A gay boy’s life is sophisticated and

constantly evolving under the influence of school culture, family values, media, and popular

culture. From my experience as a gay boy, I often found myself struggling with various gender

norms that regulated my understanding and identity as a boy in a homophobic context of being

and becoming. I recognized when I was young that my life was going to be different from anyone

else’s life. I had to make sure that I dressed and acted according to my parents' and teachers’
 11

expectations to look like a straight boy, while I saw myself try hard to understand who I am and

what it means by being sexually different. I use the term "being sexually different” because at that

time when I was around 10 years old and aware of my sexual difference, gay was not a positive

term in Vietnam. My life is unique to others and even to other gay boys who were born into a more

gender and sexually tolerant family. Horton (2014) and Le and Yu (2018) describe in their studies

that gay boys from families where they are not the first born sons experience less pressure

following norms, such as straight marriages to continue the family lineage. I am the first born son

and the only son in my family, so the pressure to have a heterosexual marriage and maintain an

image of a straight-acting boy is more considerable. Boys are pressured in the society to be

physically strong, for example, by being extensively engaged in sports (Connell, 2008; Swain,

2002). I also describe how school uniforms privilege masculinity and how I transcended this

masculinity by adding cartoon pins to my clothes to make them more gay. By contrast, I tell of

conforming to my parents ’expectations to look straight. I was told to look up to my dad and to

become a man who could marry a girl to extend filial piety to my parents (Le, 2021). I share

narratives of how my body image was framed and reframed by the beauty ideals of Asian male

pop-stars. I provide images, which are my personal photos and artwork, supporting the narratives

to describe my life story. The research stands out as a unique scholarly work because by integrating

multimodal visual methods into autoethnographic writing, it offers readers a colorful and lively

lens to learn how a gay boy has discovered, built, and performed their gender identity. Although

there are some moments in my vignettes that depict shame for being gay in Vietnam, with sexual

abuse and bullies in many places and spaces (i.e., in my own family and in my school), this study

is not only a critical call for justice. It also discloses the reality of living, being, and becoming gay

in Vietnam. The realities are painted to be seen, recognized, and understood.

 12

Positionality and Context of the Study

Ellis and Bochner (2000) state that it is necessary to provide a brief overview of the

researcher’s life as it relates to the research. Thus, the reader can fully understand the context in

which the researcher presents the data. The introduction or the examination of the self as a

methodology has been criticized by some researchers as self-indulgent (Coffey, 1999; Denzin &

Lincoln, 1994). However, it is clear to me that there is a dualism in this research that allows me to

present proudly my life story as a gay boy in Vietnam and to look at the story through the lens of

a scholar. The dualism can be challenged and likely complicated, as in this study, I continue to

view myself as that gay boy stuck in-between, trying to conform to my parents ’expectations for

becoming a straight son while realizing something different lays within. I was and am gay, but my

gender performance is quite fluid. I used to play with dolls, which looked like pretty girls, and to

fantasize being a doll. When I was a teen, I started to put on simple clothes, such as white shirts

and dark pants. Sometimes I like colourful clothes and to dye my hair and make it curly. There

were also times I preferred men’s suits, to look more manly. According to Coghlan and Brydon-

Miller (2014), positionality refers to the stance or positioning of the researcher in relation to the

social and political context of the study, encompassing the community, the organization, or the

participant group. The position adopted by the researcher affects every phase of the research

process, from the way the question and problem are posited, to the ways in which knowledge is

constructed by the methods employed by the researcher. Positionality can be considered and

shaped through the researcher’s insider or outsider lens and their relationship to the studied

community (Coghlan & Brydon-Miller, 2014). In autoethnography, the self of the researcher is

emphasized, because the researcher is the site/context of the study and the key source of data (Ellis,

2004; Jones et al., 2014). Narratives emerge primarily from the researcher’s experiences that give
 13

meaning to the research, and the researcher is an inquirer into what happens to themselves in

relation to a broader social and cultural context that shapes their experiences (Adams & Jones,

2011). The position of autoethnographers is right in the centre of the research. Positionality is

multidimensional when it is looked at from multiple perspectives, such as culture, class, gender,

age, and political or social identity that construct the world-making of the researcher (Coghlan &

Brydon-Miller, 2014). These dimensions certainly extend into the values and worldview that the

researcher brings to the research enterprise, thus influencing what is perceived and understood as

knowledge.

Positionality can frequently change over time because of different historical and

biographical events (Coghlan & Brydon-Miller, 2014). For instance, my colleagues and I wrote

and published a recent work on how the coronavirus pandemic has made us redefine our

positionality since we have recognized that this global crisis has shifted global education (i.e., the

rise of online teaching and learning, global lockdowns, and travel restrictions), revealing inequities

in higher education (Le et al., 2021). We have seen the struggles of marginalized people in their

pursuit of education, including insecure/unstable Internet connections and the lack of financial

resources. Our positionality has been drawn to these educational inequities faced by marginalized

people (i.e., LGBTIQ+ and learners with financial disadvantages; Grewenig et al., 2021; Tran et

al., 2022). Transgender people are physically vulnerable, especially those with HIV/AIDS, so

COVID-19 caused them more anxiety of their health being put at high risk for the development of

severe illness from the virus (Nguyen & Le, 2021). Nguyen and Le (2021) state that these people,

in Vietnam, also experienced difficulties in receiving government financial support and

vaccination. Transgender people with HIV/AIDS were reported to confront forms of

 14

discrimination (e.g., vaccination booking failure, frowns, no health insurance coverage) from

healthcare providers at the vaccination clinics (Garg et al., 2021).

My positionality in this study has of course been shaped by my lived experience. I am the

first child in a Vietnamese traditional family, where Confucianism and Buddhism are preferred

and reinforced through the hierarchy of men over women and over other gender and sexual

minorities (Le, 2021). In Vietnamese Confucianism and Buddhism, men are seen and treated as

providers, while women and their requisite premarital virginity are wrapped up in inherent

subordination (Le, 2021). Rooted in Vietnamese Confucianism and Buddhism, the family is of

central importance — a good family is a micro worlding of a good society (Horton & Rydstrom,

2019; Le & Yu, 2019). Such a family is perceived to consist of a monogamous and heterosexual

couple, and carries a duty to maintain the family line (Horton & Rydstrom, 2019; Khuat et al.,

2009; Le, 2021). The failure to produce a son is considered an expression of filial impiety and

selfish behaviour (Khuat et al., 2009; Le, 2021; Leshkowich, 2014; Rydstrom, 2003, 2006). In my

family, having a gay son is a huge shame for the whole family and is unaccepted. Being the first-

born son and being gay in the family especially goes against the idea of filial duty. My parents

keep reminding me of this, and I am always pressured to enter a straight marriage when I return

home from abroad.

Furthermore, my family is middle-class. My father works in the department of agricultural

development for the Vietnamese government, and my mother runs a small clothing business at

home. I have one younger sister who is straight and educated. My family is thus a formal model

Vietnamese family in which everyone understands the need to conform to social values and norms.

My positionality can also be framed in the context of schooling. Schools are micro worlds in which

boys are shaped performatively in terms of gender and sexuality (O’Donoghue, 2019). I began
 15

high school in 2007. Between 2007 – 2009, I grappled with my gender performance. School spaces

are gendered, and boys both confront and contest them (O’Donoghue, 2019). Schoolboys, in

general, are clothed in uniforms and restricted in beliefs and values (Swain, 2002). They are

expected to be physically strong and dominant. They need to excel in sports (Connell, 2008) and

never be feminine. They are not allowed to be cute, with colourful clothes or accessories. They

must be manly and sexually attracted to girls. My experiences as a boy in a Vietnamese high school

were framed through my engagement with school uniforms, regulations, relationships with other

boys who were either gay or straight, and some intimate connections (i.e., my dreams of some

boys and fantasized homoerotic relationships). In this doctoral work, I wrote stories about my

childhood experiences as a boy who had been taught to conform to gendered norms (i.e., boys play

with boys ’toys, boys should not play with girls, boys must remain strong and butch by staying

close to their male friends) that promoted heteronormative masculinity in Vietnamese contexts,

such as in school and in the family (Le, 2021).

I am speaking to several specific settings in which my positionality and my understanding

of gender, sexuality, and identities have been constructed through social interactions with people

whose influence on my life and worldview is substantial. For example, in my high school, I needed

to fit my gender performance into the boys ’uniform: a white shirt and dark pants. Boys could not

have messy long hair. I was not allowed to keep my hair longer than my ears. I was not allowed

to dye my hair with bright colours. Many times, despite these restrictions, I did get my hair dyed

and got punished by my teachers and my parents. Once, I got my hair cut brutally by one of my

teachers in front of my friends. I felt humiliated. Dying hair was my way of rebelling, as I did not

feel I was a good fit. Then I fell in love with a boy who was my classmate. He was straight and sat

next to me in class. He was my first crush during my schooling in Vietnam. My attraction to the
 16

boy was defined by hegemonic masculine features, such as “a high haircut, nice and sharp jawline,

sexy smile, and sporty body shape with a big chest and good height” (Le, 2021, p. 222). He was

popular with girls, and I felt jealous when he flirted with them. I wanted to be his girlfriend and

acted like a girl in front of him. I spoke softly and became shy and vulnerable. I needed his

protection. This experience with my first high school crush is an example of how my positionality

is framed and examined in this study.

I recall there were few gay boys in my high school, or perhaps some did not feel

comfortable or safe to expose their gender and sexual identities. In any case, from my experience

socializing with my peers in high school, I thought I was the only gay boy in the class. I remember

that I liked to play with girls, as I considered my gender performance to be female. I walked gently

like a girl, spoke softly like a girl, and seemed to be quite shy in front of boys. I acted in ways that

conformed to socially constructed notions of girlishness. Most importantly, I was sexually

attracted to boys. My heart beat fast and my face turned red when I was next to a boy whom I had

a crush on. I felt nervous, hot, and embarrassed when I was caught watching boys take off their

shirts at a football match. Through clothing, I wanted to make myself look like a girl to get boys ’

attention. My life in high school was dynamic and queer in many ways, as my visual identity as a

gay boy kept evolving. I struggled, feeling in-between while I negotiated with the forms of

masculinity (O’Donoghue, 2008).

In general, my positionality in this dissertation is situated in the work of world-making as

a gay boy in multiple social and cultural settings, such as family life, high school, and beyond. In

my autoethnographic research, I nostalgically recollect memories of being a gay boy in many

Vietnamese landscapes. I (re)construct my visual identity in a group of gay boys who were

uncomfortable with the school uniform. I recall idolizing some popular cultural figures—
 17

Vietnamese and Asian pop stars in music and movies—to help frame my body image. I see my

positionality as constantly evolving. Through the process of constructing my dissertation, I

watched it shift, change, and continue to be (re)constructed across times, places, and spaces.
 18

Chapter II: LITERATURE REVIEW

My research questions are central to the conceptualization of my visual identity constructs

and processes of being, becoming, and belonging as a Vietnamese gay boy in various contexts: my

high school and my conventional Confucianist and Buddhist middle-class family, where I was the

first born son. My questions also cover the impact of popular cultures, celebrity influencers, and

social media on my visual performances in relation to my gender and sexual identity. The key

theoretical architecture of my dissertation, therefore, includes queer theory, gender hegemony

theory, identity construction theory, and the concept of intersectionality. Using these theories

illuminates various forms of masculinity and how gayness can be identified as a subordinate

masculinity form. Linking gender theories to the theory of identity construction helped me to

explore how a gay gender identity can be constructed and performed in many social, cultural and

political contexts. The concept of intersectionality was utilized to contextualize this study within

Vietnamese high schools and families. I review the scholarly work by Horton (2014, 2019a,

2019b), Horton and Rydstrom (2019, 2021), and Nguyen (2019) on gay people in Vietnam to help

me understand what has been known and unknown about this group.

Queer Theory, Gender, Sex, and Sexuality

According to Martin and Kitchen (2020), queer theory is a critical discourse that

concentrates on the understanding of “personal identity, social relationships, and social

hierarchies” (p. 592). Historically, drawing on massive work of key gender theorists, such as

Michel Foucault (1978), Judith Butler (1993, 1999), and Eve Sedgwick (1985, 1990, 1993), queer

theory explores the oppressive power of dominant norms, especially in relation to sexuality, and

the marginalization of people who cannot or refuse to conform to them. Gay men learn how to act

straight through their clothing and styles of verbal communication, like speaking with deep voices
 19

and wearing plain T-shirts and dark coloured pants or trousers at workplaces (Horton, 2014,

2019a). Some gay men, whose gender presentation is heteronormative, choose to speak in a deep

voice and wear plain clothes as straight men do. At school, gay boys, likewise, need to be mindful

of their gender performances in order to avoid bullying by heterosexual peers (Horton, 2019a;

O’Donoghue, 2008). Socially, some Vietnamese young men learn to hide their gay visual identity

to make them feel safe in these places and spaces. Reflecting on my own personal experiences, I

had to mediate my gender and sexual identity in order to act and live as the straight-acting boy my

family expected.

Queer theory is rooted in feminism— the belief in full social, economic, and political

equality for women (Jagose, 1996; Minton, 1997). What queer theory inherited from feminism is

a critique of category. Butler’s recent work on gender performativity (2015) argues that securing

greater freedom for women requires redefining the category of women to include new possibilities,

including trans women, and certainly being a woman does not remain the same from decade to

decade or context to context (Ahmed, 2017). Queer theory grew out of this disruptive feminism

and aims to empower marginalized people, especially those with sexual minority gender identities,

such as gay people (Martin & Kitchen, 2020). Thus, I understand that Vietnamese young gay men’s

gender expressions of identity are non-homogenous.

The term queer or queerness is key to queer theory. Sedgwick (1990) writes:

That’s one of the things that ‘queer ’can refer to: the open mesh of possibilities, gaps,

overlaps, dissonances and resonances, lapses and excesses of meaning when the constituent

elements of anyone’s gender, of anyone’s sexuality aren’t made (or can’t be made) to signify

monolithically. (p. 8)
 20

From Sedgwick’s perspective, queer aims to disrupt all normative gender and sexual binaries:

male/female and heterosexual/homosexual. After disruption, gender and sexual identities are

understood and perceived as diverse, fluid, evolving, and unfixed, which have been explored as

the site for queer scholars from different social and cultural backgrounds to contribute their voices

and experiences (Adams, 2011; Le, 2021; Trinh, 2021). Queer indicates the possibility for, as

Martin and Kitchen (2020) put it, “a continuum of gender and sexual identities that the individual

performs as an enactment of the self, open to interpretation and reinterpretation” (p. 6). Hence,

queer is a critique of category. From the lens of queer scholars, such as Sedgwick, 1990; Martin

and Kitchen, 2020; Kitchen, 2014, 2016; Le, 2021; Trinh, 2021, there is no set normal, only

changing norms that people may or may not fit into, making queer scholars ’main argument against

gender and sexuality binaries. Queer challenges fixed perceptions and understanding of visual and

personal identities in relation to gender and sexuality. Queer is non-normative, non-static, and non-

stable. Queer then is not just about disruption and re-articulation as ongoing processes in perpetuity

and simultaneity. Queer is about constant re-invention. The meaning of queer encompasses

unfixed visual expressions of identity through clothed and accessorized bodies.

Drawing on Blaikie’s (2020, 2021) work on visual and cultural identity in relation to queer,

I position identities as porous and evolving. Identity constructs are transforming under the

influence of place, gender, sexuality, race, culture, and class (Blaikie, 2021). In this sense, queer

identity is never fixed but fluid across times, places, and spaces. In one of my recent publications

(Le et al., 2021), I shared a story of one of my queer friends in Vietnam who felt free to express

her non-normative gender identity during the COVID-19 pandemic. She shared with me a photo

depicting her in a boho dress at the winding stairs of her residential building. During COVID-19,

no one cared about her performativity. People shifted their attention to the virus. Therefore, she
 21

did not fear the oftentimes brutal gazes at her queer performances from other heterosexual

neighbours. Hence, the pandemic as a global crisis caused some shifts, both in a negative and

positive manner, in people’s positionalities and identities.

Queerness signifies a sense of difference or strangeness and radical queers, including queer

scholars, such as Talburt and Steinberg (2000) and Trinh (2021) who look at queer to disrupt social

conventions. According to Hunts and Homes (2015), queer scholars embrace the sense of

difference by doing queer and see queer as “more about ‘doing ’that offers the potential for radical

social critique” (p. 156). Doing queer means queer people and communities embody and personify

queerness through resistance and defiance, including the ways they dress, speak, think, and live

that break social norms. Martin and Kitchen (2020) claim that the purpose of queer is to signify

gender and sexual subjectivities against the heteronormative paradigm. It is, according to them,

“an emancipatory and performative ontological position, mercurial in nature, not an essentialist

identity category” (p. 593). As an emerging gay scholar, I concur that queerness is a space that

allows people with sexual minority gender identities to think, live, and perform outside of the box

of a gender and sexual heteronormative paradigm. Queerness is a critical source of transformative

energy that challenges heterosexist hegemony (Sedgwick, 1993), and it is reflected through my

non-conforming gender identity as a young gay man in Vietnam (Le, 2021).

Gender, sex, and sexuality are three other key terms that need expounding. Gender refers

to social or cultural differences associated with being male or female that are dominantly identified

as "girl" and "woman" versus “boy" and “man." Gender identity is girl, woman, boy, man, trans,

and others. Gender expressions refer to being masculine or feminine regardless of identity

(Diamond, 2002). Butler (2004, 2015) broadens the notion of gender as an assignment that does

not happen just once. Rather gender assignment is ongoing. However, significantly and for most
 22

people, it is the same gender assignment and the assignment does not usually change. Butler (2015)

notes the intersection of gender and sex: “We are assigned a sex at birth and then a slew of

expectations follow which continue to ‘assign ’gender to us” (p. 23). For Butler (2015), gender

assigns and reassigns norms to bodies, organizes them socially, but also “animates them in

directions contrary to those norms” (p. 45). Gender should be viewed as something “that is imposed

at birth, through sex assignment and all the cultural assumptions that usually go along with that”

(Butler, 2015, p. 46). Gender is what is made along the way. We can take over the power of

assignment, however, and make it self-assignment, which can include sex reassignment at a legal

and medical level. In this sense and in my study, gender can be about the roles, behaviours, and

expectations the culture assigns to us as gender performers (i.e., how we are supposed to feel and

act according to whether we are seen as female or male). Siann (2013) defines sex as the biological

distinction between males and females. Sex implies “the biologic, genetic, or phenotypical markers

that are used to categorize us into female and male bodies: genitals, body structure, hormones, and

so on” (Sensoy & DeAngelo, 2017, p. 38). Hence, sex with these markers is related to reproduction.

Sexuality is defined by three separate but interconnected dimensions: attraction, behaviour,

and identity. An example of these three dimensions of sexuality is that “a woman who has sex with

men (behaviour) to whom she is sexually attracted (attraction) and who identifies as straight

(identity) would be a heterosexual woman” (Siann, 2013, p. 59). Sexual fantasies and desires can

be associated with attraction and behaviour. For example, people habitually use mental imagery to

manipulate stress by creating an alternative reality (e.g., being in a powerful position in a

relationship; Birnbaum et al., 2019). To release stress, people in this situation feel sexually

attracted to a more dominant position where they would have a sense of empowerment. Poerio and

Smallwood (2016) posit that daydreams about interactions with close others (i.e., someone people
 23

crush on, lovers, and life partners) have been found to increase feelings of love and connection for

them that foster pleasant future interactions. This finding reports through fantasies, which could

be seen as a behaviour, people nurture sexual desires for their loved ones. Gender and sex are not,

then, interchangeable terms (Diamond, 2002; Siann, 2013), and sexuality is more than physical –

it is about sexual orientation, which refers to a person’s emotional and sexual attraction to a

particular sex (Ryle, 2011). In this study, I view myself as male, which is my sex as a gay man. I

am sexually attracted to men who also have a sexual desire for men. But one of my gay friends

was offended when we talked about sex and sexuality by any fixed conception of gay sexual

orientations and sexual roles:

I think we should not be defined by our sex/ual3 roles in a relationship. I actually prefer to

switch the positions or roles in my gay relationship with my partner. Also, both of us had

had sex with girls before we hooked up with each other. And now we are both gay. For

now, we no longer like women. (Le, personal communication, May 21, 2020)

The fixed conception of sexuality that annoyed my gay friend in this conversation refers to what

heterosexuals assume about us in terms of sexual practices and behaviours. Sociologically,

sexuality encompasses contesting sexual practices and behaviours, sexual feelings, sexual

orientations, and also the fluid ways in which particular sexual identities and behaviours are

constructed and reinforced by/across social institutions and cultures (Fischer, 2013). Situating the

conversation with my gay friend in the Vietnamese social and cultural context, gender and sexual

3
I conceive of sex roles and sexual roles as both separate and complementary. They both contribute to the
development and well-being of a person’s sex life. Sex roles refer to socially coded behaviours and practices often
related to a person’s reproductive capacities (i.e., women with the roles of motherhood and men with fatherhood).
Sex roles are also about the sex positions in the context of sexual intercourse (Gove & Tudor, 1973), and sexual
roles imply the emotions involved in a romantic relationship. For example, regarding sexual roles, in a gay
relationship, the person who holds the leading and dominant role takes care of the partner who is in the passive role.
This conception of sex and sexual roles problematizes the traditional understanding of sex and sexuality in gay
loveship, so simply this is just my personal view on sex and sexual roles drawn on my own experience.
 24

minorities, including gays, are often pejoratively shamed as bê đê, bóng, lại cái (faggot 4 in

English). In Vietnam, bê đê, bóng, lại cái refers to men who are biologically male but act and look

feminine, with longer hair, very smooth skin (probably the result of a good skincare routine), a

pretty face, and a woman-like fashion style (i.e., colourful clothes with lots of fabric patterns). Bê

đê, bóng, lại cái can also mean gay, and gay can be a culture (Eguchi, 2011). These were names

familiar to me when I was a boy with non-conforming gender and sexual performances in Vietnam.

Figure 1
Quang Vinh

Note. Source: Vietnamnet.vn

4
Faggot is a term of abuse and disparagement to LGBTIQ+ people, especially gay men. It is an extremely offensive
word for gay people. This word is used to make gay men feel ashamed of themselves for their non-normative gender
and sexual identities. The word is preferred by homophobic people and anti-queer groups. There are gay men today
who choose to leverage power over terms, such as faggot by reclaiming them.
 25

Figure 1 shows a photo of Quang Vinh, a Vietnamese pop-star, in the 2000s, to illustrate

how popular culture can influence the gender performances of Vietnamese young men, certainly

including Vietnamese gay boys. Popular culture via images/visual identities of male celebrities

also has shaped social perceptions of gender and sexual identity (Lee et al., 2020; Nguyen, 2019).

Quang Vinh was a famous male pop singer, actor, and music producer with vocal talent discovered

at 11 years old when he participated in Ho Chi Minh City’s youth singers ’group. His career

highlights were recognized with a lot of renowned music videos between 2000 and 2003. At the

beginning of his career as a pop star, Quang Vinh was well-recognized for his fashion style,

including long, straight hair, an adorable, sweet face, and a beautiful smile. He was the one who

inspired Vietnamese young men for a beauty ideal, which was an image of a sweet and lovely

teenage boy. He was one of my pop male idols when I was a schoolboy in Vietnam, and at the

time I had a hair-cut like him (we used to call it a Quang Vinh hair style in the early/mid 2000s).

However, a boy with long hair and flawless skin does not look butch and manly.5 Thus, Quang

Vinh’s image demonstrates and promotes femininity among Vietnamese young men, which has

been unacceptable in Vietnamese traditional contexts of being, living, and learning (i.e., in family

and in school, because femininity usually means gay; Clarkson, 2006). And being gay or looking

gay could get frowned on by other people who are adults with conservative views on gender and

sexual non-conformity.

Additionally, from my experience with some of my queer friends who are transgender and

transgay6, the terms “gender,” “sex,” and “sexuality” are made complex by my friends ’gender and

5
“Butch” and “manly” are important attributes of straight men (Eguchi, 2011; Payne, 2007).

6
Transgays are females who feel sexually attracted to gay men. Their sexuality is gay. So they transition from
female to male in order to engage in some sexual relationships with gay men. They often act like gay men with
strong masculinity characteristics, such as a habit to build muscles and practice a low tone voice. They prefer to hold
the dominant role in a gay relationship.
 26

sexual identities. My understanding is that my transgender friends who are assigned "boys" at birth

feel and understand deeply that they are women and want to be seen, recognized, and treated as

such. Since they perceive themselves already as women, they dress up with beautiful long dresses

and wear make-up. Through clothing and make-up, which are visual expressions of identity, they

feel their gender as woman. They often share with me that they do not desire sex reassignment

surgery. For them, gender and sex are viewed as separate, indicating that surgery is about sex, and

they want their gender identity via appearance to be socially recognized as women wearing

women’s clothes and living in the look of a woman. Hence, for them the role of gender identity is

not to have a particular physical body, but rather to perform their gender as a woman.

Furthermore, queer theory challenges dominant and oppressive social opinions on gender

and sexuality that are seen as natural outcomes of biological sex (Martin & Kitchen, 2020). From

a dominant framework, biological sex serves as a fixed indicator of gender identity, performance,

and heterosexual orientation. For instance, a person recognized biologically as female should

perform her gender as a straight woman and be sexually attracted to men. As such, she would then

be seen and accepted as a normal woman. However, through the lens of queer theory, gender and

sexuality are both fluid social constructions, and they can be reproduced and evolve across time

and space via socio-cultural interactions (Butler, 1999; Martin & Kitchen, 2020; Wilchins, 2014).

But biological sex does not turn out to be a parameter of gender or sexual identity; rather gender

and sexual identity can be socially and culturally constructed in multiple contexts of being and

living (Martino & Palllotta-Chiarolli, 2007).

Schools play a crucial role in framing social and cultural norms and assigning them to

schoolboys’ and schoolgirls ’bodies (Martino & Palllotta-Chiarolli, 2007; O’Donoghue, 2019).

Gendered norms, which are based on physical differences between boys and girls (Martino &
 27

Palllotta-Chiarolli) are integrated in gender-specific pedagogical interventions and approaches to

curriculum development. Boys are assumed to be physically stronger and more active than girls.

Girls are assumed to be more diligent, meticulous, and patient, and to perform better in some

specific subjects, such as literature and language. These common gender stereotypes lead to

educational interventions and approaches, including single-sex classes/schooling for boys and “a

boy-friendly curriculum that involves catering to boys ’distinctive learning styles (more structured

and quick-paced tasks as well as more activity-based or hands-on learning)” (Martino & Palllotta-

Chiarolli, 2007, p. 348). O’Donoghue’s (2019) work reveals that schoolboys ’lives are socially and

culturally constructed as they view and experience school as a critical place for them to obtain,

showcase, and exercise power over others, including girls and those whose gender identities are in

the minority. School is where the social construction of gender takes place. For example, boys tend

to be louder and more aggressive than girls in their resistance to teachers and school-based power

structures (Francis, 2000). Boys ’resistance to schooling and institutional authority in schools is a

destructive, chaotic, and alienating sort of masculinity (Walker, 2006). Hence, it is important for

teachers and school leaders to understand the common gender stereotypes regarding boys ’and

girls ’behaviours in the classroom. They need to have productive pedagogies that involve an

intellectually demanding curriculum—a curriculum that is relevant to and has purchase on the

everyday lives of students outside of school. Pedagogies should also ensure a safe classroom

environment where students feel able to take risks in learning and expressing their gender identities

(Martino & Palllotta-Chiarolli, 2007).

For Butler (1988), gender proceeds through a continuous series of social performances;

thus, the characteristics of an essential sex are part of a strategy “by which the performative aspect

of gender is concealed” (p. 528). Central to Butler’s work on gender (1988, 1999, 1993), gender
 28

performativity is a notion indicating that gender is not just a performance, but a performance that

is repeated in perpetuity, a process that gives it the illusion of being natural, as well as normal. As

a result of that process, gender performativity becomes a person’s visual expression of identity.

Academic examinations of gay gender performance hold rich potential for gender studies and

identity construction studies across social and cultural contexts.

Butler’s views on gender and sexuality have recently shifted, especially in her book entitled

Notes toward a Performative Theory of Assembly (2015). She uses gender performativity as a point

of departure for discussing precarious populations and the assembly of bodies as protest. For her,

gender performativity is not individualist, but collective. Growing out of the first notion of gender

performativity as a theory that explains gender expression and identity of everyone, gender

performativity, for Butler (2015), represents a group of people and is associated with at-risk

communities such as HIV/AIDS trans people. Gender performativity as embodied performativity

is associated with the concept of precarity, which according to Butler (2015) is “a shared lived

reality operating as a site of alliance that joins people who otherwise have little in common” (p.

107). Gender performativity connects gender and sexual minorities in, as she puts it, an “assembly

of bodies, plural, persisting, acting, and laying claim to a public sphere by which one has been

abandoned” (p. 105). Also, in many recent interviews by other gender theorists, such as Sara

Ahmed (2016), Butler claims that queer is never an identity, but a way of affiliating with the fight

against queerphobia that concerns fear and hatred of things not heterosexual and cisgender (i.e.,

homosexuality, bisexuality, pansexuality, transgenderism, asexuality, and genderqueer). From my

personal experience of being friends with queer people, especially in Vietnam, queer can be an

identity when people choose to identify that way. Alternatively, being queer references a protest

against the policing and imposition of identity. I approach the latter view by conceptualizing queer
 29

as an inclusive term that refers to a fight of gender and sexual minority communities against an

anti-feminist, homophobic, and transphobic ideology that sees gender as “a destructive fiction,

taking down both man and civilization and God” (Butler, 2015, p. 98).

The Inclusivity of Queer

“You see yourself as a gay man now. So, do you think being gay refers to queer theory?”

I was asked this question by an audience member after my presentation on a panel at the

Art Education Research Institute (AERI) symposium 2021. I was awed by the question, and it

made me pause for a while rethinking whether gay could be included and recognized in queer

theory, and hence how my doctoral dissertation would be able to contribute to queer theory, which

is certainly central to me and my lived experience. The question was an intriguing hook, forcing

me to think hard about queer theory, especially the key term queer/queerness. I would argue

strongly that queer theory includes gayness, just as it speaks to other non-normative gender and

sexual minorities, such as lesbian, bisexual, transgender, intersex, questioning, and more. In my

view, there are at least three reasons: historical roots in gay and lesbian communities 'movements,

the meaning of queer, and the concept of heteronormativity. These reasons explain why gay is

referred to in queer theory.

First, historically queer theory originated from radical movements of people of colour and

from gay and lesbian communities (Butler, 2004, 2015; Jagose, 1996; Le, 2021). In considering

the inclusion of gay people in queer theory, I use the terms homosexual and homosexuality instead

of gay, as these terms have appeared widely in the literature on the historical roots of queer theory

(Lauretis, 1991; Minton, 1997; Painter, 1941; Terman & Miles, 1936;). For example, Lewis M.

Terman’s research on gender roles found homosexual men with feminine features, based on

interview data of feminine men having a passive role in their sexual behaviour.
 30

Some other pioneering sex researchers, such as Jan Gay, Thomas Painter, and George W.

Henry invested a lot of effort in their studies of sex via life-history interviews with homosexual

men and women. From 1935 to 1938, Henry’s (1941) research engaged 40 homosexual men and

women as his final samples in interviews. These participants were in their 20s and 30s, well

educated, and engaged in fine arts and performing arts. Henry’s work, The Sex Variants Study,

published in 1941, offered autobiographical narratives by homosexual people. For me, Henry’s

study illustrates a burning need for narratives and voices of homosexuals in gender and sexuality

research. In the 1940s and 1960s, Alfred Kinsey and Thomas Painter also conducted extensive

research on homosexuality. Painter was a gay researcher seeking to do a study on male prostitution.

He collaborated with Gay, recruiting male homosexual participants for Gay’s (1950) study.

Kinsey’s work in the late 1940s and early 1950s reported findings on homosexuality that

contributed to the growing sense of a positive group of homosexual men. His work indicated the

existence of a hidden homosexual culture, which was later defined as gay male subculture (Minton,

1997). Kinsey’s (1943) and especially Evelyn Hooker’s (1957, 1992) important research

demonstrated that there was no association between homosexuality and psychopathology. Initially,

Hooker worked on a project that involved the comparison of the responses of gay and straight men

on several tests. Further to her research, she conducted ethnographic studies to look into the

homosexual world, believing that “it is the only way in which to know what is really going on” (p.

91). The impact of Hooker’s work touched the lives of many homosexual people and those who

were not homosexual. Her research set the stage for the homosexual rights movement (Minton,

1997). After a long fight, homosexuality was eventually removed from the American Psychiatric

Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual in 1974. The medicalization of homosexuality

came to a close in 1986 “with the removal of ‘ego-dystonic homosexuality ’and the liberatory
 31

politics of the early 1970s” (Minton, 1997, p. 345), which provided lesbians and gay men with

better opportunities to speak in their own voices.

The second reason for the inclusion of gayness in queer theory relies on the key concept,

queer/queerness, which is foundational to queer theory. In my recent publication (Le, 2021), I

wrote that queer is the complex emotion of “not fitting, unfixed, and not belonging” commonly

encountered by “members of gender and sexual minority communities living in heteronormative

societies such as Vietnam” (p. 213). Queer is a cultural norm that regulates both homosexuals and

non-homosexuals (Butler, 1993, 2004, 2015; Sedgwick, 1993). I cannot speak for all gay men. I

just write to speak for myself as a gay man. The one wish I have had my whole life is for the social

acceptance from others—family, friends, and colleagues. These others, the heterosexuals, are the

dominant cultural group. They could actually be any gender and sexuality, so long as they feel the

power of belonging to the dominant culture. For example, I recall being a gay schoolboy with

power over another queer boy in high school. I belonged to a group of gay boys who joined other

people in oppressing a queer friend. I think the queer friend was transgender. Even now, I am still

not sure, since they wore girls ’clothes and acted like a girl. Because of that visual expression of

identity, they were oppressed by the others. In my vignettes, I write more about this queer friend.

This practice of labelling is one of the ways of othering used in some heteronormative societies,

such as Vietnam (Horton & Rydstrom, 2021; Le, 2021). This and other mechanisms reinforce “the

treatment of homosexuality as an abnormality or pathology and in homosexuals being considered

dangerous individuals because with this idea of sexuality, power is exercised” (Foucault, 1995, p.

152). In this sense, abnormality is effectively linked to queer theory. Both queer as/and

abnormality signify/ies something against nature. That something is an attack against “the regular

functioning of the natural sphere, attacks that could be sanctioned by law” (Foucault, 2007, p. 11).
 32

In the West, laws have shifted to accept gay people and same-sex marriage; for example,

in the United States of America and Canada, same-sex marriage has been legalized. However, in

many countries, such as Yemen, Iran, Brunei, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, and so on, being gay is

illegal and not tolerated. Gay people can be imprisoned in Asian countries, including Singapore,

Myanmar, and Bangladesh (Encarnación, 2014). In Vietnam, on January 1, 2015, the Minister of

Justice announced that same-sex weddings as symbolic of marriage would be been allowed, but

same-sex couples are still neither recognized nor protected under the law (Horton & Rydstrom,

2019). Vietnam still does not allow same-sex partnership either, meaning that same-sex couples

today can have weddings, but their marriages are not recognized in any legal documents. Similarly,

being queer is considered abnormal, and thus identified as evil (Le et al., 2019; Thuy et al., 2020).

Queer is not limited to sexuality, but of course it includes it, as it does gender, gender

expression, and gender identity. Queer includes sexual identity (Siann, 2013), and I suggest that

sexuality should be considered as fluid and constantly evolving in different contexts of being,

living, and becoming (Diamond, 2002). I interpret queer as a way for me to understand that like

gender identity, sexual identity can change and evolve across time, place, and space, and that I

should be open to what Sedgwick (1990) refers to as “the open mesh of possibilities, gaps,

overlaps, dissonances and resonances, lapses and excesses of meaning” (p 8) when the essential

components of one’s gender and sexuality are not and likely cannot be made to frame and perform

the identity as fixed. Hence, even though I consider my sexuality for now as gay and I have been

in sexual relationships with gay men, I would still prefer to keep myself open to possibilities of

shifting my sexual orientation in the future when I meet new people or encounter new cultures.

My knowledge and my perspectives continue to be socially and culturally constructed. My

personal take on queer is that queer can be used to encompass a variety of non-heterosexual, non-
 33

cisgender identities, and should not be limited to sexuality. As a broad and inclusive term, it

indicates simply a deviation from the norm.

Sexuality is fluid and shifting. Trithipnipa Thippaphada, a former trans beauty queen from

Thailand, is an example of sexual fluidity. Trithipnipa Thippaphada, who won the Miss Trans

World Thailand 2019 crown, as a transgender beauty queen, is a good example of sexual fluidity.

Six years after the male-female transition, Trithipnipa Thippaphada decided to engage in a second

sex reassignment surgery to return to being male.

Figure 2
Trithipnipa Thippaphada's Reverse Transition

Note. Source: Tienphong.vn

To discuss Trithipnipa Thippaphada’s case of identity fluidity requires me to stand back

from the gay boy I once was. I use my perspective as a queer scholar to analyze identities as porous

and shifting. I offer a photo from the Internet to demonstrate Trithipnipa Thippaphada’s fluid
 34

identity (Figure 2). Competing in the Miss Trans World Thailand 2019, Trithipnipa Thippaphada,

as a male-female transperson, reportedly noted her strong belief that she had been a girl at an early

age. During and after the first male-female transition, especially in the beauty pageant for

transgender people in Thailand, her gender performance and sexual identity were indicated

explicitly as those of a girl with heavy makeup, long hair, white glowing skin, breasts, and a skinny

shoulder-line. She wore a stunning dress and the crown of a beauty queen. Trithipnipa

Thippaphada now self-claims and works as a male model. He is straight-acting and has short hair,

a darker complexion, thick and bushy eyebrows, and no makeup. Trithipnipa’s sexual fluidity is

indicated when he (now uses heterosexual pronouns: he/him/his) tells the media that he is now

straight, and feels sexually attracted to women; although as a trans beauty queen, Trithipnipa

Thippaphada was in a relationship with a man. The reason I draw on Trithipnipa Thippaphada is

to argue that sexuality is fluid, unfixed, and evolving. His case has the potential to push against

binary perspectives of gender and sexuality in multiple contexts of being and becoming.

Third, I want to claim that gay references queer theory from an understanding of

heteronormativity. Queer theorist Michael Warner (1991) describes heteronormativity as “a

pervasive discursive framework” ( p. 25) that is deeply rooted in social institutions perpetuating

homophobia and heterosexuality in many ways. Discussed broadly in queer theory and queer

studies, heteronormativity supports the presumption that heterosexuality is normal and natural.

Staley (2022) notes that heteronormativity privileges heterosexuality in all its forms, including

social structures and relationships. It is reflected explicitly through traditional family structures

and romantic relationships (e.g., a family constituted of straight men and women and their

children).
 35

Heteronormativity is also demonstrated through many social and familial norms, such as

women being submissive to men and first-born sons needing to marry a girl to continue the family

lineage (Le, 2021; Le et al., forthcoming). In terms of sexuality, heteronormativity is broadly

considered to confirm that a person is either biologically male or female, with a corresponding

gender identity of being sexually attracted to a member of the opposite sex (Blaikie, 2018; Kitchen,

2014; Martin & Kitchen, 2020). According to Staley (2022), heteronormativity establishes “a set

of beliefs, social practices, and relationships that presume heterosexuality and enforce binary

gender norms” (p. 250). Heteronormativity affects everyone by framing people’s perceptions of

gender and sexuality according to heterosexual norms and practices. Men act and look like

traditional men, and women act and look like traditional women and are submissive to men.

Heteronormativity excludes other non-conforming gender and sexual identities.

Blaikie (2018) uses the image of mean girls as a heteronormative construct to describe how

through fashion styles, encompassing clothes and accessories, young girls are materialized to

become sexualized bodies. In Blaikie’s (2018) work, mean girls, who are pretty and like Barbie

dolls, are certainly top girls in school. Mean girls are also malicious, looking down upon other

girls who are punks or embrace fatness. Mean girls appear brutal to boys who are not masculine

in heteronormative ways, so these boys become gay and ugly (Blaikie, 2018, p. 221). For Ringrose

and Walkerdine (2008), mean girls are the “newest version of successful, neoliberal feminine

subjectivity, the successful but mean supergirl” (p. 13). Truly mean girls incarnate adolescent

hyperfeminine sexuality, demonstrating constructed aesthetic performances to sustain power and

agency. They know how to use their clothed and accessorized bodies to conceal and reveal who

they are, and to create and recreate their identities. Therefore, to mean girls, bodies are “agents and
 36

objects of social process” as they interact and engage with themselves and one another (Blaikie,

2013, p. 57).

Boys ’and girls ’experiences and understandings of heteronormativity are constructed quite

early. In early life, using family life as a key landscape of being, belonging, and becoming, girls

“are in training to be and become heteronormatively female, incorporating implicit direction in

developing a maternal disposition” (Blaikie, 2018, p. 222). Baby girls are dressed up as princesses

in pink and ice-creamy colours, with laces and bows. They are expected to play with girls ’toys,

such as a doll house and barbie dolls, and in their performative lives, to participate actively in

“competitive gendered activities like cheer, dance, beauty pageants, and ice skating, where they

wear heavy make-up, including false eyelashes” (Blaikie, 2018, p. 222). Boys also receive training

from infancy to be and become heteronormatively male through intensively physical and

emotional activities, such as sports and tough and manly behaviour and appearance (Martino &

Cumming-Potvin, 2017). They need to articulate their maleness through strong bodies and

gendered clothing to reflect, reinforce, and present “individual and collective dis/empowerment”

(Blaikie, 2018, p. 222). For instance, Swain (2002, 2006) and Renold (2007) discuss how junior

and primary schoolboys put on activewear, such as sneakers, to assert themselves as popular

“studs.” Becoming popular is important for pupils, and in heteronormative ways, such as through

clothed and accessorized bodies, they feel empowered to express their desired identities and

values.

It is obviously important for me to understand how heteronormativity, rooted firmly in

many social and cultural contexts, such as in the Vietnamese conventional family and school (Le,

2021; Le et al., forthcoming; Horton & Rydstrom, 2019; Le & Yu, 2019) has shaped people’s

behaviours and attitudes towards gender and sexual performances. Drawing on personal
 37

experiences as a Vietnamese gay boy, I write extensively in this dissertation about my journey of

exploring the construction of my gender and sexual identity in many contexts (i.e., in my family;

in school, in some school places and spaces, e.g., in the classroom, and in the school yard; in

relationships with other boys and gay peers, etc.; and in the media). Through my experiences, I

write to explore my non-conforming/queer7 identity both visually and emotionally, encompassing

the ways I dressed, thought, fell in love with boys/men, cried, got bullied, and learned.

Gender Hegemony Theory

In connection to gender performativity as key to my research on identity constructs, gender

hegemony that is concerned with gender norms influenced by forms of masculinity and femininity

(Schippers, 2007) is another theory for me to look at. In terms of gender, hegemony describes the

patriarchy (Butler, 1993, 1999; Donaldson, 1993). This form of power is hegemonic because it is

neither direct nor explicit. For example, throughout history and across societies and cultures, men

have taken on heavy duties outside their homes, working to make money to sustain their families,

while women have stayed at home to give birth and raise children and to perform household duties

(e.g., cooking and cleaning the house). Still in many societies and cultures, such as in contemporary

Vietnam, this division of labour is not contested or disrupted, but is instead ingrained and

reinforced in Vietnamese people’s minds to become a fixed understanding of gender differences

and performances (Le & Yu, 2019).

R. W. Connell’s (1987, 1995) scholarship on multiple masculinities and especially

hegemonic masculinity has forever shaped central constructs of gender hegemony. Connell’s

gender hegemony theory (1987, 1995), exploring the dominant social roles of men, is highly

influential in conceptualizing the binary ordering of masculinity and femininity. According to

7
I prefer the term queer as an umbrella term for all out-of-category gender and sexual identities. Queer in my view
can be gay, lesbian, bisexual, intersex, or transgender.
 38

Connell (2000), gender hegemony is defined not only through the subordination of women, but

also through the subordination of other, marginalized masculinities (Schippers, 2007).

Marginalized masculinities are those of subordinated classes or racial/ethnic groups (Schippers,

2007); this notion of masculinity links masculinity to other issues of power and oppression (e.g.,

classism and racism). For example, marginalized masculinities can refer to Black men or men of

a lower socio-economic status whose social position is inferior to that of men from the dominant

cultural group (i.e., white, upper-class men).

Returning to the discussion of masculinity and femininity as key to gender hegemony,

Connell (1987) emphasizes the operation of power in governing the boundaries that frame and

reinforce masculinity and femininity across times, cultures, groups and individuals. As a

foundational contemporary gender theorist, Connell (1987, 1995) laid the foundation for gender

hegemony theory by coining the term hegemonic masculinity and describing it as:

the configuration of gender practice which embodies the currently accepted answer to the problem

of the legitimacy of patriarchy, which guarantees (or is taken to guarantee) the dominant position

of men and the subordination of women. (1995, p. 77)

Situating gender hegemony in power and difference, which are core concepts of gay liberation and

gayness, the idea of a hierarchy of masculinities emerges from gay men’s experiences of violence

and prejudice from straight men (Connell & Messerschmidt, 2005). Hence, it is also worth

mentioning that hegemonic masculinity is strengthened by its dynamic relation to subordinate

masculinities. Hegemonic masculinity is upheld by subordinate masculinities, most notably,

homosexual masculinities (Connell, 1995).

This relationship is exemplified by my personal experience as a gay schoolboy in

Vietnamese schools. I had a tough time being bullied, insulted, and sexually assaulted by other
 39

boys whose label was straight, making them superior in the power hierarchy. Being straight is

simply a form of hegemonic masculinity, as people often say that boys will be boys, and that

expression “validates a wide variety of behaviours, including sexual harassment” (Walton, 2017,

para. 11). Being straight means being aggressive, brutally dominant, and butch. This means being

a man/manly, with power over others, including gay peers, via physical (and sexual) conquest.

Subordinate masculinities are often associated with homosexuality, because in a patriarchal

ideology that “which is subordinated is the repository of whatever is isolated from hegemonic

masculinity and assimilated to femininity” (Connell, 1995, p. 50). Connell’s notion of subordinate

masculinities explains why, from the perspective of hegemonic masculinity, both gay men and

straight and non-straight women are placed in subordinate positions within gender relations.

Men do not have to embody hegemonic masculinity to support male dominance. Connell

and Messerschmidt (2005) claim that subordinate masculinities also influence the dominant forms

of masculinity, such as hegemonic masculinity, and are complicit in making them normative.

Complicit masculinities are masculinities constructed and performed in ways that perpetuate “the

patriarchal dividend without the tensions or risks of being the frontline troops of patriarchy”

(Connell, 1995, p. 79). Complicit masculinities also imply the superiority of men to women and

others with marginalized and subordinate masculinity characteristics (e.g., gay men). For instance,

men are expected by society to be generous, calm, and gentle; if they are, they are called

gentlemen. Men are thus considered naturally dominant, not only because of physical strength but

because of character. And in some social and cultural contexts, such as the Vietnamese family,

men are given power by women themselves. Women often accept the patriarchal norm without

any questions (Horton, 2019b; Le, 2021; Truit & Truit, 2015). For instance, Truit and Truit (2015)

describe Vietnamese women who view their gender role as a homemaker (i.e., giving birth to
 40

children and raising their children with little support from men as fathers) as divine. Le (2021)

writes about the importance of virginity before marriage to Vietnamese women as a criterion of

the so-called “good girl.” Vietnamese girls have been taught by more experienced women (e.g.,

mothers and grandmothers) to keep their virginity for their future husbands as proof of their purity

before marriage (Le, 2021). I would argue that women accept these patriarchal norms as a form of

internalized sexism, which refers to women’s incorporation of sexist practices as norms, and to the

circulation of those practices among women, even in the absence of men (Bearman et al., 2009).

The structural and cultural norms often leave the sexist reproduction invisible through generations,

such as mothers teaching daughters to become good wives who can cook, work, and take care of

their children and husbands. Truit and Truit (2015) posit Vietnamese women are willing to

sacrifice their career prospects, education, and personal passions to step back and look after their

families.

According to Schippers (2007), hegemonic femininity is the expression of feminine

characteristics which “establish and legitimate a hierarchical and complementary relationship to

hegemonic masculinity and that, by doing so, guarantee the dominant position of men and the

subordination of women” (p. 94). This definition of hegemonic femininity reinforces gender

hegemony by maintaining the superior position of men and the submission of women in dynamic

gender power relations. Connell (1987) rejected hegemonic forms of femininity and argued that

all forms of femininity in the society were constructed to conform to the overall subordination of

women to men. Like hegemonic masculinity, compliance is central to hegemonic femininity,

which is given by cultural and ideological support. The only feminine form is expressed through

the accommodation of the interests and desires of men (Connell, 1987). Also, Butler (1999) and

Connell (1987) noted that gender is a practice and suggested that masculinity should be conceived
 41

by men and boys and then presented by men and boys, and that femininity be conceived likewise.

Such simplistic understandings of masculinity and femininity provide a context in which multiple

stereotypes flourish and oppress women and "the other men" who fail to comply with the

hegemonic masculinity. Layered binaries are an outcome of this context.

Gay men are victims of hegemonic masculinity, for example in social activities such as

sports. Connell (2008), Gates (2010), and Swain (2002, 2006) show that some gay men show no

interest in team sports and other social contexts (e.g., school and the military), and typically

celebrate and validate straight masculinity. They are often placed in subordinate positions in some

contexts such as sports at schools. Dominant images of masculinity in commercial sport and

physical education indicate toughness, commitment, and sometimes violence, and some gay boys

are excluded because they do not fit these stereotypes (Connell, 2008). Looking at Connell’s work

through a Vietnamese lens, I can see the possibility of recalling my past experiences as a gay

student engaging in required Vietnamese physical education activities. In recalling these school

experiences, I will analyze my gay visual identity constructs, specifically my body image in male

sports clothes. Through autoethnographic writing, I will recall trying to understand how I had to

negotiate my gay identity to conform to straight-looking norms that Vietnamese schools expected

from and reinforced to all students, especially schoolboys.

Identity Construction

Taylor (2015) holds that “the functions and implications of an identity construction need to

be understood in context, including the temporal context” (p. 2), while Wetherell and Porter (1992)

note that based on culture rather than biology, the re/constructions of identity should be considered

as ongoing, depending on racial, ethnic, contextual, and temporal differences. Hence, my research
 42

examines the changing social and cultural conditions, bringing enhanced understanding of these

fluid factors ’impact on visual performances of Vietnamese young people with minority identity.

Since the experience of “who I am” is socially produced (Taylor, 2015, p. 3), identity

constructs and research on identity construction must consider both the sameness and the

differences that emerge from how the distinct experiences of people define who they are and how

they present themselves. Central to the forming of identity, the realization of the self and the

construction of the self unfold through the process of responding to an “other” (Edgar & Sedgwick,

2005). The production of identity is thus shaped and influenced by discursive formations in

society. 8 For example, political speeches, news reports, magazines, tabloids, and social media

hubs, such as Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram have their own language regulations that become

cultures and media for communication. They are sites of identity construction for all individuals

who dwell and socialize in them. This notion of the production of identity is discussed by Cerulo

(1997), who posits that a person is categorized and marked within a frame of knowledge that is

produced, reproduced, and controlled by others in the society where that person is living and

becoming someone/something according to expectations of the whole society.

Taylor (2015) also notes that the construction of identities is situated in the creation and

perpetuation of social differences and inequalities, which relates to how queer people navigate

between their unique identities and the ways heteronormative societies expect them to perform.

Identities are essentially multiple and fluid (Cerulo, 1997); hence, queer identities involve fluid

and diverse performances, especially when placed in different social, cultural, and political

contexts (Foucault, 1997, 1989, 1982). A potential investigation of identity constructions can be

conducted through looking at practices (Taylor, 2015), such practices being related to social

8
According to Foucault (1982), discursive formations are “groups of statements which may have any order,
correlation, position, or function as determined by this disunity” (p. 67).
 43

actions that are contested and mediated by power (Foucault, 1997, 1989)9 , language (Byford,

2006), and religion (e.g., Confucianism, Buddhism, and Taoism—dominant ideologies in inter-

Asian contexts; Le et al., 2020; Vuong et al., 2020).

Martino and Pallotta-Chiarolli (2005, 2007) examined boys ’and girls ’social experiences

of gender and schooling, using student perspectives and voices to explore gender regimes and

power relations at school. They also challenged teachers ’knowledge and pedagogies concerning

the heterosexualized, racialized, and classed dimensions of gender and power relations. Their

studies should help teachers and educational researchers better understand how multiple existing

gender stereotypes and norms can shape schoolboys' and girls ’lives. Taking on Rich’s (1980) idea

of compulsory heterosexuality, Swain (2002), and Martino and Pallotta-Chiarolli (2007) discuss

forms of masculinity and femininity perpetuated by boys and girls to engage in school activities:

bullying, dating hot dudes and hot chicks, and doing drugs.

Keifer-Boyd (2010) and Lai and Cooper (2016) investigate how visual culture,

encompassing painting, theatre, photography, sculpture, and popular cultural objects such as

television programs, films, advertisements, magazines, and fashion, etc., constructs and

perpetuates gender roles and stereotypes. Lai and Cooper (2016) demonstrate a girly visual culture

in popular media that shapes children's sense of gender identity and gender-binary preferences.

They define girly visual culture as a way for youth and young girls to capitalize on “images of little

girl-like innocence, purity, and vulnerability, in turn portraying women in a submissive and non-

threatening way” (Lai & Cooper, 2016, p. 97). To explore the significance of popular youth culture

in forming postmodern girls ’visual identity, they discuss various popular girly visual culture

9
Power is circulated in many social, cultural, and political contexts, including families, schools, and media.
Individuals in these settings, such as parents and children, teachers and students, celebrity influencers and audiences
are vehicles of power that play a significant role in constructions of identity, especially for young adults.
 44

activities, such as DIY (Do It Yourself) name bracelets and zine projects, shopping and wearing

name-brand clothes, and going to dress-up parties. Keifer-Boyd (2010) proposes teaching

strategies that encourage and promote an understanding of how visual culture constructs gender

identity and can resist harmful gender constructions. One of the classroom activities she used was

to engage students in exploring and sharing stories about visual culture and gender from a feminist

perspective, and to critique digital video stories, exploring how subjectivity is shaped by the image.

For example, students were encouraged to read the visual essays in the journal Visual Culture &

Gender, discuss them in class, and record their own stories directly on the Internet using

VoiceThread, a free recording app. This activity tells us, as teachers and educators, that it is

important to make youth and young adult students aware of the impact of visual culture via films,

musical videos, and magazines on their identity constructions. Also, through visual culture of

youth and young adults (e.g., visual essays in the journal), teachers and educators can navigate

ways to support students ’framing of their personal identities. Blaikie’s (2018, 2021) scholarship,

examining visual and cultural identity constructs, social media, celebrity influencers, popular

culture, and material culture’s impact on youth and young adults, includes a study of mean girls

and teenage girls ’visual representations and feminine performances. Her ethnographic work

examines how inner habitus10 and external factors, including music culture and global celebrities,

like K-pop music and stars and public figures like Kendal Jenner and Gigi Hadid, have shaped

school girls ’visual identity constructions and their sense of becoming and belonging. Within

habitus sites, like family, school, and social media platforms, clothes, fashion accessories,

cosmetic items, and other materials become a medium for “the expression of embodied

subjectivities, social cultural affiliations, gender, and sexuality via ongoing visual and cultural

10
Habitus describes how people construct and live social, visual, and cultural identities, encompassing experiences in
family, personal life, evolving social relationships, and landscapes (Blaikie, 2018; Bourdieu, 1986).
 45

identity processes” (Blaikie, 2018, p. 216). Overall, these studies clearly indicate that young

people’s visual and cultural identities, including their gender performances, are fluid and shifting

processes, shaped and influenced by many social and cultural conditions.

Intersectionality

Tajfel et al. (1979) created social identity theory, which refers to a person’s sense of who

they are based on their social group memberships. During socialization, people have often found

a sense of belonging to many groups, such as school, family, sports team, religious

community/group, and reading group, and such groups have become an important source of

individual pride and self-esteem (Tajfel et al., 1997), helping individuals build a connection to the

social world.

Noting that people tend to classify themselves and others into various social categories

such as organizational membership, religious affiliation, gender, and age (Tajfel & Turner, 1985),

it is important to look an individual from multiple perspectives of being and living, including

social, cultural, and political contexts. To gain a broader view of the multiple social identities that

contribute to a person’s lived experiences and perceptions of the social world requires an

intersectional approach.

In 1989, Kimberlé Crenshaw, a pivotal Black feminist theorist, coined the term

“intersectionality,” which is widely used today in women’s studies and through sociological and

sociocultural analysis (Carastathis, 2014; McCall, 2005), and which has become a theoretical and

political approach for some pressing problems faced by contemporary feminism such as “the long

and painful legacy of its exclusions” (Davis, 2008, p. 70). For Crenshaw (1991), intersectionality

refers to the interactivity of social identity structures such as race, class, gender, and sexuality in

fostering life experiences, especially those of privilege and oppression. The concept of
 46

intersectionality was initially intended to help explore, as she puts it, various “ways race and gender

interact to shape the multiple dimensions of women’s employment experiences” (p. 1244).

Intersectionality offers a more holistic and inclusive view of women’s oppression than

gender alone (Carastathis, 2014), invoking multiple, converging, overlapping and interwoven

systems of oppression. Hence, when looking at the human rights of women, intersectionality

enables us to identify numerous forms of discrimination. Such an approach is needed “to

adequately understand and describe how oppression works” (MacLean, 2009, p. 5). For example,

discrimination can act in terms of race, class, and sexuality against women who are Black, who

have low incomes, and who are lesbian or transgender. Scholars and researchers need to use

intersectionality to examine the whole package of social identities that can be embodied within an

individual for a better understanding of oppression of that person.

Over the course of the twentieth century, intersectionality appeared beneficial for Black

feminists since it helped Black women consider that they had to overcome oppression that might

be caused not only by race and gender but also by class disadvantages arising from a history of

enslavement. Black women’s voices were then quickly recognized, shared, and heard by other

social groups whose life experiences were similarly structured by two or more disadvantageous

elements. Examples could be Asian immigrants and blind or Spanish-speaking seniors (Gopaldas,

2013). Therefore, in general, the concept of intersectionality expanded from a basis in Black

feminism to address diverse issues of marginalization, power, and oppression faced by different

social populations living on the periphery of the society. Intersectionality is helpful for dominant

groups to appreciate the complex ways groups experience marginalization.

Interdisciplinary researchers have joined the conversation on intersectionality, offering

newer definitions (Browne & Misra, 2003; Davis, 2008) which go beyond race, class, and gender
 47

to encompass more particular social identity categories, such as age, attractiveness, body type,

citizenship, education, ethnicity, height and weight, immigration status, income, marital status,

mental health, nationality, occupation, physical ability, religion, sex, and sexual orientation. This

expansion of the understanding of intersectionality puts everyone with unique social advantages

and disadvantages under scrutiny for possible oppression. For example, a White, Anglophone,

Christian, butch, tall man moving to live in an Asian country such as Japan will experience certain

challenges in communication and cultural adaptation due to his different race, ethnicity, language,

and body type. He might find it difficult to communicate with local Japanese people and to fit into

the new culture. He might feel alone in a society where people look physically different from him.

All this exemplifies a concern about belonging and shows how intersectionality can enable us to

look at the issue through a broad yet specific lens. And yet his whiteness and maleness still hold

power, despite his localized discomfort and challenges with belonging in that context.

The notion of belonging is complicated and contested, and expressed via multimedia,

including sites such as school, work, families, clothing/fashion, popular culture, and music

(Blaikie, 2021). Thinking or rethinking a sense of belonging in today’s fast-evolving social world,

people recognize that belonging is materialized. For example, Blaikie (2021b) describes one of her

research participant’s perceptions and experiences of “being and imagined belonging through

clothing, popular culture and music” (p. 56). Leona, a research participants in Blaikie’s study,

expressed a sense of belonging to some exotic popular cultures, such as K-pop. She reported that

South Korean fashion and music became essential conditions for her to fantasize about her sense

of belonging. Hence, it is important to extend the definition and interpretation of belonging to

include new materialism forms (e.g., clothing, movies, music, and social media) with boundaries

becoming porous to allow for a more critical understanding of the sense of belonging. The link
 48

between intersectionality and materialism might bring the discussion on intersectionality further

from its origins that is about oppression. However, I aim to add to the complexity of

intersectionality when it comes to our understanding of belonging, which can be influenced by

materialism. Material possessions can entail oppression (Delphy, 2016). The privilege to access

good education, fancy clothes, and other forms of high class entertainment creates a sense of

belonging for a certain group of the population, while leaving other groups, whose access to these

sources is limited, in the margin of the society.

In several of my own works, I have written about my life as a gay boy in different contexts

of being, belonging, and becoming. I described how being born as a first-male child in a

Vietnamese Confucianist and Buddhist family imposed massive pressure against my real gender

and sexual identity (Le, 2021; Le et al., 2020a, 2020b). These two Vietnamese traditional

ideologies have upheld my family faith and values and perpetuated patriarchal norms in not only

my family but also the majority of Vietnamese families (Horton & Rydstrom, 2019; Le, 2021; Le

& Yu, 2019). Patriarchal norms (i.e., the absolute role of straight-acting men in the family, and the

submissive role of women) demonstrate the hegemonic heteronormativity that is a key aspect of

Confucianism and Buddhism in Vietnamese society as the broad field of my study and in the

Vietnamese family and school as the sub-fields. My experience requires an intersectional look at

multiple social structures, including race, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, and class, to frame my

identity as a Vietnamese gay boy and now a gay man. These are the various contexts of being,

living, and belonging that are addressed through the lens of intersectionality.

The core values of Confucianism are collectivism and hierarchy (Vuong et al., 2020). A

principle of collectivism is "một người vì mọi người, mọi người vì một người" (one for all, all for

one). From a collectivist perspective, individuals are expected to sacrifice their desires and needs
 49

for the sake of others. Vietnamese people, therefore, are bound by their social duties and their

obligations towards others. A perception of self as a unique and separate entity is not valued. As a

result of collectivism, the Confucian child is viewed in terms of their contemporary duties and

future responsibilities. Children are taught to preserve filial piety towards their parents and

ancestors. This piety is to be expressed through the children's life-long actions (i.e., respecting

their parents, following parents' guidance, caring for their parents, and worshiping their parents

after death). Children are taught to build virtues to become ideal and responsible citizens who

enhance the reputations of their families, community, and the nation. The virtues in Confucianism

are benevolence, righteousness, trustworthiness, propriety and wisdom, which aim to sustain the

stratification in social relationships in society. Young children's virtue development is attached to

their social responsibilities and respect for adults' teachings.

Vietnamese Buddhism is influenced by Chinese Buddhism, which embraces the idea of the

non-self, which means that "the individual self is nothing but an illusion" and "holding onto the

self-image is the source of suffering" (Le et al., 2020b, p. 40). Suffering and the understanding of

suffering have become key to Chinese Buddhist ideologies influencing Vietnamese parenting and

schooling. Young children are taught to think and act for others so that they can kill the illusion of

selfhood–a form of suffering–and reveal their virtue (Le et al., 2020b). During the Ly-Tran

dynasties (1009-1400), Buddhism was recognized as the official religion and became an

ideological tool in politics. The idea of non-self prompted Vietnamese monks to teach children

and youth to develop their consciousness by maintaining morality and complying with adult

expectations and orders. In short, Vietnamese children are taught to live for others. In accordance

with Confucianism’s emphasis on the importance of collectivism, in Vietnamese traditional

teaching children are expected to be obedient.

 50

My Vietnamese conventional family of Confucianists and Buddhists plays a crucial role in the

construction of my social locations. Intersectionality allows an examination of my social locations

(Daynes, 2007) and the various positions I hold within the social system based on my experiences

of privilege and exclusion. Social locations take into account where people come from, their

history, where they were born, how they grew up, and the experiences they have (Daynes, 2007).

Therefore, from the perspective of intersectionality, social locations constitute our past and our

present and, importantly, how the two can combine. Social locations can also be future

possibilities, since they encourage “our awareness of the systems and our experiences, and how we

then can navigate them” (Daynes, 2007, p. 5). My social locations lead me to look at my sensory

roots, as truly I am loyal to them. They are hard to avoid, ignore, or escape from. As a Buddhist

child, I was taught to conform to my parents ’expectations, and one of them was to become straight.

Gay is not tolerated in a Vietnamese Confucianist and Buddhist family (Le, 2021). Looking at

social structures: gender, sexuality, religion, and culture through the concept of intersectionality,

I feel these structures can create a conflict in my case and in my family, where I found myself as

a gay son and the first-born child in trouble. Gender was in trouble when I could not act femme,

such as letting my hair grow longer than my ears like a girl or wearing colourful clothes. Sexuality

was in trouble when I needed to hide my feelings for men. My parents complained that I played

with girls not boys. Like a girl, I felt shy to hang out with boys. Religion and culture as my roots

were in trouble when they became hindrances for me to be me.

Class is also a critical social identity structure that can be looked at from the lens of

intersectionality. Social class plays an important role in the forms of privilege (Aronowitz, 2017).

Class can be interpreted through Bourdieu’s (1977, 2018) theory of habitus and cultural capital.

Internal habitus context can be founded in the family life of a child where shifting relationships,
 51

time frames, places, and experiences construct the child’s experience and understanding of the

social world (Blaikie, 2018). Habitus is the physical embodiment of cultural capital, which refers

to the collection of symbolic elements that a child is given by parents and the community that the

child belongs to. Symbolic elements include skills, clothing, mannerism, material belongings, and

credentials (Bourdieu, 2018). These elements bring the child forms of privilege, such as education,

employment, health care, choices of entertainment (i.e., movies, music, and sports), and other

benefits. Schools are also places where privileges are received by social class through access to

teaching and learning resources and opportunities. For example, working-class students, coded in

many cities as Black, Asian, and Latino students are restricted from accessing formal education.

Many are pushed out of the K-12 education system prior to postsecondary education for various

reasons (e.g., shortage of academic and financial support, violence and crimes, and language

barrier), so they would often find it difficult in finding jobs (Aronowitz, 2017). Schools continue

to be viewed as “the principal reproductive institutions of economically and technologically

advanced capitalist societies” (Aronowitz, 2017, p. 109).

Children who are born with class-advanced cultural capital often take their privilege for

granted when they enter the academy and social world without questioning the assumptions and

values held by the privileged class which they belong to (hooks, 2017). Children from lower social

classes are taught by their parents and teachers to be silent if they do not want to be seen as

troublemakers in schools. hooks (2017) reports that she felt “the inseparability of free speech and

thought of class in school” (p. 136). She felt a lack of discussion on class in educational settings.

So, for hooks (2017), silencing is “the most oppressive aspect of middle-class life” (p. 137). Similar

to family life, where children’s identity constructs and understandings of the social world are

framed by family values and materiality that are class-based, silencing is sanctioned by everyone.
 52

Nonetheless, there are educators who still work to build student’s cultural capital through

access to learning resources. They offer critiques of cultural capital by challenging traditional

interpretations of Bourdieusian cultural capital theory (Oliver & Shapiro, 2013). Oliver and

Shapiro (2013) argue that a traditional view of cultural capital is narrowly defined by White,

middle class values, and is more limited than wealth. To expand this view and critique the

assumption that students of colour come to the classroom with cultural deficiencies, Yosso (2016)

offers an alternative concept called community cultural wealth. She also gives six forms of capital

that help students build community cultural wealth. These forms are aspirational, navigational,

social, linguistic, familial, and resistant capital. These various forms are not exclusive or static.

They are dynamic processes “that build on one another as part of community cultural wealth”

(Yosso, 2016, p. 77). For example, students of colour experience aspirations nurtured within social

and familial contexts, through linguistic storytelling as advice that offer them specific navigational

goals to conquer oppressive conditions at schools. Hence, six forms of capital become an array of

knowledge, skills, abilities, and contacts that students of colour bring with them, from their homes

and communities, into the classroom to overcome the oppression and transform the process of

schooling (Yosso, 2016).

Family is where cultural capital is comprised. My family is middle-class in Vietnam, with

my parents either working for a government office or running a small business. As a son in this

family, I received a fine education, meaning from K-12 to higher education I was sent to elite

schools in Vietnam. The intersectionality lens is essential to examine the complex relationship

between education, class, and family values that are built on conventional thoughts of

Confucianisn and Buddhism (Le & Yu, 2018). Beautiful clothes, good food, good education, and

an access to other resources (e.g., technology, media, music, and movies) as embodied cultural
 53

capital are brought to an individual through social class. Embodied cultural capital, therefore, is

class-based. As a child provided with embodied cultural capital in a Confucianist and Buddhist

family, my understanding of being gay was informed as a misdeed. I was told that I would not

have deserved all these good things if I had been found gay. And a middle-class but traditional

family would not have a gay son.

LGBTIQ+ Communities and Issues and Gay Men in Vietnam and Beyond

Silencing is a form of violence. LGBTIQ+ people around the world are still at high risk of

being murdered, extrajudicially killed, imprisoned, and executed. LGBTIQ+ rights are violated in

many countries. For example, same-sex marriage is against the law in China, Myanmar, Brunei,

Singapore, Iran, India, Russia, Sudan, United Arab Emirates, Vietnam, and other countries (Bearak

& Cameron, 2016; Encarnación, 2014; Wang, 2019). LGBTIQ+ parenting and adoption by

LGBTIQ+ people are also illegal in these conservative countries (Bearak & Cameron, 2016).

The basic human right to live is also violated in many countries where LGBTIQ+ people

need to hide their gender and sexual identities to protect their lives and likely the lives of other

people in their families. In Afghanistan, execution is considered the appropriate punishment for

homosexuality. According to traditional Islam in Afghanistan, the hadd, meaning the punishment

of stoning, is enacted when homosexuality is discovered in public places, such as in Islamic

schools or on the streets. Similarly, in Brunei, death by stoning has been effective since 2014 for

same-sex relations. This law was reinforced by the Sultan of Brunei in May 2019. In Iran, both

female and male same-sex activity is seen as a serious crime resulting in the death penalty.

Specifically, there is evidence that several gay men (reportedly between 50 and 60 years old) were

executed in 2005-2006, 2016, and in 2022 in Iran (Asal & Sommer, 2017).
 54

In April, 2017, a widespread anti-LGBTIQ+ purge took place in the Russian region of

Chechnya, a predominantly Muslim area of Russia. Of 100 men who were assumed to be gay or

bisexual, three were murdered after being held in what human rights groups and eyewitnesses have

called a concentration camp (Smith, 2017). On June 12, 2016, a mass shooting at a gay nightclub

named Pulse in Orlando devastated many people in LGBTIQ+ communities around the world.

Forty-nine lives were taken by an American-Afghan young man (Suarez et al., 2020). His parents

told the police that he had expressed outrage after seeing two men kiss in Miami. His was an act

of hate and homophobia. LGBTIQ+ communities have historically been a target of hatred,

misunderstanding, and neglect (Garvey et al., 2017; James et al., 2016).

In 2016, a high school in the City of Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam enacted a homophobic

admission policy. The school’s admission requirements stated that students who appeared gay or

were afflicted with “dangerous or contagious diseases” would not be admitted. This regulation

implies that being gay can be associated with dangerous and contagious diseases. School is a

heterosexualized place where straight people are the culturally dominant group, thereby placing

others whose identities are non-normative on the periphery (Horton, 2014; Horton, 2019a).

According to Human Rights Watch (2020), LGBTIQ+ issues relating to discrimination and

violence are still prevalent in Vietnam and are not appropriately addressed. In a Human Rights

Watch ’survey conducted in 2020, nearly 70 percent of parents in Vietnam said that they would

prohibit their children from being friends with their LGBTIQ+ classmates. Nineteen percent of

polled students in Vietnamese high schools considered teasing and bullying their LGBTIQ+

classmates to be harmless and accepted (Human Rights Watch, 2020). In 2020, when asked about

how the government planned to address these issues, Deputy Education Minister Nguyen Vinh

Hien promised that sex education and counselling services would be introduced in Vietnamese K-
 55

12 education program soon (Human Rights Watch, 2020). The Deputy Education Minister also

said that gender issues would be included for discussion in this program. However, nothing

happened, and homophobia and transphobia still exist in Vietnam, especially among teachers,

school leaders and staff, parents, and students. The promise is easier made than fulfilled.

In Vietnam, the LGBTIQ+ community is beginning to receive attention from researchers.

Most studies focus on justice and rights for gay communities (Horton, 2014; Horton & Rydstrom,

2019; Cong Doan, 2020), with less focus on qualitative studies of lived experiences, although

Horton (2014, 2019a) and Horton and Rydstrom (2019) have done important ethnographic studies

interviewing many gay men across Vietnam. According to Horton (2014), due to the absence of

knowledge and media coverage about gay people, the community faces difficulty. On the one hand,

the representation of homosexuality is gradually accepted in mainstream discourses, while on the

other hand, many people suffer from heterosexist misrecognition and nonrecognition in legislation,

the media and the education system.

From 1968 on, the Vietnamese Communist Party initiated the policy of Renovation 11(Đổi

Mới) which promoted marketization as a means of maintaining socialism while opening the

country up to international cultures, including those from the West and from other Asian countries

(i.e., China and Korea; Rydstrom, 2003). During international economic and cultural

collaborations that were key consequences of Đổi Mới, global cultures have come to Vietnam and

been introduced to and enjoyed by young generations via movies and music, including K-pop. All

this has influenced the gender performances of Vietnamese young people. The international

11
The Đổi Mới policy (Reform) was launched by the Sixth Congress of the Communist Party of Vietnam in
December, 1986 to transform the Vietnamese economy to a market-oriented and globally-integrated model. This
national policy aimed at enhancing the living standards of Vietnamese people through a reduction of government
intervention in the market, ending the country’s international isolation, and improving its economic potential (Kien
& Heo, 2008).
 56

integration, which is an inevitable outcome of the launch of Đổi Mới, has exposed Vietnam to

global culture. Inter-culturally, Vietnam has aimed to retain its traditional values (i.e., in music,

fashion, and lifestyle) while learning from new cultural values and tendencies.

Gay, Popular Culture, and Media

The explosion of K-pop, with different male beauty ideals presented through K-pop male

celebrities, has resulted in young boys creating gender performances to make them look Korean.

The Korean look has become a beauty ideal for Vietnamese young boys, especially gay boys. To

have a Korean look means having smooth, colourful hair, big round eyes, smooth white skin, an

adorable baby face, soft lips, and a soft, sexy voice. Lee and Park (2020) called these body image

features soft masculinity, that is, masculinity with feminine aesthetics, and considered it

refreshing, fashionable and interesting. They also said that in some Asian countries, including

Vietnam, these Korean male features are easily associated with gayness and femininity. Hoang

(2020) claims that Vietnamese people have expressed great concern that the expansion of K-pop

culture and its unconventional beauty ideals may harm Vietnamese traditions and standardized

male gender performances, which are about strength and toughness. They are afraid that

Vietnamese young boys widely following this kind of Korean male celebrities ’beauty ideal, which

is androgynous, may promote gayness. The government also became concerned about different

cultural flows, gayness among them, which they called “social evils" (Cong Doan, 2020; Horton

& Rydstrom, 2019).

Horton (2014) refers to a misrecognition of LGBTIQ+ people in Vietnamese media. Apart

from the negative discourse about gayness in Vietnam often associated with moral judgement and

clinical descriptions, the representations of this marginalized group in the media are worse. People

make fun of gay characters as feminine or dying of HIV/AIDS, or as uneducated, from a low-
 57

income family. Horton (2019a, 2019b) indicate a common assumption in Vietnam that LGBTIQ+

folks are lower class due to the stigma caused by their gender and sexual non-conformity they have

to counter. Horton (2014) interviewed young Vietnamese people with sexual minority gender

identity and found that many of them learned “the power of the media to exacerbate and perpetuate

negative perceptions of homosexuality” (p. 964). They fear how their identities are depicted in

newspaper articles and other media and how this can lead to negative attitudes within their families.

Some have committed suicide after a long time spent grappling with their unaccepted gender and

sexual identity. Horton (2014) and Horton and Rydstrom (2019) note many young Vietnamese

LGBTIQ+ people have decided not to come out to their parents because of how gayness and

queerness are interpreted in films and television programs. They were aware of the importance of

the Internet and films about LGBTIQ+ knowledge and experiences to shape the understanding of

gender and sexual minorities; however, they still resisted exposing their real identities to their

family. One said that their parents reacted with really bad words after watching a film together

about gay people. Thuy, a 20-year-old participant in Horton’s (2014) study shared:

Sometimes my parents see a programme on TV talking about homosexuals and my parents

make some comments that homosexuality is like a disease; that it is like a social disease. I

cannot tell my parents after hearing them speak like that. (p. 965)

Thuy’s sharing really resonates with me, as it reminds me of my complicated feelings of

awkwardness and shame that make me hesitate to defend gay people or to criticize their distorted

images in Vietnamese media when accidentally people come across a TV program having gay

characters. It is also about being a gay son who is struggling to hide my gender and sexual identity

from my family, especially my parents. I also have felt a desire to take the opportunity to come

out to my family, explaining that those stereotypical images of gay people as a social disease and
 58

social evil are wrong. I wanted to say that I am gay and please accept me as your only son.

However, I am afraid of being denied, as my parents have always reacted negatively as Thuy’s did

in Horton’s (2014) research. Therefore, I have become tired of defending myself and have given

up on my desire/wish to come out to my family. Now, I believe that writing this dissertation is a

coming out, at least to people who know my work.

Scholarship focusing on visual identities and experiences of young gay boys has not been

addressed in contemporary Vietnamese studies with a focus on gender and sexuality. The research

of Nguyen (2019) offers valuable insights via images of gay youth and gay young adults in

Vietnamese social media, drawing a more positive picture of gay communities. The YouTube

series My Best Gay Friend [Bộ ba đĩ thoã] 12 conveys the spirit of friendship among young gay

men. This research also provides specific terms such as bot and top to describe a gay sexual

relationship. Bot means bottom, referring to a male who plays a passive role in a gay relationship,

while top means a more masculine and active role. Top and bot are gay slang terms used by gay

men around the world (Simes, 2005). These are critical discourses that involve multiple visual

identities of gay men in many social and personal relationships, including gay friendship and gay

loveship.

The terms, top and bot will be discussed, contested, and interrogated in this study through

my narrative as a Vietnamese gay schoolboy. The terms themselves appear real to me, as they

significantly describe my gender and sexual identity as a gay bot in Vietnam. As I view this

doctoral work as a self-reflection on my past personal experiences as a Vietnamese gay boy,

12
My Best Gay Friends is a Vietnamese web series that was launched on Youtube in 2012. Its Vietnamese name is
Bộ Ba Đĩ Thỏa, which can be interpreted as The Bitchy Trio in English. Known as the first gay sitcom in Vietnam,
this web-drama is about the ordinary lives of three 20-year-old gay men who share an apartment in the City of Ho
Chi Minh, Vietnam. There are lots of gay troubles around their friendship and some other personal relationships
when they live together. They call themselves ‘sisters’ in this series to demonstrate the gay friendship that is
emotionally and playfully depicted throughout the entire 15 episodes.
 59

staying honest to my true-self by (re)telling and (re)living my story is key. I speak of the conception

of top and bot as a gay boy via this dissertation and gay man at present who identifies as a bottom

in a gay romantic relationship. Top and bot are assumptions of certain traits of stereotypical

characters of gay boys and gay men. Nguyen (2019) in her article about the YouTube sitcom notes

that bots adopt characteristics identified with femininity in Vietnamese popular culture, such as

slim bodies, high-pitched voices, obsession with clothes and appearance, and gossipy

personalities. Tops ’characteristics contrast bots with more masculine traits (i.e., more butch and

manly), which can be related to acting-straight, reifying hegemonic masculinity, reinforcing

misogyny, and further marginalizing gay men who appear non-normative (Nguyen, 2019).

However, being a top or a bot has been complex since fetishizing as girls or as innocent boys with

feminine traits is both distinct and imposing. My gender performances and practices have evolved

in different contexts and times. For instance, in a gay romantic relationship, I as a bot was passive,

but for gender performance, I looked cool in a man’s suit with sunglasses. For Martino and Pallotta-

Chiarolli (2007), looking and acting cool is necessary to acquire social status in several settings,

such as at school and in gay relationships. Acting cool involves wearing the right clothes as a way

of gender performance and visual identity construction. The purpose of acting cool is to become

desirable to someone; for example, a bot needs to look cool and beautiful for the top’s attention. If

the top wants a bot who does not look too femme and sissy, the bot needs to become straight-acting

via more masculine clothes and accessories.

Gay People and Curriculum Materials in High Schools

I would like to emphasize that gay men’s body images also involve the representation of

gay men in the curriculum, especially in textbooks. The curriculum—to students, teachers,

educators and others involved in teaching and learning—embodies social, cultural, and educational
 60

faiths and values. O’Donoghue (2019) argues that the nature of the curriculum should tell one

much “about the values of the school and its commitment to an education of a particular kind” (p.

7). My colleagues and I have done a study on the representation of gender and sexual minority

groups in Vietnam’s high school English language teaching (ELT) textbooks (Nguyen et al.,

forthcoming). We examined the ELT textbooks from Grade 10 to 12 as core data, and our analyses

shows pervasive heteronormativity in Vietnam-produced ELT textbooks and LGBTIQ+

invisibility. The curriculum thus contributes to the further consolidation of power imbalances and

to prejudice against LGBTIQ+ as a gender identity. In Vietnam’s ELT textbooks, LGBTIQ+

people are denied the right to be recognized and represented. The right of ELT learners and

teachers to be educated about the diversity of forms of gender and sexuality is also denied.

I have found a significant misrepresentation of gender and sexual minority communities in

Vietnam. Misrepresentation as a gap is also indicated in some of my studies, including several

published works and a few forthcoming ones (Le, 2021; Le et al., forthcoming; Nguyen et al.,

forthcoming). Nguyen et al. (forthcoming) point out that a lack of representation of gender and

sexual minority people in Vietnamese mainstream curriculum perpetuates a hidden curriculum

that, according to Freire (1970) and Giroux (1988), reinforces social structures by maintaining

race, class, and especially gender stereotypes through education. In Nguyen et al.’s (forthcoming)

study, texts such as high school English textbooks promote heteronormativity by an exclusion of

non-heterosexual forms of sexuality that frames teachers ’and students ’perception to conform to

heterosexual norms (e.g., straight marriage for having children). Hence, through a hidden

curriculum, teachers and students feel discouraged from confronting their naïve level of

consciousness and beginning to question their worlds through interpretive and critical levels of

consciousness (Freire, 1970).

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There are few gay scholar perspectives or voices that explore the very real lives of their

people and themselves or to represent them in socially and culturally sensitive contexts. I have not

heard the voices of many Vietnamese gay scholars who rely extensively on their real lives as key

data and contexts for research. Ethnographic research (e.g., autoethnography) seems to be an

appropriate way to look into the complexity of the lives of gender and sexual minority people

across cultures, including both the West (Adams, 2011; Adams & Jones, 2011; Jones & Harris,

2019) and the global South (i.e., Vietnam; Eguchi, 2011; Le, 2021; Le et al., forthcoming; Trinh,

2021). In Vietnamese education settings, there are few voices of gay educational researchers who

step forward to address gender and sexual issues (e.g., bullying and isolation) faced by gay students

and teachers. Therefore, a lack of representation of LGBTIQ+ people and voices of gay scholars

in educational research in Vietnam might create a gap in the field of gender and sexuality issues

in Vietnamese education. The significance of my doctoral work is to address this gap in the

research where personal lives of Vietnamese gay people are not looked at and voices of

Vietnamese gay scholars are not heard.

Asian Queer Studies

My doctoral study is framed by burgeoning scholarship in Asian queer studies where voices

and stories of queer youth and young adults, including gay boys and gay men in Asia, are raised

and narrated (Boellstorff, 2005; Eguchi, 2011; Le, 2021; Mai, 2016; Tran, 2020). Before and

during my Ph.D. experience, I wrote extensively about my life story as a gay boy in Vietnam with

the purpose of adding my voice to studies on Asian queer communities, including Vietnam (Le,

2021; Le et al., 2020a; Le et al., 2021; Le et al., forthcoming; Trinh et al., 2022). I continue to

write to make the lives of those with non-normative gender and sexual identities (i.e., LGBTIQ+
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people) in Asian contexts become visible in academia, where Western voices and stories of queer

people and scholars still remain dominant (Adams, 2011; Adams & Jones, 2011).

After reviewing the academic examinations of Vietnamese gender and sexual identity

minority communities, I recognize that there are not many studies in which gay Vietnamese young

gay scholars seek to understand their own lived experiences. I realize that the majority of studies

of Vietnamese gay men has been undertaken by either Western researchers or Vietnamese

researchers who have not exposed themselves as gay or queer (Horton, 2014, 2019a, 2019b;

Horton & Rydstrom, 2019; Nualart, 2016; Nguyen, 2019; Nguyen & Angelique, 2017). This

results in a less authentic sharing of what a queer and gay life looks like.

Localizing Queer

Echoing many studies that claim to localize the idea of queer along with its theory and

research within Eastern culture, such as Sinnott, 2010; Tran, 2020; and Trinh, 2021, I would argue

that to use queer theory, gender hegemony, identity construction theory and intersectionality is not

to colonize local cultures. The first reason is the use of the key term “queer.” As discussed above

in the section on queer theory, I take queer as an inclusive term defining the complex feelings of

being different that any non-conforming gender or sexual identity people can experience. The term

queer holds a postmodern appeal “with its umbrella-like inclusion of an unbounded range of

individuals…across borders-national, sexual, and gendered” (see in Sinnott, 2010, p. 21). Hence,

through my diasporic lens, queer is a reflexive praxis in my writing that allows me to write from

my transnational location in Vietnam and Canada as a Vietnamese doctoral student in a Canadian

institution. By doing so, I can write retrospectively and introspectively about my lived experiences

in Vietnam. Queer in my writing, as well as my life story, can be expressed as the shame and the

feeling of being abnormal (Sedgwick, 1990, 1993) that should be understood through queer theory.
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I view affect, in particular the idea of shame, through the lens of queer theory. “Shame is central

to the formation of gay identity and gay political subjectivity” (Liu, 2017, p. 50). Shame is

connected to gay pride, since gay shame challenges “the whitewashed, normative portrayals of

queer subjects in mainstream LGBTIQ+ movements that seek to privatize sexuality in order to

achieve rights” (Liu, 2017, p. 48). I conceptualize shame as key to queer affect, which is related

to the concept of affective turn (Cvetkovich, 2003). 13 Queer affect can be both positive and

negative, as it is the flow or repeated pattern of energy that circulates across the body and mind,

the individual and social, and the private and public, in which bodies and subjects are constituted

and reconstituted (Blackman & Venn, 2010). Queer affect pervades my personal writing as I write

about my emotions, including shame for being a gay son in a Vietnamese traditional family; the

difficulty of fitting in at the heteronormative school, where being gay meant being bullied by other

boys; and boys ’love during my teenage years.

The second reason is the consideration of multiple social and cultural conditions that shape

the identity/ies of being queer, and being masculine and feminine. These conditions are national

dominant ideologies (i.e., Confucianism, Buddhism, Taoism), popular culture (i.e., music and

films), fashion, and social media. Queer and being queer is sophisticated when it travels across

borders, times, and spaces, since it will be challenged, mediated, and contested. In this sense, queer

will not be regarded from the Western perspective. Similarly, masculinity and femininity will be

perceived differently according to various social and cultural conditions.

In addition, regarding gender hegemony theory and identity construction theory, I write to

localize the notion of masculinity and femininity through my personal lived experiences. I

contextualize what it meant to perform masculinity and femininity in different habitus settings.

13
For Cvetkovich (2003), affective turn is “a point of entry into a vast archive of feelings, the many forms of love,
rage, intimacy, grief, shame, and more that are part of the vibrancy of queer cultures” (p. 7).
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Family life and school life offer important internal and external habitus contexts to frame identity

constructs through “the disposition of our immediate family, friends, and related subcultures,

encompassing the generic and idiosyncratic” (Blaikie, 2018, p. 216).

Following Bourdieu’s (1986) idea of habitus, I have recognized tendencies where we are

“loyal to our roots…immersed in values, beliefs, traditions, and practices of early life” (Blaikie,

2018, p. 216). Habitus is contextual, supporting the relation between habitus and the field. The

field in my study refers to the large field of Vietnamese dominant gender and sexuality discourse

that radically shapes and influences habitus landscapes, such as the family and school. In these

landscapes, I have become aware of constructing my gender performances and visual identities.

For example, my recent study that uses this Ph.D. dissertation data describes how my gender

identity and performances were shaped and reinforced by my father’s hegemonic masculinity

physical features and personalities (Le et al., forthcoming). My family is the habitus landscape for

this collaborative narrative study. Growing up male and looking up to my father, I was taught to

be strong, tough, physically active, and to act macho. Acting macho demonstrates the patriarchal

norm in Vietnamese traditional families where men (i.e., fathers and husbands) are authority

figures, “the strongest and the only pillar,” of the whole family. Hence, by locating an examination

of gender identity constructs and performances in my various Vietnamese habitus landscapes, I

can localize the use of gender hegemony theory and identity construction theory.

Delving into theories from the West, from my perspective as a scholar from the East is a

way for me to queer my study. “Queer” now is a verb as an action that amplifies my voice as a

gay scholar who is doing queer work in academia. I aim for my work to enter a space within the

work of Southeast Asian queer scholars who examine non-conforming identities and hence use

their identities and experiences as opportunities to engage in queer research.

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Chapter III: METHODOLOGY AND METHODS

Framed by autoethnography as an overarching methodology for my dissertation work, the

chapter identifies and discusses the methods of data collection, analysis, and interpretation. Key

terms about methodological approaches in my dissertation are defined, including multimodality,

memory data, writing-stories, art-journaling, writing as method of inquiry and analysis, thematic

analysis, and narrative worlding vignettes.

Autoethnography

Denzin (1997, 1989) defined autoethnography as an approach to research and life-writing

that seeks to describe and analyze personal experience in order to learn about cultural experience.

Autoethnography is an ethnographic inquiry that uses autobiographic materials as foundational

data (Chang, 2008). Evolving from the social science research method of ethnography,

autoethnography is perceived as a reflexive writing style and method that can unfold multiple

layers of consciousness and meaning from the researcher’s narrative (Ellis, 2004). Writing

autoethnography involves self-reflection and self-examination as it places the self in the centre of

the study (Ellis et al., 2011; Neito, 2003). To do autoethnography is to write retrospectively about

the self. Hence, for me as an autoethnographer, self-reflection and self-examination are key to self-

understanding (Ellis et al., 2011).

The reason for choosing autoethnography is that it allows me to reflect on my lived

experiences framed by my connections to and with others who have shaped my life (Ellis &

Bochner, 2000). According to Ellis and Bochner (2000), autoethnography encompasses “creative

narratives shaped out of the writer’s personal experience within a culture and addressed to

academic and public audiences” (p. 9). In my study, I situate my personal narratives as a gay boy
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in multiple Vietnamese cultural contexts, such as my home and my schools. These places with

gendered norms that I had to follow have shaped my gay visual identity. This study is my story,

and writing an autoethnography is a way to tell it and communicate feelings reflecting on the

notion of seeing and being seen (Blaikie, 2018). Ellis (2004) states:

The stories we write put us into conversation with ourselves as well as our readers. In

conversation with ourselves, we expose our vulnerabilities, our conflicts, choices, and

values… In conversation with our readers, we use storytelling as a method for inviting

them to put themselves in our place… Evocative stories activate subjectivity and compel

emotional response. (p. 748)

Connecting the Self to the Social

Through my personal lived experiences (auto), I seek to understand my gay identity as it

has evolved across time and space. I explore how social and cultural conditions, such as music,

films, and celebrity influencers, contribute to visual identity constructions of Vietnamese young

gay people. In the spirit of autoethnography, I situate my life story in the larger social and cultural

context of being, becoming, and belonging to relate my story to how Vietnamese gay schoolboys

have constructed their visual identities.

Reed-Danahay (1997) and Taber (2012) claim that autoethnography places the researcher

in the research as a participant, emphasizing the self and the social. I echo Reed-Danahay (1997)

on autoethnography: “Either a self (auto) ethnography or an autobiographical (auto) ethnography

can be signaled by autoethnography” (p. 2). As a result, I view these two (auto) ethnographic

genres as not discrete but connected and understand that autoethnographic researchers should learn

to explore the self within a larger ethnographic context (Taber, 2012). I argue that the self should

be utilized as both an entry point and a focal point, enabling a discovery of experiences that can
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lead to an in-depth understanding of the social and cultural context where the researcher’s personal

experience is situated and shaped. The self is interrogated through the notion of reflexivity in

autoethnography (Ellis, 2004), which indicates the reciprocity of the “I” and the “we,” the

reciprocity of story and theory, and the reciprocity of the personal and political (Adams & Jones,

2011). Through reflexivity, it is important for me as an autoethnographer to look at “how the self

works, and how others are implicated by the self and the self’s desires” (Adams & Jones, 2011, p.

111). To do so, I need to locate the self—the “I”— in relation to the others who have an impact on

defining and constructing my identities and experiences. These others—my parents, teachers, and

friends—influence and frame me—the “I” in different social landscapes: family and school. They

are representatives of the social as they contribute to constructing those landscapes to which I have

belonged. Including them in my life story is critical, as it is how I can connect the self to the social.

Taber (2012) notes that “narrative is viewed as a form of social action,” so through the self,

personal stories should become a starting point and “an iterative touchstone” that helps the

researcher link the self to the social (p. 80). For Adams and Jones (2011), doing autoethnography

is also much about how the researcher is represented in writing and performance. Through writing

and performance, the researcher is able to return again and again to stories, and is meant to make

themselves vulnerable to “critique, by risking living in language and in life” (Adams & Jones,

2011, p. 111). However, becoming vulnerable to stories is necessary in autoethnography because

autoethnographers, as story-writers and tellers, should have the courage to uncover themselves in

their own stories and a willingness to study them and consider them as a site of research.

Autoethnography is a reflexive and nostalgic writing genre that provides an avenue to learn

through exposure and vulnerability (Ellis, 1999). This type of writing as a methodological

approach breaks through academic discourse that fundamentally camouflages the

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author/researcher (Ellis, 1999) and prevents the connection between the self and the social from

being built. I take an autoethnographic lens to look into myself to critique the social.

Autoethnography and Queer

Jack Halberstam is a gender theorist whose scholarship is on tomboys and female

masculinity. In Female Masculinity (1998), their quintessential work of queer theory, Halberstam

expressed a craving for a queer methodology:

A queer methodology, in a way, is a scavenger methodology that uses different

methods to collect and produce information on subjects who have been deliberately

or accidentally excluded from traditional studies of human behaviour (p. 13)

Indeed, queer methodology that acknowledges and unfolds queer encourages a combination of

approaches to reveal the complexity of being different, unfixed and unconformed, and to “refuse

the academic compulsion toward disciplinary coherence” (Halberstam, 1998, p. 15). I view and

use autoethnography as a queer methodology, since it draws on the practices and politics of being

queer to empower “narrative and theoretical disruptions of taken-for-granted knowledges that

continue to marginalize, oppress and/or take advantage of those” who do not engage or find

themselves reflected in mainstream cultures and social structures, “which include research

methodologies” (Jones & Harris, 2019, p. 4). There are several reasons for my view on

autoethnography as a queer methodology. First, autoethnography, recognizing reflexivity and

using an intersectionality lens, has emerged as a methodology for researchers, especially queer

researchers, to problematize and question existing knowledge about culture and cultural

experience by examining socially unjust practices (Collins, 2016). Furthermore, autoethnography

allows researchers to put critical theory (i.e., queer theory) into action by joining the social and

political insights that critical theory offers us as researchers “to the specific and concrete positions,
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places and people they originate for and from” (Jones & Harris, 2019, p. 3). Autoethnography also

helps construct new knowledge about the social world to stimulate new practices for

transformation (Collins, 2016).

Reflexivity is the crucial link between autoethnography and queer/being queer. Reflexivity

means returning (Ellis, 2004). Reflexivity as returning is “the action, the movement, the

performance by which we can engage a personal and queer scholarship” (Adams & Jones, 2011,

p. 108). To be reflexively queer means attending to the ethics of being reflexively queer within

personal texts and “tracing the importance of using reflexive queer autoethnographic work for

socially just means and ends” (Adams & Jones, 2011, p. 108). Adams and Jones (2011) note that

reflexivity in autoethnography and queer theory works through and around “the fulcrum and the

tension of a hinge” (p. 109). The hinge is a tool for transitivity and movement that allows us as

researchers to turn back on ourselves even as we move forward in our studies. The hinge makes

reflexivity possible. From that, we are empowered to tell and untell stories that matter. Untelling

stories is coupled with retelling stories in the way that the writer revisits critical incidents in their

old memories through (re)writing and reflects on those experiences to relearn what happened to

them in the past. Untelling is to relearn and look at past experiences from a different and more

current perspective, and then to be able to restory personal experiences reflexively and

contemplatively.

For Corlett and Mavin (2018), reflexivity is about “bending-back” (p. 378) some thought

upon the self that refers to a recursive dimension through which we keep reflecting on ourselves

as a self-monitoring of and a self-responding to our thoughts, feelings, and actions. Reflexivity

makes scholars and researchers nostalgic and makes us rely much on memory when we return

again and again, rifling through the past seeking what is missing across times, places, and spaces.
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Taking on the spirit of reflexivity, queer autoethnographers Tony E. Adams and Eguchi Shinsuke

as vivid examples, have used their everyday life experiences as gay men in different cultural

contexts to explore their cultural and personal identities in relation to LGBTIQ+ cultures (Adams,

2011; Eguchi, 2011; Eguchi & Spieldenner, 2015). By queering autoethnography, they

retrospectively wrote about their personal experiences that came from or were made possible by

engaging in a culture—the gay culture where they were insiders. The gay men’s community has

unique ways of socializing and interacting (Halperin, 2008; Hammers, 2009; Stein, 2010). As a

gay man, I understand that to create our own culture, we perform and construct multiple and

dynamic cultural identities through many materials and in many physical and virtual spaces.

Second, autoethnography disrupts traditional and dominant ideas about research,

particularly around what research is and how research should be conducted (Ellis & Bochner,

2000; Richardson, 2009). Similarly, queer theory challenges traditional and dominant ideas about

what is considered normal in various contexts (Browne & Nash, 2010). Queer transforms and

evolves in novel and innovative ways (Berger, 2010). Importantly, autoethnography encourages

researchers to recast personal experiences creatively and performatively through the arts (Le, 2021;

Le et al., forthcoming). Hence, autoethnographers share ideas with queer theorists about identities

and experiences as uncertain, fluid, and unfixed (Adams, 2009; Butler, 2004). In this sense,

queering research methods including autoethnography entail unconventional ways of knowing that

treat “research, texts, and bodies as sites of ideological and discursive trouble” (Adams & Jones,

2011, p. 110). In other words, research, texts, and bodies are not taken for granted; rather, they are

considered as vibrant mediums of storytelling. In line with that thinking, autoethnography hopes

to challenge fixed ways of viewing and thinking about research and serves as the heart of a

critically reflexive approach where the researcher acts as an agent of change (Denzin, 2003).
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Inspired by Autoethnography to Write My Own

Denzin (1989) and Ellis et al. (2011) argue that autoethnography as a method is both

process and product. It is a method for life writing through my personal observation to document

autoethnographies capturing my experiences and others ’stories. As mentioned, my experiences

involve others who have had a significant influence on my visual identity constructs as a gay boy.

There are images and stories here of my parents, relatives, and friends, people who have shaped

my perception of being and becoming a gay boy. Through their perceptions, I have interpreted

gayness in different ways, and those interpretations have evolved across time and space. I describe

how being gay has never been tolerated in my family and how I have felt free to expose my gay

visual identity with my gay friends in gay clubs and other gay places and spaces, such as on gay

dating apps. I rely on reflexive writing (Richardson, 2000; Richardson, 2001) that allows me to

record my personal narratives and experiences with some of the influencers in my life14 and situate

them in multiple social, cultural, educational, and familial contexts. To write these

autoethnographies, I elaborate on my past experiences and explore them using hindsight (Ellis et

al., 2011; Jones et al., 2016). For many times, I feel that I talk with myself—the boy who was

trying hard to make sense of his real gender and sexual identity in different settings. In self-talking

about the past, I communicate with others: my parents and my friends whose impacts on my life

story are vital. Using hindsight is an approach that enables autoethnographers, as memory

recollections, to use a range of resources to write about and examine their past experiences (Adams

14
I mean those whose impacts on my visual identity and perceptions were significant throughout my childhood and
perhaps adulthood. Some, such as my parents, my grandparents, and my aunt, appeared in my early family life.
Other influencers were my teachers and friends whose sexual identities might be either straight or gay. They could
be someone in my high school whose sexual identity was too out-of-category—so queer that I felt afraid to be
friends with them publicly, but who still shaped my visual identity.
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et al., 2017; Denzin, 1989; Ellis et al., 2011; Mitra, 2010). In my writing, apart from self-talk, I

consult with texts, including my narratives and images, to help me remember.

Framed by autoethnography, I write personal narratives through the retelling of my life

story that allows the researcher to explore their lived experiences through writing multiple personal

stories (Richardson, 2001). The retelling involves capturing the researcher’s personal experiences

through the arts, including visual art forms, to complement texts (Ellis & Scott-Hoy, 2008). I

weave the retelling of stories (Richardson, 2001) and the arts (De Cosson, 2008) into my

autoethnographic writing to document my narratives. Stories and visual arts enable me to frame

my dissertation as an autoethnography.

Richardson and Pierre (2017) note that “writing is validated as a method of knowing” (p.

1414), and “the writing process and the writing products [are] deeply intertwined” (p. 1415). Using

autoethnography as an overarching methodology, I value creativity and performative ways of

forming, interpreting, and presenting data from my research. Art-led inquiry is again brought into

the discussion on weaving the arts and the writing of stories, since I see the co-existence of these

two approaches as supported by art-led inquiry. According to O’Donoghue (2019), art-led inquiry

research is an innovative approach seeking ways of accessing and exploring educational, social,

and cultural phenomena through the perspective of “aesthetics, art theory, artists ’writing and the

production of research-based visual, material, and conceptual forms that are most typically found

in the visual arts or associated with it” (p. 18). Using art-led inquiry methods, researchers

understand that “sources of knowledge are multisensory; meaning making is multimodal; art

making and thinking are complex sites of critical activity and knowledge production”

(O’Donoghue, 2019, p. 20). Art practices can make educational worlds visible and meaningful in

ways that conventional social and scientific methods cannot (O’Donoghue, 2019). I see the
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weaving of the writing of stories and art making as both personal processes and products, created

by my and other participants ’experiences.

Multimodality

With multimodality, data goes beyond text. Methodologically, multimodality as coined by

Gunther Kress and Theo Van Leeuwen (2001) invokes multiple ways in which meaning is made

through diverse media. Practices and resources are not “fixed stable entities” (Kress & Van

Leeuwen, 2001, p. 4). Practices and resources are utilized to make meaning in different ways, “in

the many different modes and media which are co-present in the communicational ensemble”

(Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001, p. 111). Hurdley and Dicks (2011) posit that multimodality has

been salient in the field of education, as it concentrates heavily on communication. But

multimodality moves communication beyond text to encompass other media, including material

resources and the body (Kress & Bezemer, 2009; Hurdley & Dicks, 2011). For instance, the body

that is materialized by clothes, styles, and fashion accessories is seen as a means of communication

beyond text (Blaikie, 2018). Clothing is a language and a form of literacy, so it is “the key

performative aspect of cultural and visual identity” (Blaikie, 2018, p. 217). The materialized body

becomes multimodal conveying narratives and meanings. In Blaikie’s (2018) essay, girls ’bodies

are materialized early in their lives to become heteronormatively female with pink girl diapers

decorated with Disney princesses. For me, multimodality helps me enlarge my view of data in

ways that I can struggle with and live with data.

Indeed, multimodality has already moved away from the analysis of linguistic structures

and from the very related notion of text as “the object of analysis” (Hurdley & Dicks, 2011, p.

280). Kress and Van Leeuwen (2001) hold the idea that multimodal texts can make meaning

through multiple articulations, which draws on a broader conception of text than in traditional
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linguistics (p. 4). Multimodality focuses on the dynamic and multiple processes involved in text-

making. Therefore, what makes text and what is involved in text-making? Blaikie (2021a) argues

that images are involved in text-making and that images and texts are entangled. I can relate this

notion of entangled image-text to O’Donoghue’s (2019) scholarship of art-led inquiry, which posits

that sources of knowledge are multisensory, and meaning-making, through texts and beyond,

multimodal. Art-led inquiry is a method that is central to educational practice “through the

production and discussion of visual art forms and the cultivation of imaginative thought”

(O’Donoghue, 2019, p. 18). Similar to art-led inquiry as an approach to inquiry, multimodality

when used as a narrative approach enables narratives to move people who experience them.

Hurdley and Dicks (2011) use the museum as a metaphor of multimodality in narrative studies.

The museum exhibits, whichare modes, can move visitors as they are empowered agents of

colourful and mobile resources that engage people in active social play and imaginative

re/framings. Multimodality as an approach advances memories, thoughts, and affect, which are

key to narratives. For instance, my autoethnography is multimodal with not only texts (stories) but

also images (drawing), which are not separate but interconnected/entangled in meaning-making.

Pahl and Rowsell (2010) draw on Pink’s (2006, 2009) scholarship of sensory ethnography

to expand the discussion on how multimodality can become a representation of ideas and cultural

thoughts, which shape and construct ethnographic research. Drawing on Bourdieu’s (1986) theory

of habitus, Pink (2009), Pahl and Rowsell (2010) posit that experiential ways of knowing are

important for the ethnographer to feel “being there” (Pink, 2009, p. 65). The ethnographer needs

to sense place, space, time, memory, material objects, and social activities through representations

of which, requiring a mode that goes beyond text, enables the ethnographer to “sense and access

the world” (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001, p. 127).

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Jewitt and Kress (2003) define an associated mode as a “regularized, organized set of

resources of meaning-making, including, image, gaze, gesture, movement, music, speech, and

sound effect” (p. 1). Mode is a unit of expression and representation (Rowsell, 2013), and is

different from materiality, medium, or media. Mode is a lens and a way to see the world and things.

I learn about the world predominantly through images, which can create a visual mode for me to

organize information and communicate with others. The visual mode is made of photos, colours,

clothes, and accessories. According to Rowsell (2013), a mode has three functions: to express,

represent, and signal. Modes reflect human experiences such as ideas, values, beliefs, emotions,

and senses. Modes can be chosen, sorted, assembled, distributed, and remixed together to create

different meanings that “coalesce or cross over by transmodal, intermodal, and intramodal

elements” (Rowsell, 2013, p. 23). Film is transmodal, as it reaches across visual and audio modes.

Clothes are intramodal when they have colours and fabric to make a strong effect of

(re)presentation. Thus, there are plenty of genres of mode. Each mode offers a specific lens to

sense and look into the world, and through that lens the world is organized and (re)presented as

specific arrangements in space, in time, or both (Kress, 2009). Hence, it is crucial for the

ethnographer to choose a mode as a “direct way” of knowing that cannot be represented through

words (MacDougall, 2009, p. 141).

In my study, mode is a lens and an approach for me to travel back to my memories as a gay

school boy in Vietnam, in different spaces and times. Text cannot accommodate my memories;

another mode is needed, because memories are lived experiences, and lived experiences go beyond

the text. Visuality through photos/images of my clothes, hair, accessories, and postures and

gestures is a mode for my autoethnographic study. Visuality is embodied. Clothes, hairstyles,

make-up, and fashion styles reinforce materiality and become integral to the construction of visual
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and cultural identity (Blaikie, 2018). These material/physical features have constituted my body

image. Also, text via narratives can be a mode that is complementary to the visuality mode. The

entanglement of visuality and textuality indicates the complexity of multimodality. In my study,

for example, I treat both as key resources of meaning-making for the representation of my data. I

draw on my personal photographs and drawings that are accompanied by text—my narratives to

comprise data for this study.

Memory Data

Memory is not a technological term from computer science or information technology.

Memory is autobiographical and it is up to the interpreter—the researcher—to discover which

sense, where, and for which purpose (St. Pierre, 1995) memory exists. Memory is a form of

nostalgia and perhaps recovery. In my recent collaborative publication (Trinh et al., 2022), my co-

authors and I exposed our personal memories to one another using memory rewriting as a method

of inquiry. In this co-authored work, we viewed memory as a praxis of reflection on what has

happened in the past and “how critical incidents of our lived experiences have imprinted a mark

on our mind that changed our lives forever” (Trinh et al., 2022, p. 827). Having the courage and

openness to listen to and understand one another’s stories, we embarked on a writing praxis through

which we could write from our collection of memories. Following Richardson and St. Pierre’s

(2017) notion of writing as a method of inquiry, we together relived and retold some of our critical

memories, which were experiences that resonated the most with each of us for a contemplative

understanding and a collective healing.

Linden (1993) notes that memory “bends time by collapsing the culturally constructed

boundaries separating past and present selves” (p. 35), so it is hard to capture, handle, and unfold.

How can memory become or be considered data? What kinds of memory can be used for research?
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Before explaining the answers to these questions, I need to understand that if memory is used as

data for research and in this case for qualitative research, it must be captured and examined. I

concur with St. Pierre (1995, 2013, 2018) that memory can be data and that it is transgressive,

appearing in dreams, in everyone’s body, and in memories (St. Pierre, 1997, 2018). It is always

emerging and evolving. It can be emotional and personal when it comes from painful or dark

moments of my life. Data, therefore, can be absolutely out of control. I am still receiving data from

my dreams and my journal, from the conversations, emails, and chats with my friends, and from

writing about my lived experiences. In this study, data also stem from my drawings when I try to

recall memories through not only texts but images. Memory is me, and I am data.

Memory data are complex, especially in self-study, as it carries meaning of both

the past-self and the present-self. Haug (1992) states:Memories are characterized

by contradictions and silences as what I have called the “past-self” engages with the

“present-self”. Contradictions serve the purpose of non-recognition, denial and

repression of past experiences which memories may invoke, while silence is

another way of coming to terms with the unacceptable. (p. 22)

Writing from memory is a method of inquiry that seeks to explore the ways in which people

construct themselves into existing social relations, and hence it can reproduce a social formation.

Trinh et al. (2022) propose that memory writing involves the recording and analysis of personal

memories and stories that are situated in social and cultural contexts, such as in the school and the

family. Hence, situated memories indicate the social construction of the self and emphasize the

role of reflexivity in self-study. Only through reflexivity can memories be used as “organic and

primary data that could potentially keep the authenticity and purity of the research” (Trinh et al.,

2022, p. 827).
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Memory data appear to trouble pre-existing ideas about data and data collection (St. Pierre,

1997). St. Pierre (1997, 2013, 2018) writes much about her troubles with data, and her struggles

echo my own experience. She argues that data often cannot be limited to words on a page. Rather,

data can escape language and explode over the study. Data can become challenging to handle, as

data are, as she notes, “uncodable, excessive, out-of-control, out-of-category” (p. 179). How can

data from emotions, dreams and sensuality be handled? Memories carry emotions and dreams.

They are visual and sensual. Sometimes I find it difficult to describe/capture/recall them, as they

are stuck in the past and often unclear. For example, it is hard to remember moments when I

crushed on some hot guy at school and dressed up to get his attention. I must either draw or retrieve

some old photos from my childhood album.

We as researchers choose methods, for our studies, which produce data, which we then

code, categorize, analyze, and interpret. Then we theorize to produce knowledge (St. Pierre, 1997).

In my study, I first identify data, my memories. Then, I try to identify the method of data collection

and analysis that will enable me to make sense of the data. Looking into my autoethnography as

both research process and product (Ellis, 2014), I grapple with finding any specific data collection

and analysis approaches to both capture and document my memory data. Certainly, working with

memory data I do not get entangled “in the search for accuracy since the value of memory data is

never about certainty and the absolute truth” (Trinh et al., 2022). In this sense, I echo St. Pierre

(2013) that the meaning of memory data will always be contingent and evolving, since we

ourselves are always becoming.

Blaikie (2021b) writes about the fictionalization of data. She conceptualizes an approach

to creating narrative vignettes that supports an argument about worlding as “layered, entangled,

and interconnected” in the ways narratives as data are (re)worlded and fictionalized (p. 41).
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Memories evolve, so recalling them in the present fictionalizes them. A particular memory

represents a micro-worlding which must be situated in a specific context of being and living,

contextualizing it within “particular material and affective conditions in place at particular

moments in time” (Blaikie, 2021, p. 41). When I recall those experiences in order to write, I

therefore need to re-create both material and affective elements through a new perspective and

standpoint. I am no longer that gay schoolboy of the past. Thus, my memories are fictionalized.

To write about them, I must re-imagine, recreate, and represent them.

Ethical Considerations

This section discusses several ethical considerations in autoethnography, although my

doctoral study concentrates on my personal life story, my study will not be subject to an assessment

by Brock University’s Research and Ethics Board (REB). However, there are other people—my

parents, my sister, my friends, and teachers and colleagues in Vietnam—whose lives have crossed

mine. Therefore, I must consider the need to get consent from those who are mentioned in my

story. Tolich (2010) argues that the autoethnographic researcher must consider the needs of others

in a story before it is written, and the researcher should be aware of the vulnerability of others who

are described and discussed in it.

Some people, such as old friends for whom I have no contact information, cannot be asked

in advance for their consent, and attempting retrospective approval is a poor practice due to “the

potentially coercive nature of such action” (Gibbs, 2018, p. 153). Attempting retrospective

approval can make “unwitting participants feel more obliged or guilty than participants who were

asked at the outset” (Gibbs, 2018, p. 153). There is skill in any approach in asking for consent,

such as oral consent in qualitative research that involves interviews (Creswell, 2007).

Retrospective approval becomes unnecessary when autoethnography researchers often tend to tell
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the story from their own perspectives and voices. People alluded to in the story are fictionalized

through researchers ’self-talk, inner and collective imaginaries, and through pseudonyms. Stories

as data are “re-worlded by scholars who re-imagine, recreate, and represent people’s narratives

through the lenses of the researcher’s praxis and biases” (Blaikie, 2021b, p. 41). For some of my

childhood classmates, I am not going to use their voices to tell the story. Rather, I will use my own

voice when they are mentioned. These people were quite important in influencing my childhood

gay visual identity construction. They might be my close friends in high school, boys I crushed on,

and boys who did not like me. They might not belong to the non-conforming gender and sexual

groups, yet were nevertheless a crucial part of my gay childhood.

Due to the nature of autoethnography, the primary data for my study stems from my own

past experiences. Hence, I did not get consent from anyone. As my research is multimodal, there

are numerous photos, mainly my personal images. The collaged images are from magazines or

picture books, which are open access. There are also pictures that I drew and sketched.

Figure 3
My Drawing of a Gay Boy
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Note. Digital artwork created by Giang Le, November 2021

Figure 3 is an example of a drawing that I created of myself wearigmy high school uniform,

and it will appear again in one of my narratives. This cartoon image depicts a femme boy with

shiny brown hair, baby face, skinny body shape, and school bag. The image presents me well as a

gay schoolboy in Vietnam. I incorporate many other images like this into my autoethnographic

narrative.

Data Collection

Data in my study unlocked from my youth memories as a gay boy in Vietnam includes my

narratives and personal images. Even though these two forms of data emerge from my lived

experiences and I view them as entangled and complementary to one another, they still need

different approaches to be documented and analyzed. My narratives were written through writing-

stories approach and diary. Images as text were created through personal drawings and

photographs as data collection methods. The diary, drawings, and photographs constitute art-

journaling, which is accompanied by writing-stories to become key data collection approaches for

my study. I used all these approaches inseparably to treat text and images in my work as entangled.

Writing stories

In writing my dissertation, I experienced struggles with writing. My writing became

sophisticated only when I recognized that I was writing to understand and connect myself to a

larger social and cultural context, which was part of a lifelong journey to find a way to un/relearn

my roots, identities, histories, and some personal experiences (Le, 2021; Trinh et al., 2022). Thus,

writing from memory is both intriguing and challenging. Memories are dangerous, as recalling

them makes me relive the traumas and pains of being bullied and oppressed by others. Pelias
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(2004) warns us that “memory is volatile,” and that memory’s tales “won’t do the work they are

asked to do…. They are wounds always ready to bleed again” (p. 121).

Personally, I do not view art-journaling as separate from writing stories. Let me define

these two terms. First, according to Richardson (2001), writing stories enables the researcher to

write personal narratives and situate them in various academic, disciplinary, community, and

familial contexts. Writing stories is a way to make stories both personal and academic, allowing

the researcher as story-maker and teller to frame the story and decide which part should be told

and critiqued through a social and cultural lens. A life story is not simply told but also examined.

In writing stories, the individual is seen as “both the site and subject of discursive struggles

for identity and for remaking memory” (Richardson & Pierre, 2017, p. 1413). Writing stories thus

becomes an ethnographic approach that honours the location of the self. Personal narratives situate

“one’s own writing in other parts of one’s life” such as social movements, community structures,

family ties, and personal history (Richardson & Pierre, 2017, p. 1419). Personal narratives, hence,

offer the researcher critical reflexivity as a valuable creative analytical practice.

For this study, writing feels like home. Writing offers a place and space of intimacy, since

it gives me a sense of belonging. When writing, I feel safe. I have power to express my identity as

a gay scholar, researcher, and writer. As long as I am writing, I can be both who I am and who I

want to become. Through writing, I can return to visit that gay schoolboy in the past. By doing so,

I make sense of that world in a larger social, cultural, and historical context. The context varies; it

can be my high school, my family, my friendships, and my early loveships. In writing stories, I

seek to create a critical, reflective, and loving research space for my voice to be heard and my

experiences understood. Writing, thus, becomes a powerful tool, an act of identity, where dominant

practices and discourses can be challenged (Ivanic, 1998). Writing can even be pedagogical for
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me, because it enacts “a way of seeing and being, it challenges, contests, or endorses the official,

the hegemonic ways of seeing and representing the other” (Denzin, 2006, p. 422). Writing supports

my self-exploration and learning who I was in the past as a gay schoolboy, encompassing how I

(re)constructed and (re)framed my visual identity through materialism (i.e., fashion, affect, and

popular culture). Writing is my being and my becoming.

In autoethnographic writing, I write and rewrite integral parts of my life story until they

become coherent (Ellis, 2004). This is a praxis of reflexivity, because I allow myself to look back

at critical incidents of my old memories. I revisit my personal diary for journaling and use personal

images as modes of writing and examination. Doing so, I relearn my life story for a better

understanding of my gender performances. Truly, writing is a method of inquiry (Richardson &

St. Pierre, 2017).

Art-Journaling

Art-journaling is an approach that facilitates a non-traditional view of journaling by

incorporating multimodal visual art forms into the journal. As the most common form of

visualizing in art-journaling, images are helpful catalysts for researchers to begin their story-

making and telling. This enables them to record their research in a unique way, so that they feel

they relive and make sense of concrete moments of their lived experiences (Ellis, 2004). Ellis and

Scott-Hoy (2008) claim that art-journaling is where autoethnography meets art. I used art-

journaling in my study since I believe in “the power of visual arts as effecting spiritual connection

that helps people explore their deepest emotional corners” (Le et al., 2020a, p. 161). I used the art

as story prompts and wrote initial stories at the same time then crafted and retold in later crafting

of the story.
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Art-journaling can take a variety of textual and visual forms: short stories, poetry,

photographic essays, sticky-notes, rough sketches, ripped-up pieces of leftover scrapbooking paper

and some old damaged book pages, and photographs and selfies (Ellis & Scotty-Hoy, 2008). I have

found art-journaling to be a largely unexplored research method, even though it is quite popular in

art therapy and counselling (Deaver & McAuliffe, 2009). There are no rules on how to start an art-

journal, since it is a personal space for creative expression. My art-journal is constituted of

numerous narrative vignettes that I wrote as my core data set for this dissertation.

The study started with writing an art-journal, and I did this for five months in 2021,

retrospectively visiting my gay childhood and introspectively examining how I (re)framed and

performed my gay gender identity. I began by revisiting my personal diary that I kept as a

schoolboy, and I used a lot of texts, accompanied by photos, drawn from my diary. Going back

and forth, with revisits to some old memories documented and presented in my diary, allowed me

to see how journaling is a form of reflexivity. For example, when I wrote about my experiences as

a boy in high school, framing my visual identity through school uniforms, postures, and gestures,

I needed to recall my memories by envisioning what had happened with me. This act of envisioning

included how I socialized with teachers, friends, and parents and how popular culture,

encompassing music, movies, fashion and styles, and celebrities contributed to the framing of my

identities. This form of reflexivity was critical, as I needed to be attentive to all the stories in my

diary and to sense and relive various micro worldings15 via those stories.

Reflexively, I have written about how my gay visual identity has evolved. In this study,

reflexive writing is restricted to the time when I was a high school boy. However, to write

reflexively, I have also looked deeply into what affected me earlier, as I struggled to understand

Micro worldings are moments “withdrawn from densely laden complexities of culture, context, history, location,
15

and affect, among many other things” (Blaikie, 2021, p. 14).

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the meaning of being and becoming a boy whose gender and sexual identity was non-normative,

and hence, unaccepted in several contexts. Reliving moments that resonate with me as a gay boy

and now as a gay man and scholar offers me a unique chance to (re)examine how I learned to build

and perform my identity during different periods of my life. Identity construction is about

sameness and difference, as people and their experiences are attached to changing places and

spaces, and to shifting social, cultural, and political conditions (Taylor, 2015). Hence, personal

identity constructs are situated and evolving.

The Diary

I use some excerpts from my diary, which I started writing around 17 years old. I have

journaled about all of the critical moments in my life since I was a young boy, so this personal

journal is a valuable resource for my research. In my diary, I also included a lot of personal photos

of critical moments in my life, such as photos of my high school graduation, photos of my family,

and selfies of my friends and me in high school. While revisiting critical incidents captured in my

journal, I match and attach photos from my diary, and from family’s album, my personal album,

and my Facebook page to help describe and signify their complex meanings. I see and treat images

as texts and “image-text as entangled” (Blaikie, 2020, p. 335). Images are not merely illustrative—

they are texts, since they participate in making meaning. Images tell stories. They make

stories/narratives emerge from data. For instance, I have found that my narratives could not be

transcribed into or captured by words. I needed to use images first. Images and texts are thus deeply

interconnected.

Drawing

My writing would have been impossible if I had not begun with drawing. I used Adobe

Fresco, a digital painting app on Pad, to draw my images. I use my imagination as “the creative
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energy that links consciousness with the generation of the world of material experience” (Hayes

et al., 2014, p. 36). Through imagination, I have gained essential material experience of the

contours of society and culture in which my memories/lived experiences have been situated.

Drawing always precedes writing. Drawing is the scratch of my writing.

Figure 4
My Drawing of Myself as a Princess

Note. Digital artwork created by Giang Le, December 2021

Figure 4 exemplifies how I draw using my memory as a boy who sought a look like a

beautiful princess in a long royal dress. My imagination of being a princess was influenced by the

images of princesses in Chinese movies that featured glamorous, royal young women in the age

of the great Chinese historical dynasties. Since 2002, Chinese movies about royalty have been

popular in East Asian cinema, including Vietnam (Hoang, 2020). I was in Grade 10, joining other
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Vietnamese youth, driven crazy by the mesmerizing and splendid imaginary world of royal

characters. I dreamed of being in long and multi-layered dresses and a sparkling golden crown.

Photographs

Photographs have also inspired my writing. I got them from my personal album and some

from my family’s album. They counted as data for this study as I only picked the ones that were

relevant to the stories I wrote. The photos should collaborate well in meaning-making with text—

narratives that were circumscribed by contexts, people, and practices during my high school years.

Photographs construct data and let data emerge and evolve as they contribute substantially to the

process of meaning-making. Visual images become transgressive when they connect to other

sensory, material and discursive elements of the research. They are what Stoller (1997) describes

as “analytically important to consider how perception in non-western societies devolves not simply

from vision, but also from smell, touch, taste, and hearing” (pp. xv-xvi). Photographs reveal how

I was dressed as the first-born son in a traditional family. I remember following K-pop with

colourful and curvy haircut/styling, big glasses, cosmetic doll eyes, and soothing lipsticks.

Data Analysis

According to Creswell (2007), data analysis is an important process that involves

describing phenomena, classifying them, and learning how concepts interconnect with them. In

qualitative research, there are many approaches to analyzing data through which the researcher

can organize and compare key information, develop theories, juxtapose and investigate cases,

identify emergent themes, and present narratives (Corbin & Strauss, 2008). Searching for themes

and patterns entails a careful analysis and a deep understanding of the data. Ellis (2004) notes there

are three methods of analyzing autoethnographic data: narrative analysis, thematic analysis of

narrative, and structural analysis. She also mentions mixing various types of analyses as a way to
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make a sandwich, which looks like having “a story with academic literature and theory on both

sides” (Ellis, 2004, p. 198).

In searching for data analysis approaches for my study, I have grappled with fixed ideas

and conceptions of analyzed data, such as coding and decoding data through some specific analysis

tools. Must data be analyzed by some specific conventional humanist social science approach that

involves coding and categorizing (e.g., content analysis, textual analysis, and discourse analysis)?

What kind of data could that be? Transgressive data—memory data—I assume. St. Pierre (2013)

critiqued qualitative researchers who borrow the concepts of data and analysis from “a simulacrum

of the natural sciences, . . . relying on method, process, procedure, and systematicity to guarantee

scientific validity” (p. 224). From the perspective and practice of interpretivism, researchers try

hard to textualize via interview transcripts and field notes and other documentations (e.g.,

journaling) what people tell them and what they observe (St. Pierre, 2013). In this way, they try to

make sense of texts. Like St. Pierre, I reject this approach. In writing my dissertation, especially

in writing stories/narratives for my journal, I do not feel the need for an instrumental method, in

other words, a tool to analyze texts.

Writing—A Method of Inquiry and Analysis

I begin this section on writing as a method of inquiry and analysis with a poem that

embodies my belief in the power of writing.

My memory begins to fade and my pain begins to fill

but I let go and hold back the pain that was built

burning deep inside fading everyday

and torturing me everyday

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So I write to remind of the promise to keep

and the story to tell of the soul

abstract and intimate, that matters

to make me feel alive and worth

I write whenever I can to remember

the things I should do to unearth

what is buried in noise and silence

to hide and to seek

I write to revisit the childhood that slipped

between dreams of the future and long summer days

under the hot sun I feel naked

under my skin I am free

I write to recover the presence

of all who are absent

in dreams and in hopes

but in loves they are seen

I write to reach out to you,

my parents, my friends, my men

my closet(s), my secrete, my fuck lovers

from the times we were all gorgeous

I write to find you and find me

In that search I think and feel

who I am, and each word is a step

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towards you

towards home

Data is sensual, as I have sensed the data that “appears and reveals itself in my mind and

body, a fugitive, fleeting data” (St. Pierre, 2013, p. 224). As data stemming from my memories

keeps unfolding during my writing, I have felt that it is being analyzed by writing as well. Data

analysis at this moment is writing and thinking and “laying out of the field of the text, moving”

(St. Pierre, 2018, p. 606). For example, while I was writing and thinking with data by recalling the

memory of a gang of gay schoolboys that I belonged to during high school, the data itself pointed

out others who might be significant to my visual identity constructs. When I was writing about my

gang of gay schoolboys, the story of another queer friend appeared. That old queer friend had been

labeled as too different, too strange, and too dangerous by both gay and non-gay students. That

queer friend had even been oppressed and marginalized by my gay friends. Thus, writing leads my

thinking and analysis. Another example is when I took a gay friend out of my gang to write about,

since he was the one who influenced me the most. Writing about one person or a specific event

sparks a retrospective and introspective writing that gives rise to other people and incidents. Thus,

a sequence of people and events is created.

In considering writing as analysis, I utilize creative analytical practices—an ethnographic

genre which encompasses various writing techniques and views writing as a process and a product

(Richardson & St. Pierre, 2017). This notion of writing makes creative analytical practices fit into

autoethnography. Product, producer—the researcher, mode of production and method of knowing,

and method of inquiry are closely dependent on each other (Ellis, 2004). The first writing technique

is layered writing (Ellis, 2004; Ellis et al., 2011) that involves making myself one of the main

characters and then putting the text into a literary context. To do so, I write stories and insert links
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to relevant literature (Ellis et al., 2011). The layering is multiple, with different ways of marking

different theories. For example, when I write about dreaming of boys with a variety of physical

features, I connect to the theory of gender hegemony, encompassing hegemonic masculinity and

subordinated masculinity (Connell, 1995). When I write about the boy who harassed me sexually

in the school parking lot, I insert links to the literature of bullying against gay boys (Walton, 2016).

This technique demonstrates how data generation and analysis proceed simultaneously through

writing. Thus, by using this technique, I can weave the analysis into the data. It is the nature of

autoethnography that findings, discussions, and analysis are uniquely blended together (Ellis,

2004).

The second creative analytical technique is writing about critical incidents (Jones et al.,

2014). These are significant moments that can change the researcher’s life forever. For instance,

the story about the boy who raped me in the high school parking lot is critical because I still

remember that moment clearly. I have been living with that traumatic childhood memory forever.

Dialogical materials, such as daily conversations, bring a sense of authenticity to the narrative

(Ellis, 2004). In a narrative where I recount my conversation with my gay friends—my gang in

high school—I use the conversation to describe a critical shift in my visual identity construction

to become more manly in the eyes of other gay boys/men.

Thematic Analysis

In an autoethnographic study, thematic analysis is often used to help the researcher handle

data (Ellis, 2004). Before discussing thematic analysis, however, I want to emphasize that I concur

with Jones et al. (2014) and Ryan (2006) that a preliminary analysis, or thematizing, always starts

with the writing of autoethnographic stories.

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Thematic analysis enables me to understand the writing of my art-journal better by

identifying some possible themes. According to Braun and Clarke (2006), thematic analysis is “a

method of identifying, analyzing, and reporting patterns (themes) within data” (p. 54).

Furthermore, thematic analysis helps with categorizing and defining data in detail (Braun &

Clarke, 2006). A theme also signifies an important message derived from the data that can relate

to the research question. A theme can represent layers of meaning within the data (Braun & Clarke,

2006). Themes that emerge from my writing must speak to my research questions, focusing on

how I have constructed and reconstructed my visual identity as a gay boy in Vietnam, and how

this process has been shaped and influenced by social and cultural conditions such as social media

(in particular, Facebook) and popular culture (via fashion, music, movies, and celebrity

influencers).

The reason I have chosen thematic analysis is that this approach allows flexibility in

determining what a theme is, knowing that “unyielding rules really do not work,” especially for

autoethnography (Braun & Clarke, 2006, p. 86). Flexibility with themes is important to connect

the theme to the overall research question (Braun & Clarke, 2006). Since this study is qualitative

and involves writing about personal memories, I move back and forward constantly across my

entire data set in the process of analysis (Braun & Clark, 2006). Doing so allowed me to immerse

myself in memory data that encompasses numerous events and people, along with emotional

impressions and affects. I always begin with thinking and remembering nostalgically. Thinking

and remembering allows my writing to emerge. Importantly, I notice that when I write, I search

across my narratives for interconnected patterns of meaning. Situating narratives in

interconnections, I can focus on identifying and analyzing latent themes that consist of underlying

ideas, assumptions, and conceptualizations (Braun & Clark, 2006; Daiute, 2014). For instance,
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when I wrote about my family and friends, I realized that across landscapes, these people were

influential in framing my visual identity. I wrote about how these influencers constructed and

reconstructed the ways I looked, behaved, and lived. The power of influence is clearly a theme

interconnecting these narratives/experiences.

Emergent Themes: Data Interpretation into Themes

The search for patterns of meaning in narratives is conducted via an analysis of data (Braun

& Clark, 2006; Daiute, 2014; Ellis, 2004), which concentrates on recognizing and understanding

major themes. Basically, even though I view writing as a form of analysis that allows stories,

people, and experiences to reveal themselves in sequences, I still need thematic analysis to help

with recognizing the most representative patterns of my data (Grbich, 2007), enabling me to

represent the whole dataset in the form of a thematic map (Braun & Clarke, 2006; Grbich, 2007).

This approach helps me identify common ideas and phrases in my narratives, and by doing so,

unfolds “some degree of meaning assigned to a specific thought or occurrence” (Overcash, 2003,

p. 180). I use thematic analysis to highlight and group my narratives into the most resonant and

significant patterns in my art-journal narratives. Using these patterns, I group narratives into

different major themes, which embody important moments, pivotal shifts/transformations,

meaningful connections, powerful influences and influencers, and difficult times and challenges.

The themes speak well to how I struggled to understand who I was and was becoming, and how I

evolved to build visual identity/ies in several key contexts of being, living, and belonging. I wrote

narratives for the six themes and placed them in chronological order. The overarching themes are

as follows:

• Vulnerability and Danger

• Contested Conventions;
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• Creating My Look

(These three themes above are contextualized in Grade 10)

• Social Media

• Performativity Shift

(Stories in the three themes above are situated in Grade 11 and in the transition to

Grade 12)

• Boys’ Love (stories in this last theme are contextualized in Grade 12)

Narrative Worlding Vignettes

I draw on what Stewart (2010, 2019) and Blaikie (2021b) note about worlding as a verb,

which is key to the framing and writing of my narrative vignettes:

Worlding is always being and becoming attuned in granular and entangled ways to

situated particular moments. Intensities and attunement pass, while some become

lodged as fragments of memory: staying with. (Blaikie, 2021, p. 36)

I used worlding as a method to evoke “attunement to being, becoming, and belonging through

ordinary experiences and affects” (Blaikie, 2020, p. 330). Through worlding, I created multimodal

stories framed by “theories and practices that offer reconsiderations of the arts, pedagogy, and

scholarship as praxis” (Blaikie, 2020, p. 330). Stewart (2016) defined a worlding sensibility as an

act of recognizing, sensing, and engaging in “the self-sensing world” (pp. 95-96). Worlding can be

an act of remembering and recalling memories which becomes meaningful through “the visceral

materiality of micro world lived” (cited as in Blaikie, 2021, p. 36), and worlding is about the

experience of a moment’s bringing in related affects. Worlding, therefore, as a verb shifts the world

from a being to a doing. Worlding is the “felt materiality and materializing of affects, ideas, events,

relationships, spaces, and places” of being, living, and becoming (Blaikie, 2020, p. 331). Thus,
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worlding affords an opportunity to remove the boundaries between subject and environment.

Worlding enables us to perceive the interweaving of subject and environment. It indicates “the

cessation of habitual temporalities and modes of being” (Stewart, 2008, p. 75). Stewart (2016) and

Blaikie (2021b) speak to worlding as a way to see the world(s), both micro and macro, as unfixed

and potentially evolving. In my study, worlding is the remembered experience of a moment that is

meaningful to me in that it carries related affects.16 In worlding vignettes, I articulate the many

affects that are interconnected with the places and spaces of my memories.

Narrative vignettes are considered an alternative autoethnographic approach to

representation and reflexivity in qualitative research (Ellis & Bochner, 2000). According to Denzin

(2000), vignettes in autoethnography as a self-study method invites “readers to relive the

experience through the writer’s or performer’s eyes” (p. 905). Writing stories about the self, which

is key to autoethnography and narrative studies, can be conceptualized as “vivid portrayal[s] of the

conduct of an event of everyday life” (Erickson, 1986, p. 149) to enhance “contextual richness”

(Miles & Huberman, 1994, p. 83). Narrative vignettes are the situated granularitites of subjective

experiences” (Blaikie, 2021, p. 40). Writing narrative vignettes, then, means creating different

short stories with embedded “performative vignettes” to “elicit emotional identification and

understanding” (Denzin, 1989, p. 124). I have used narrative vignettes in many of my studies in

which I storied and examined my lived experiences. For example, I created narrative vignettes to

write about my experiences as the first-born gay child in my family, about love with a straight boy

at school, and about a disciplined male teacher, in a teachers’ training college, hiding his real

sexual identity (Le, 2021).

16
Blaikie (2021b) states that these affects include “the sensory aesthetics of place, art, architecture, and archaeology”
(p. 36).
 96

Narrative worlding vignettes (Blaikie, 2021a, 2021b; Humphreys, 2005; Le, 2021)

encapsulate moments that describe critical incidents of my life as a gay boy: a talk with my gay

friends about some K-pop male stars, the moment I crushed on some boys on a gay dating app, the

time I went shopping for a prom. Thus, my approach to creating narrative vignettes is framed by

worlding as an alternative way to recall the most significant and personal memories for retelling

and storying. I engaged in several ways to write my vignettes, such as “self-talk, inner and

collective imaginaries” (Blaikie, 2021, p. 41) through which I worlded myself exploring and

contemplating my thoughts, feelings, ideas, practices in specific places, spaces, and times of my

childhood. This process also involves worlding my senses of others. The vignettes that follow

present my worlding, my world as a gay boy. Furthermore, to write these vignettes, I engaged in

what Smith (1999) describes as “free writing, self-introspection and interactive introspection” (p.

267) to feature a personal and collective understanding of living a life as a gay man in Vietnam. I

sat down and revisited different critical moments of my high school in Vietnam. Then, I started

my writing to construct a set of narrative vignettes that helped me contain personal experiences,

thoughts, and emotions. I wrote the vignettes with pain and hope as choices to story what I had

gone through in the past. There are emergent and overlapping patterns across my vignettes. These

patterns are themes and I chose to express themes via vignettes, so several particular vignettes

represent a specific key theme.

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Chapter IV: FINDINGS

This chapter features a set of stories of experience narrated from my perspective as a gay

boy. I re-lived and re-told these stories/narratives from my current vantage point as a gay man and

a queer scholar. The focus is on the re-living and re-telling. The stories as vignettes are presented

in the six key themes that emerged from a variety of arts-based and literary methods that allowed

me to explore my life story. In Narrative Inquiry (2000), Clandinin and Connelly write:

Therefore, difficult as it may be to tell a story, the more difficult but important task

is the retelling of stories that allow for growth and change. We imagine, therefore,

there is a reflexive relationship between living a life story, telling a life story, and

reliving a life story. (p.71)

To re-tell and re-live my life story through these narrative vignettes, I used my voices as a gay boy

and a gay man looking back as a narrator. I used italic font to showcase the re-telling of my stories,

while the regular font represents me as a narrator. Through sets of personal narratives, as a narrator,

I reflect on how I constructed and reconstructed my visual identity as a gay schoolboy in several

Vietnamese contexts, such as family life, high school, friendships with gay and non-gay people,

and loveships with boys who might be gay or not. Also, there are themes that depict the impact of

social media on my visual identity constructs. Another important theme is about a critical shift in

my performativity demonstrated through behaviours and appearances. There are narratives under

a theme that describe my gay romantic relationships with some other boys and men in Vietnam. I

wrote about fifty narrative worlding vignettes and then selected the strongest and most relevant

vignettes to group into themes. The analyses and discussions are interwoven into the vignettes;

however, to separate the gay boy from the narrator, I limited the critical analysis and discussion
 98

element within my stories. Six themes, accompanied by the most resonant narrative worlding

vignettes, are outlined in Table 1.

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Table 1

Themes and Narrative Worlding Vignettes

Themes Narrative worlding vignettes

Vulnerability and Danger Men Who Appeared at Home—Grandpa

Men Who Appeared at Home—My Cousin

That Boy in the School Parking

The Queer One—The Outlier

Conventions and Non-conventions Look at Your Dad

The Gang/The Trio

The School Uniform 1 & 2

Losing Weight to be a Girl

The Pressure to Look Good

The Coming from the West

The Making of My Look The Twink Look

The Korean Look

Tiểu Mỹ Thụ-Beautiful Bottom Gay Boys

Dyed Hair

The Big Round Eyes Matter

New Clothes, New Looks

Social Media The World of Filters

Flirting with Boys on Facebook

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The App

The Performativity Shift That’s too Girly

You Must Act Manly

The Haircut

Boys’ Love Fantasies

Gay Romantic Relationships

In an Unrequited Love with a Bad Boy

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Vulnerability and Danger

The first theme is vulnerability and danger, featuring four narrative vignettes that describe

my feelings of being oppressed and physically harassed by men who appeared in intimate contexts:

family and school. These men were my grandpa, my cousin, and my high school classmate, as

early influencers on my understanding of being a gay boy. They put me in danger of being bullied

and harassed, which made me understand my sexuality as abnormal. These stories are difficult to

re-tell and share. The last vignette is about my queer friend in high school who appeared to support

and teach me how to be a pretty gay boy. It was a challenge for me, now as a Ph.D. scholar, to

write this for the first time. I am struggling to find some way to begin recalling my memories about

men who might/should appear in my memory data. The gay boy is me at my home, having some

complex and traumatized experiences. However, now I feel it is time to get the boy described in

this journal, as a crucial part of my doctoral study. I have always viewed this work as a way to

self-empower, as I will need courage to revisit many corners of my memories.

Vignette: Grandpa

I have come to a highly personal context: my home, the place where I lived, constructed

and presented my identity as a gay boy. It was where I hid my identity and where I was forced to

expose it to particular people, like my grandpa and my cousin. They are the men whom I am

writing about here. They were the ones I first came out to as a gay boy. The coming-out is not to

be understood just as a way to get out of a closet. The closet here is home, where people abused

my identity as a gay boy and made me their sex toy.

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Figure 5
My Grandpa17

Note. Digital artwork created by Giang Le, December 2021

The man on the left is my grandpa. My parents and I used to live in my maternal

grandparents ’house. It was a big house, and I had a lot of memories of this place. My grandpa

was weird. When I was young, I thought he was weird. I remember that he was quite close to me

in some strange ways. For example, he liked to give me money and candies to make me stay with

him in his room. He asked me to sit close to him in his bed. My grandmom was always out with my

mom at the market selling groceries. They had a small business they ran together. My father was

away from home most of the time for work, so I was with my grandpa at home until my mother and

grandmom came back, usually by evening. Grandpa often wore a light white T-shirt and tiny shorts

17
Through this work, I recognize that I was the victim of sexual abuse by my grandpa.
 103

at home. He was not wearing underwear, he said it was hot and uncomfortable, and that it was

unnecessary, as there was only he and I at home and we were male. Why bother?

He was always there by the door of his room waiting for me to come home after school,

every afternoon (Figure 5 is my drawing of the scene that I recall/reimagine from my memories).

He would ask me to come in when he saw me arrive home. He could not wait to kiss me on the

cheek and grab his hands tight on my waist. He would move down to my butt sometimes. I was told

that was normal for how a grandpa showed love to his beloved grandchild. We were all male,

nothing to hide, nothing to be shy or embarrassed about, and nothing to lose. Sometimes he would

put me on his bed, lay me down, and give kisses on my belly and hips. His hands would go

everywhere on my body. I found no way to defend myself. I was just a boy. He was an adult in my

family, someone I needed to obey. The only way I found to help was to start wearing longer and

thicker-collared button-up shirts. These clothes helped cover my body better, I felt. I did not want

to show lots of my “skin” to him. I wore longer trousers – jeans — as they were a thick fabric. I

felt safe underneath these clothes.

I also did not want to wear colourful or patterned clothes when I was at home. They were

too eye-catchy. They were not safe. If somehow I needed to wear “fancy” clothes with a range of

colours and patterns to go out with friends or on some special occasions, like a friend’s birthday

party or school prom, I would put on a big denim jacket to cover them. I did not want to get his

attention. I wanted to stay away from him. Whenever I arrived home, I would always pull down

the end of my shirt to cover my butt and to ensure no skin was showing. I hated his scornful eyes

on me when he saw me. For the whole time at that house, I did not tell anyone about him or what

he did to me. He was my grandpa; he was an adult in my family whom I needed to obey.
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Vignette: My Cousin

What I recall and write about my grandpa, as the first man who appeared at home, sets the

stage for the second man to appear in my writing. Certainly, the memories of these men have not

been comfortable, and I actually suffer remembering them. I felt a pain constituted by shame,

embarrassment, and loss of face from revisiting the scenes of me being sexually abused.

I spent my whole childhood living with my mother’s family. I was first-born in my father’s

family. However, I was the youngest child in my mother’s family, where I lived until I went to

university. Both families were conventional, following Confucianist and Buddhist ideologies that

acknowledged men’s power in the family. In both families, I needed to obey the adults.

In this vignette, I write about another man who became important in helping me realize my

same-sex attraction identity as a gay boy. He made me understand that I am sexually attracted to

boys and men. As a son of one of my mother’s brothers, he was my older cousin. We were very

close. We played together, and he took me to school every day, since we went to the same school,

but he was a few years older (I cannot remember exactly how much, likely two or three years, I

would guess). I liked him and respected and trusted him a lot as I felt he cared for me and looked

after me as his youngest brother in the family. I obeyed him with no question.
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Figure 6
My Cousin

Note. Digital artwork created by Giang Le, December 2021

In recalling memories of my cousin, the second man at home, I drew an image (Figure 6)

to capture the scene in which my cousin and I were sleeping together. Intimacy is key to this scene,

as all I remember about him was how intimate our relationship was.

As I said, my cousin and I were as close as brothers, as though he were my parents ’first

son and I the second. That kind of intimacy was confusing, as I was surely aware that we were

cousins and boys. I was not sure what he thought about me and this relationship. One thing I was

sure of, though, was that we both were same-sex oriented. That was something we shared in

common, I thought. He was always nice to me, looking after me when my parents were not at home

to do so. He did not like when my grandpa pulled me into his room. He might have known what

happened there, I guess, but still I was not sure. I did not want to ask him because I felt ashamed
 106

of what my grandpa did to me. He liked to sleep with me before he took me to school in the

afternoon. At such times, he hugged me tightly from the back and he got his hand on my hips and

thigh. He grabbed his hands over my waist like a boy would do with his girlfriend. He kissed me

on my neck from behind and touched my cheek with his lips. He said he liked me because I looked

like a little girl with white smooth skin, soft hair, and an innocent face.

I did not tell anyone in my family about this intimate relationship, or what he did with me.

He was like a big brother who took care of me. He had my parents ’trust. Honestly, I did not defend

myself from what he did with me because I was confused by the way he cared for me. I thought

that this intimacy was simply being like a good brother taking care of the youngest brother in the

family (my mother’s family). Hence, mostly I obeyed him. When it was just us, I dressed in what he

preferred: a pink or blue short tank-top, tiny shorts, and no underwear. I became a little boy when

I was with him, and he liked that. I admitted that I enjoyed being the boy my cousin wanted me to

become. I understood that he was still my cousin and our relationship was unacceptable. This

experience was significant to me in that it made me realize my sexuality. I have not seen my cousin

since he moved to another city for college.

Vignette: That Boy in the School Parking Lot

In this vignette, I write about an unforgettable incident in which I was sexually harassed

by a boy who was my classmate in my high school. If my mind serves me right, it was in Grade

10. That boy has appeared clearly in my memories, and even now, he comes into my dreams in a

way that makes me feel like what happened to me happened just yesterday. I was traumatized from

that moment when I was bullied by being aggressively pushed underneath (by) a straight boy at

that spot in the school parking area for students.

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Figure 7
That Boy in the School Parking Lot

Note. Digital artwork created by Giang Le, December 2021

I sketched the scene of that incident, suffering from recalling that bitter memory (Figure

7). Throughout my life as a gay boy in Vietnam, I encountered boys and men who left some

impression on my childhood memories. Some made me suffer, whilst others appeared as a gift in

my life for being kind to me. I present this piece of my writing as a reminiscence of a boy who

was my classmate at a junior school in Vietnam. He was a nightmare to me.

I was often physically and sexually assaulted by other boys in my class due to my gay

gender performances. I was bullied in many ways by them, and sometimes by heterosexual and

heteronormative girls, too, girls who belonged to the dominant cultural groups.
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I still remember his name. At that time, I was innocent and vulnerable to those with power

over me as a queer and weak boy. We were at the bicycle parking lots after class ended. Only two

of us were there at noon, on a boiling hot sunny day. I was drenched by the heat. He pushed me to

a corner and knocked me down to the burning ground. He started tearing off my white shirt.

Buttons fell off.

He scratched my chest.

He bit me on the neck.

He went down to my pants.

I screamed aloud but no one was there to hear me.

I was frightened by his violence.

I was left there under the heat of the sun at noon.

He left.

Leaving me ashamed,

Leaving me naked

Cruelly…

I cried for help,

but no one cared about what had just happened.

To me or With me.

No one cared and they would just laugh.

To this day, the images of school spaces, the school yard, the parking lots are still very

real to me. It was tough and painful to remember; but it is important to write, think, and live with

them.

I still remember the words he whispered in my ears:

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Look at you, naked! You now look like a girl, white smooth skin, long black silky hair (he

touched my hair slowly), large dark round eyes, pinky soft lips (his fingers are going down

to my lips, ignoring tears rolling down my face, those fingers feel rough). Do you like it?

(he keeps asking me this many times) I know you like it, bitch…You have a girl’s butt (he

grabs my butt hard and like other boys, he grabs my butt very often in class in front of

others. I get used to it).

This is among lots of school bullying acts that I had to suffer during my childhood at many

Vietnamese schools, from primary to high school, and even in college. In my story, that boy could

be seen as one who had a higher status in the school hierarchy. That boy acted and appeared in the

scene of my memories as a sexual pursuer who viewed and treated me as a sexual conquest by

which his manhood was legitimized. He was so strong and macho as he was on top of me. He tore

off my shirt and scratched my body. He said I looked like a girl that drew his sexual attention. In

his eyes, I was a girl who could be objectified. It was my body image as a girl, manifested through

clothes, body shape, and body gestures, that made me a target for his sexual harassment. His

whispering words indicated that he might have chosen me to harass as he was confident that I

would never tell anyone what happened and that no one would listen to me. Anyway, I was still a

boy, a gay boy on the periphery of the school. He had power, other boys would defend him, and I

was always the one being joked about and harassed every day. Why did this matter? It became a

norm, a gay boy being harassed by some boy because he was different, looking like a girl but not

really a girl. Boys could play with that gay boy because there was nothing to lose and nothing to

feel sorry about, and the gay boy liked it. He liked to be touched by other boys.
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Vignette: The Queer One: The Outlier

In my life, I have met many Vietnamese queer youth and young adults and we became

good friends. My understanding and experience of queer has been framed by these special friends,

encompassing my visual identity constructs. Their gender performances and lives have always

been viewed as strange and out-of-place in Vietnam—a queerphobic context. Being queer can be

seen and embodied through individual performativity, including clothes, styles, speech patterns,

and bodily gestures and postures. Interacting with a queer friend at present helps me recall my

memory of another queer friend whom I met in the past. The conversation below is not verbatim.

It is a script that I aim to create at the intersection of my memory recollection and my personal talk

with a friend.

Me: Wow, look at you! You look great in that dress, Linh. New buy? Where did you get that?

Linh: Hi there (she started with her favourite queer voice), yes, this dress, looks beautiful right? I

have just received this little red velvet dress (actually it looks like a mini skirt) from the shipper.

Do you like it? Do you want to get one for yourself, Giang? She is laughing loud.

Me: haha… I doubt about that, Linh! But thanks. Are you wearing make-up too? I like that

lipsticks ’colour you put on and the eye-liner, look really good and the cat eyes you draw are much

improved from the last time we met, Linh.

Linh: Am I looking sexy? Yeah, I watched some tutorials on Youtube and am practicing a lot to

nail it. Oh gosh, I am in love with the cat eyes, classic look but really sexy, right? Cat eyes really

work well with the red velvet lipstick. You should try!

Me: that may be too much for me, Linh! But yeah, I am also impressed with the cat eyes, lustful

but still powerful. I love it, Linh.

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Figure 8
Linh

Note. Source: kenh14.vn

I had a conversation with Linh, my close transgender friend, on the phone a few days ago,

talking mainly about her look (Figure 8). She begins using estrogen hormone therapy, a feminizing

hormone therapy that enables some physical changes to happen. She now looks more feminine.

She looks more like a girl now. Her new look is reminiscent of another girl I remember.

In my old life as a gay schoolboy, I did not notice many transgender people, male to female

or vice versa. There was just one that I saw quite often when I was on my way to school. I believe

she was my age, but she did not go to school. She said that her family was so poor that she could

not obtain formal education like us; instead, she had to go out to work very early. Few wanted to
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talk with her, not even my gay friends; they said she was too queer, too feminine. The femininity

she obtained and performed through her look, clothing and behaviour, was beyond what we knew.

It was way too much for us to understand and accept. I cannot remember exactly her name, maybe

Xuan or Diep, I am not sure. However, I remember that I was the only one who communicated

with her often. Of course, I did not want to let everyone know that I talked with her, especially not

my gay friends, as they would likely boycott me. I felt sorry for her since at least I had friends –

my trio of gay boys – while she did not have any and could not afford schooling. Linh reminds me

much of this queer childhood friend. When I write about this old friend, who was denied by not

only straight people but also by non-straight people, many might say that it’s irrelevant to my

study, as she did share a gay gender identity with me. Nevertheless, she actually shared as much

as Linh does.

People threw her scornful glances when she passed by. She often rode her old green bicycle

by my high school. Everyone whistled and made fun of her: “Em gái bóng lại cái kìa tụi mày ơi!”

(Hey look, the faggot girl is over there!). Even my gay friends did not want to defend her; they also

looked down upon her, thinking that she was creating a stigma for us as gay boys. Also, we were

at a different social status; we were educated and better off than she. And she seemed to want

everyone to see her as a girl. Every time I talked with her, she wanted me to use she/her/hers, and

she wanted other people to use those pronouns, too. By contrast, we gay boys did not want female

pronouns used for ourselves. That made her “more queer” than us already. She liked to wear real

girls ’clothes publicly. She loved dresses, mini skirts, and colourful girls ’suits. She liked a ponytail

hairstyle with some cute cartoon hairclips. She liked pink, purple, green and red, which were all

bright colours for girls (this is a typical gendered norm in Vietnam). She even used fake boobs and

butt. She got them from the market, she said, and showed me one time when I accidentally met her
 113

there. I thought she was really funny, but I still remembered that I could not be too close to her.

Still, she was the one who, by telling some jokes to boys, taught me to become more open to people

and more humorous. She said that boys loved girls with a good sense of humour. That was true,

and it really worked with all the boys I dated when I was at school. They liked the jokes that I

learned from her. She also taught me how to play with colours when matching clothes and

accessories. My gay friends gave me some advice too, but I thought the way she taught me was

easier to comprehend. She was a good listener and I listened to her, too. She was very nice to me.

Figure 9
The Queer One

Note. Digital artwork created by Giang Le, December 2021

I do not have any photos of her, so I drew (Figure 9) what I can remember about her. She

was not in any community, really. The drawing signifies her queerness, which made her unfit for

any community, something beyond what we had known. That was something certainly beyond the
 114

gayness that I and my trio of gay boys were born with. Her dressing was different, her behaviours

were different, and her lifestyle was different. She never cared that people talked about her, or that

she was often called by aggressive names, such as Con Bóng Lại Cái (something like faggot in

English but more aggressive–I cannot find any English words for this). I drew a backpack for her,

with books, notes and some items flying out to imply that she used to be a studious person in high

school. In the picture, I drew other students who were laughing at her. They bullied my queer

friend at school. Her experience in high school was horrible as she was bullied by both teachers

and peers at school for her queer appearance. However, I question whether putting her in an

educational context would have made any change in her life, since all students, including my gay

friends, looked down on her and laughed at her. She is still one of my memories as a gay boy; she

did exist. Her existence shaped my gender expressions in the way that I needed to be careful of my

performativity as a gay boy. I should not have been too feminine in front of other heterosexual

students and teachers who would tease me as they did my friend.

Contested Conventions

The second theme in findings depicts conventions in the Vietnamese family and school

that I encountered and how I broke the rules to become a gay boy through many gender practices,

such as weight loss and clothing. This theme includes 7 vignettes about Vietnamese conventions

and non-conventions. Conventions can be indicated through the image of my dad as a man with

an authority figure in my family, where people obeyed his orders. Conventions can be looked

through the school uniforms and non-conventions can be the ways I transformed the uniforms to

fit my gender performances. Stories about my gay friends; pressure to look as skinny as a girl;,

and the popular culture, via a Western gay movie, demonstrate non-conventions in my gender

performativity.
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Vignette: My Dad

Home to me during my childhood was a vital internal habitus site in which I received care

from my parents via their expectations for me as the first-born male child in my father’s family. I

was expected to continue the family lineage through a heterosexual marriage when I became a

man. In my family, the care I received from my parents could be embodied in many ways, such as

through their teachings. I was always taught to “remember you are a boy” (Le, 2021, p. 221). My

family represented a sub-field of Vietnamese society where dominant gender discourse has been

perpetuated by traditional faiths and values (i.e., Confucianist and Buddhist thoughts; Le et al.,

2020b; Le, 2021). Raised in a Vietnamese traditional middle-class family policed by Confucianist

and Buddhist ideologies, where patriarchal norms were reinforced by everyone, I was taught to

follow male stereotypes as the primary way to grow up as a man.

Male stereotypes were manifested during my childhood as part of a critical habitus

landscape. My father was a role model for me in this landscape. Growing up male, as I was always

told, meant looking up to my father, who has served and been served as “the strongest and the only

pillar” of the family. Growing up male meant I needed to be strong, tough, physically active, and

to act macho. In order to act macho to my parents and other adults in my family, I was pressured

to become a tough boy and was not allowed to cry or be emotional because both were considered

to be weak. I had to play aggressively with other boys and girls. I was often reminded by this note

from my mother, which is drawn from my personal diary:

Giang, you need to remember that you were born a boy, and you are the first son of this

family lineage. I am not happy to see you play with girls . . . those are clothes for girls . . .

cut your hair short today before your dad arrives home . . . I don’t like your voice, it’s too

soft, lower your tone when you speak, that’s how your dad speaks . . . keep your back
 116

straight and chest out, your hands move too much. No men walk like that . . . I am not

happy when people ask me why you look and act like a girl. I feel ashamed having a son

like you.

Figure 10
My Dad

Note. Giang Le’s Photograph

This photo captures my father and me when I was young; I guess I was around six at that

time. The photo signifies my parents ’expectations for me to grow and act and live like a man

(Figure 10). Those expectations, including speaking, dressing, and living like a straight man have

not changed at all since the moment of taking this photo.

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Going to high school, I was expected to behave exactly the same as that little boy in the

photo with my father: dressing like a real boy in a suit (to look like a businessman) and wearing

sunglasses (to look cool). I have always felt a pressure to be like my father, who acted macho all

the time. He was my role model of a real man, working hard to support his family, having a great

interest in sports (especially football), speaking loudly as the male family leader, issuing orders

(i.e., telling others, such as my mom to make food for him, wash his clothes and his dishes after

his meals, and give up the TV so he could watch his favourite football matches). Everybody needed

to obey his orders. He never cooked (he thought cooking was a woman’s duty, and I was never

allowed to be in the kitchen), never fancied the formal look (plain boring shirts, retro old-school

clothing with long and big dark coloured trousers, and sunglasses from the 1980s). Most

importantly, like my father, a male certainly needed to get married to a female to continue the

family lineage. I also needed to be successful financially to become a real man. Heterosexual

marriage was the only way to practice filial piety—there would never be another way to pay my

debt to them. Since starting secondary education, I began resisting by behaving obstinately against

my parents ’teachings. I wore more colourful clothes and tried new hairstyles with different

colours. I dyed my hair red, grey, and pink. I started to perform and express my true-self,

something outside my parents ’expectations. I got beaten by my parents for not conforming to what

they expected, but I still wanted to perform my visual identity with more funky fashion styles (i.e.,

colourful shirts, denim jackets and flared pants, and coloured contact lenses). I mostly wore these

clothes and accessories when I went out to meet my friends. At home, somehow I mitigated my

visual identity by dressing up simply with plain T-shirts, basic jogger pants, and men’s shorts. I

did not want my parents to feel ashamed of my non-conforming visual identity. I loved and love

them.
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Vignette: The Gang

I want to write this vignette to describe a gang of gay friends I belonged to when I was a

high school boy in Vietnam. I want to tell more about them because they are truly integral to my

gay childhood memories in Vietnam. They shaped my visual identity as a gay boy during my

schooling time in Vietnam. Together, we became a famous trio of gay boys in our school. We were

strongly close until we fell apart during college. In our gang, we called each other sisters. There

were Bi, Huy, (these are pseudonyms) and I.

Figure 11
My Gang

Note. Digital artwork created by Giang Le, December 2021

The image (Figure 11) above is my drawing indicating my reimagination of the trio of gay

schoolboys that I used to belong to. We did not have any photos of us. Now, when I sit and re-

collect images of this trio of gay boys, I recognize I could not find any photos. There was one

moment that one of us said that we should not be in a group photo as we should have the chance
 119

to shine in our own selfies and photos. It was hard for all three to shine in one single photo as we

each would want to be “the queen,” the one in the spotlight. Consequently, we would not take any

selfies together. We needed to be “the queen” in our

Figure 12
own photos/selfies.
Bi
We called each other sisters, and I was the second

sister. We cared for each other like family members.

We protected one another like real sisters from

other boys at school who bullied us physically or

verbally with offensive names, such as ‘lanky, weak,

faggot’. We were called insulting names: con bóng

lại cái, xăng pha nhớt, đồ bê đê. Boys who acted or

looked weak and feminine like a faggot would likely

be a perfect target for bullies at school. Being close

to someone like those in my trio could be dangerous,

since such other friends would be labeled as faggot

Note. Digital artwork created by
Giang Le, June 2022 as well, so no boys wanted to play with us. We then

needed to gather to protect each other and survive school time.

As I said, we fell apart. I moved to Canada, and the other two “sisters” left our hometown.

I, however, remained in touch with one of them, the leader of the trio, who used to call himself “the

older sister.” His name is Bi (nickname). We have been friends on Facebook since we fell apart.

The boy in this monochrome is him. He said he took this photo in 2010, not really far from the last

time we met, which was in 2007, when I was still in Vietnam and we had just graduated from high

school. Over three years, he changed a great deal to become more butch and muscular (Figure
 120

12). I met him and was surprised by his new body image (he was still gay, of course), with big

arms, high and tightened hair, and angular face shape. He got tanned, and that also gave him a

more manly look. His body was sexy, I had to admit. He was different from my memories of him in

the trio at high school. He used to be extremely eminine (the most girly one in the group), with a

skinny body shape. He had had a white shiny complexion; he wore makeup, as well, whenever he

went to school or hung out with friends. I remember those times we were together going shopping

for clothes, getting some makeup items for parties or dates with boys, and gossiping about girls

we did not like (we thought they looked prettier than us or grabbed the boys we liked). He was the

one I was closest to in the trio, as we were neighbours. He taught me how to wear makeup, use

lipstick, eyeliner, and contact lenses. He taught me to walk like a diva and become more girly,

acting cute and seductive with guys. He gave me advice about clothes that would work on my body.

I was a little chubby at that time, so he guided me to wear over-sized clothes, like hoodies, denim

jackets, and slim-fit jeans. He was also the one who helped me lose weight. “Boys do not like fat

girls!” he said, so I went on a crash diet to get fit. He was truly a good “sister.”

Vignette: The School Uniform Part 1

Recalling personal memories across childhood places and spaces during my time in

Vietnam makes me understand the significant role of some places and spaces in shaping my

identity. In particular, school is a social, cultural, and political site of identity constructs. Students,

including gay schoolboys, have experiences in some places and moments at school that reveal

ways in which school culture is companionable and influential in (in)forming how they

per/transform their visual identities at school. In this journal entry, I wrote about my visual identity

as a gay schoolboy through my high school uniform.

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Figure 13
My Sketch of Me as a Gay Boy

Note. Digital artwork created by Giang Le, December 2021

The cartoon image (Figure 13) I drew signifies my body image in high school. That was

between 2003-2005. The photo encompasses how school culture impacted my gender

performances as a gay boy. Uniforms were required for boys and girls. This became a crucial part

of school culture, as the school uniform was ensured that students, regardless of their diverse

gender identities, would conform to the school’s educational normativity (Martino et al., 2005;

Mills et al., 2004).

For boys, the uniform comprised a white shirt with a name tag pinned on the left-hand

pocket. The name tag had the student’s name, class number, grade, and the school’s name. I felt it

was like a prisoner’s ID, so teachers and staff could trace any student if that student did something
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wrong. Simply put, they just needed to look at the name tag on the uniform and they would know

where they could find the student. The white shirt was matched with a dark navy or dark grey

trousers and a black leather belt. I got a black cravat to go with my white shirt as a combo for the

top. I transformed the uniform a little bit to make it fit my expectation of the school uniform. I

made it softer and more gay. To be specific, to make the trousers more slim fit, I asked my auntie,

who was a tailor, to help tighten the trouser legs. The crotch length also got reduced. For the shirt,

I got the waist tightened a bit, so I could show my small belly through the white shirt. I looked

pretty thin at that time, and I was quite confident about that look. I had to wear a pair of black

shoes to go to school, though I personally much preferred sneakers. Sometimes I tried to cheat,

wearing my favourite white Nike sneakers to school. But I needed to be cautious not to be caught

by my teachers or the school proctors who would walk around the school to inspect whether any

students broke the school dress code. The uniform was one of the stringent requirements.

The backpack was the only thing I liked about the school uniform, as students could choose

whatever they liked. I had a bright yellow backpack for the whole three years of high school. It

became my identifier. My friends could identify me from a distance when they saw my catchy

yellow backpack. Many said I looked gay with that backpack. Yes, honestly, that was what I

wanted. I chose that backpack for my uniform because it was really me performing my gender

identity through my backpack: a bright yellow backpack as a catchy item of my boring and “fixed”

uniform. That backpack was the only way for me to highlight who I was as a gay schoolboy; it was

an official way for me to stay out of the box, which was the school uniform. That was not much but

it still counted to me.

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Vignette: The School Uniform Part 2

Boys in my school memories looked strong, were physically active, butch and supreme,

and they played sports well. They were often spotted playing football on the school playing field

or playing basketball in the school yard. From my observation, they hit each other hard and fell on

the ground often. I did not like it at all. Also, I hated the school sports uniform; for me, it was truly

a form of masculinity.

Figure 14
High School Sports Uniform

Note. Digital artwork created by Giang Le, December 2021

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I draw an image (Figure 14) capturing my high school sports uniform. I do not have any

photos of me in the high school sports uniform, as I thought it looked ugly for absolutely not

showing any beautiful body curves of those wearing it.

Sportswear for both boys or girls was terrible in terms of form, colour, and pattern. It

actually looked identical. It had no patterns or any colour at all to distinguish boys and girls.

From this perspective, the school sports uniform indicated gender neutrality. Boring dark blue,

ugly white, and grey were all the colours the sports uniform had. We wore that uniform for three

years of high school. For me, it was an unpleasant experience due to the horrible material, which

was 100 percent polyester18. It was not sweat absorbing, so it made we felt really itchy, stifling,

and uncomforable. This type of fabric is commonly used by many sportswear brands due to its

elasticity. It was true that the uniform did a good job in allowing us to stay active for physical

activities at school, but its fashion look, including colour choice and style, was not preferred by

students, especially me.

18
Polyester is a common material by many fashion brands for activewear. The main features of polyester that make
this fabric material favoured for sportswear are high durability, less creasing and lightness. It is also reported to
block UV light.
 125

Figure 15
Cartoon Pins on Clothes

Note. Source: shutterstock.com

The boring and rough school sports uniform made me look straight, butch and macho. I

did not like that look, as it was not me. I felt I became someone else wearing that uniform.

Therefore, I did a little remake by adding some cartoon pins to the white polo shirt and the pants.

I got the cute pins on one side of the shirt collar or on the left-hand chest. I also wore some near

the pants pocket. The super cute pins with different colours and images (my favourite was a pink,

camera-shaped pin. I got one that looked exactly like the one in the photo) signify my effort to

transform the school sports uniform to make it more unique. The pins (Figure 15) embodied my

gayness, which contributed to my gender performance. With those pins as an addition to the

clothing, the uniform became a vehicle of gender expression.

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Vignette: Framed Body Management

There was a time in my high school (probably nearing the end of Grade 10), I lost a great

deal of weight. I did it on purpose. I wanted to look as thin as possible. I wanted to look as skinny

as a skinny girl. I was not eating much; normally I just ate fruits every day. It was a very harsh

diet — I pushed my body to the extreme: no meat, no rice, no sugar, no bread in my daily meals. I

forced myself too much to look skinny. I fitted into girls ’clothes easily. I started trying on

drawstring denim overalls baggy jumpsuits (at that time, I was crazy for this style that was

assumed to be only for girls). I often matched a light pullover with my denim overalls baggy

jumpsuit. A pair of black leather ankle boots would complete the outfit. The image in this vignette

is me in that outfit. Losing lots of weight made my face smaller, too, and I did not complain about

that. Instead, I enjoyed that face shape because it enhanced my feminine facial look as a girl. In

my mind, a pretty girl should have a small face. The photo I use as a background in this vignette

is my photo demonstrating my body after I lost weight successfully and looked skinny.

Again, reading what I wrote, in my recent publication, about my secret love with one of

my male classmates when I was a schoolboy (Le, 2021), I recall that this was actually the time I

crushed on that boy. I tried so hard to lose weight because of him. I had a huge desire for a skinny

body (like a girl) because I thought he would like my new look and thus pay more attention to me.

I thought that he would see me more as a girl.

I remember the moment I decided to go on a crash diet; it was when I saw him smiling at

a girl in the school yard when the final class ended and everyone started packing their bags to go

home. He was the first one out of the class, and I was right after him. A girl passed by smiling at

him, and he replied with his mesmerizing smile. I hated it.

 127

In my published book chapter, I captured that moment: “I did not like girls around him.

They were always flirting with him. I thought they were bitches.” And certainly as he was my

crush, I wanted to keep him for myself. “I did not like him to smile at them” (Le, 2021, p. 222).

That moment, I was determined to make myself look as skinny as a girl (like that girl who had just

thrown at him a slutty smile; what did she mean by that smile?). I believed that once I looked

skinny, I could dress like a girl, and thus I would become a cute little girl in his eyes. He would

love me. Honestly, before this new look, he was a nice guy to me, treating me with kindness and

protecting me from the boys who bullied me. But I became greedy for more of his attention and

care after that smile at the girl. When I looked skinny, however, his behaviour did not change

much. He still cared for me as much as before. I could not ask more from him because my love

was my secret, and I did not want to destroy our friendship just because of my greed. However, I

did learn that a homoromantic relationship (even if it was just a fantasy and a secret feeling from

one side) was powerful enough to force someone to change themselves significantly in order to

gain more attention from the one they loved.

Vignette: Pressure to Look Good

I recall I did suffer a great deal from having to look good. I have been always obsessed

with the fixed body image of a beautiful gay boy during school. It was a nightmare for me. Notably,

it was a considerable pressure for all gay boys. I think to date it has not changed; gay boys and gay

men need to look good.

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Figure 16
Look Good in the Mirror

Note. Giang Le’s Photograph

What did I mean by looking good? As a gay boy who played the role of a bottom in gay

relationships, I needed to look slim and fit. I did not necessarily want to look muscular, just a fit

body was good enough. I had a habit of looking myself carefully in the mirror in my room before

going out to school or to somewhere with my friends (Figure 16). I needed to ensure that I looked

good before showing myself to others. I needed to look cute, with a schoolboy-inspired style. My

favoured outfit would be a white button-up shirt (short sleeve), black short pants, white, low-top

Nike shoes, and of course a stylish black backpack. It should be simply black and white for all

dressing items. I thought it was well balanced, still looking cute but not too feminine.
 129

Figure 17
A Good Gay Top

Note. Digital artwork created by Giang Le, June 2022

Boys who identified as a gay top, need to be muscular, tall, and straight-acting. They might

have often wore plain T-shirts (white was much preferred), slim fit black trousers, and a cap

(optional). Figure 17 is my drawing of one of my gay friends who was studying with me at high

school. He was an attractive gay top. Interestingly, we were just friends. He was funny and really

nice to me. Until recently, we have talked sometimes, but we are not that close anymore, compared
 130

to our time at school. I liked the big chest behind that white T-shirt, and the big arms that could

be imagined when he rolled up the sleeves. I guess with this outfit, a gay top would look like a

straight boy. From my experience, most of them really wanted to be seen as a straight boy. That

was what they called “straight-acting.” They tried hard to act and look straight for seducing gay

bottoms. And it was true that we, gay bottoms, felt attracted to “straight-acting” gay tops. That

was how the two types of body image of gay boys distinguished us, gay tops and gay bottoms.

However, at the same time, with those visual identity differences, we were sexually attracted to

one another.
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Vignette: The Coming from the West

Among the popular cultures that have influenced my visual identity constructs as a gay boy

in Vietnam, the culture through Hollywood popular movies, such as Brokeback Mountain, was

prime. However, I think as compared to Eastern popular cultures, such as Chinese and South

Korean culture that have been well presented through the body images of male celebrities in the

movies, music videos, and posters, Hollywood culture from the West, in my memories, has

appeared less vivid to me. It still did have a certain impact on my memories as a gay boy who was

eager for new things, which were new and fresh popular cultures far from the West, for example,

the American popular movies.

After 2005, Vietnamese people witnessed a significant number of new movie houses across

the country that showed a lot of first-run U.S movies along with contemporary South Korean and

Chinese movies (Hamilton, 2009). This period of time was when I was nearing the end of Grade

10 and about to proceed to Grade 11. I remember this was the time I experienced some physical

and mental changes, as I had reached the age of puberty. My voice was lower and deeper and I got

pimples. I dreamed more often of having sexual contact with boys whom I felt sexually attracted

to in reality, for example, those I crushed on at school. At this time, I felt heavily attracted to

movies that featured the gay romantic relationship. Most of the men-men relationship-oriented

movies I watched at that time were from the U.S. None of them were made in Asia, since gay

relationships were not allowed in Asian cinema (Hamilton, 2009).

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Brokeback Mountain was the first U.S. gay movie that I watched when it was released in 2005,

and I think I watched it at the very end of that year. It was nominated for the Oscar best picture in

2006. It featured the complex romantic (at least I thought it was romantic at that time) sexual

relationship between two American cowboys: Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake

Gyllenhaal). I was impressed by Jake Gyllenhaal who played Jack Twist in the movie. Even though

I believe he played the less physically active role in the gay relationship with Ennis, , I was a gay

bottom with the same sexual role, I still felt sexually attracted to him. I was attracted to his sexy

body image as a gay man in a romantic relationship with another man. I liked his soft jawline,

long eyelashes, deep brown eyes, and wet soft lips, which I thought were so sexy. I wanted to kiss

him and touch those lips. I fantasized about him as my boyfriend, sometimes after watching the

movie. In those fantasies, he was a gay top (my type at that time), who was gentle and calm with a

beautiful smile. He was sweet and cool like the boy next door. Like in the movie, he wore a cowboy

denim jacket and jeans. The cowboy hat was his signature and what I liked the most about him

and his body image. He looked butch and calm and soft at the same time. He exemplified a

romantic boyfriend that I always dreamed of.

The impact of the movie as well as the body image of the male characters on my visual identity at

that time was that I started to prefer denim as my favourite clothing materials in my closet. I

brought some denim jackets and pants, but they needed to be slim and fit, giving a soft look to the

outfit. Even now, I still like the slim fit jeans pants as they make my legs look thinner when I wear

them. The images in this vignette are posters of the movie I retrieved from Internet (source:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brokeback_Mountain).
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Creating My Look

This theme focuses on the framing of my look, featuring six vignettes that tell stories of

various identity constructs: the twink body image, the Korean young men’s beauty ideal, and the

look of a pretty boy. These visual identity constructs are looked at from the perspective of popular

cultures in inter-Asian contexts, such as South Korea, China, and Thailand. The images of Asian

male celebrities have influenced my visual identity constructs through my hair which was dyed

with different bright colours, my facial features (e.g., the big round eyes), and my clothing to look

cute and flawless.

Vignette: The Twink Look

A critical part of my experiences as a gay boy in Vietnam was my tremendous effort to

lose weight. I remember that I was really daring to look like a girl because I wanted attention from

a boy I liked at school. A desire for a thin body has not only existed for a certain period of time.

That desire has been with me for my whole life, even to the present.

During my school time in Vietnam, I wanted a skinny body that contributed to the

development of my “femme” identity as a gay schoolboy. I recall that this kind of gay boys ’body

image was called the “twink” look, from some gay porn movies my friends and I watched.
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Figure 18
The Twink Look

Note. Source: shutterstock.com

Boys in the images (Figure 18) above are not porn stars, but they are good examples of

what I mean by the twink look. Boys who play the subordinate role as a gay bottom in a gay

relationship often have the twink look. They are called twinks19. Gay bottoms have an intention to

obtain the twink look. Most twinks seem to eat less so they will not get fat. They tend to receive

more cardio training at the fitness centre so their bodies will get slim and fit. They do not want to

build muscles, of course, as they do not want to look as butch and muscular as the gay tops. But

not all twinks are gay or submissive and height/weight may vary.

19
The origin of the term twink is disputed. Some argue that it may have derived from an older British gay slang term
“twank,” which means “the quarry of a homosexual prostitute (male): a man willing and ready to become any
dominant man’s partner” (Partridge, 2006, p. 45). Boys who are called twinks need to have a small-framed body,
which can be 5-foot-7 and 125 pounds. They are slim and should not be taller than their relationship partners, who
usually look more butch, more masculine than the twinks.
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My gay friends (in my trio) and I worked hard to maintain our twink look, as we were all

gay bottoms with the typical feminine image. We perceived that a twink should look like a girl who

was skinny and feminine. To stay attractive to boys, we needed to have a twink look. We did not

really like school sports, such as basketball or running, which were usually preferred by straight

boys. We liked volleyball, though. Volleyball was a perfect choice for us to play and train our body

to stay as slim as we wanted. I could not remember why we chose volleyball to play, but I remember

that at that time there was a famous volleyball competition for girls in Vietnam, called the

Volleyball Vietnam League. We loved watching this competition and thought volleyball was a

girls ’sport. This is a team sport that allowed us to play as a team with other girls (they were totally

straight girls, and they were nice to us) and required us to move and jump a lot so we could burn

lots of fat. We needed to eat less, of course; mostly we consumed only fruits and vegetables.

Writing this again reminds me of the time I went on a crash diet for fast weight loss. I hated

that so much; it was such a nightmare. However, to obtain a twink look, we needed to tighten our

diet and work out a lot. We felt that was a requirement for us as gay bottoms.

Vignette: The Korean Look

I am obsessed with Korean styles, including hairstyles, clothes and accessories, makeup

trends and cosmetic products. I have often searched my whole town for barber shops where they

specialize in Korean hair-cutting. I have gotten my hair dyed many colours, like pink, red, and

green. Oh gosh! I cannot remember exactly how many times I got my hair dyed. I enjoyed it when

people complimented my look: “You look like a Korean” (Nhìn như Hàn Quốc!), which could be

interpreted that I looked fashionable, stylish, and pretty.

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Figure 19
A Korean Look

Note. Giang Le’s Photograph

Since Grade 10, I have liked wearing the backpack, short jeans, polo T-shirts with funky

stickers, adorable glasses with over-sized lenses, and an earring (Figure 19). According to Jung

(2010), I have followed the kkonminam20 visual identity components, which are much presented in

the K-pop boys’ bands, such as BTS21 (Bangtan Sonyeondan) (Figure 20). I thought this kind of

20
The kkonminam look is seen as a metrosexual identity in relation to millennium masculinity (Miyose &
Engstrom, 2015). It refers to young men who are in touch with their feminine side and who are unnecessarily
identified as gay or bisexual. Two of the requisite attributes of a kkonminam look are girl-like pretty looks and toned
and hairless body (Jung, 2010).
21
BTS (aka Bangtan Sonyeondan or the Bangtan Boys) is a South Korean boy band that was formed in early 2009
and debuted in late 2009 and early 2010 under the Big Hit Entertainment company. The band has 7 members: RM
(leader), Suga, Jimin, Jungkook, Jin, V, and J-Hope. They became a globally famous boy band when their studio
album, Love Yourself: Tear (2018) made them the first Korean act to top the US Billboard 200, and in 2020 they
were nominated for a Grammy award with the single, Dynamite. They are now global fashion icons around the
world with a great influence on the young generation’s visual identities.
 137

Korean look was only preferred by Vietnamese bottom gay men. It was favoured by all Vietnamese

young gay men, including gay tops and gay bots, because K-pop was extremely influential in

Vietnam via music and movies, which created mega trends among young people. These trends, as

presented through my visual identity, were reflected through my dressing style, gestures and

postures.

Figure 20
V from BTS Boys' Band

Note. Source: newyorker.com

Vignette: Tiểu Mỹ Thụ—Beautiful Little Bottom Gay Boys

Visually, I preferred brightly coloured clothes, such as blue navy T-shirts, pink shorts, and

soft denim jackets. I did make-up with some lipsticks on and powder foundation and concealer
 138

cream. They made my skin look smooth and flawless. I so much enjoyed the moments when my

high school boyfriend gave me compliments, like "You are as pretty as a girl" and "You look cute

and I want to cuddle you all the time." I was happy to be in an inferior role in a sexual relationship

with a male partner. Yeah, I have known that I always wanted to be submissive in a gay romantic

relationship. I needed protection from a man. I loved to be held in his arms and feel beloved. I was

totally okay with this passive sexual position in a homoerotic relationship.

Since high school, I have learned to perform my gender as a beautiful gay bot to attract

gay tops who looked stronger than me with many masculine characteristics, such as tallness,

angular face shape, a short haircut, and a deep voice. I have always been attracted to these tops.

Figure 21
Me, Being a Gay Bottom

Note. Giang Le’s Photograph

 139

I really liked shopping for beautiful clothes with bright colours and playful garment

patterns. Of course, cute accessories got my attention, such as cartoon-designed iPhone cases and

a G-Shock Casio watch. Figure 21 shows me wearing those items to construct my body image as

a beautiful gay bottom. I also often got my hair dyed in catchy colours, such as shiny purple-

brown. I used mild lipstick, too, to keep my lips moist; I liked a soft pink-coloured lipstick, as it

gave a pinky visual effect to my lips, like a cute guy. I was in Grade 10 in the photo.

As a bot in a gay relationship, I have adopted the body image of an adorable little boy with

an innocent appearance, and naive gestures and postures, including thin peachy lips, V-line face

shape, smooth white skin, lovely smile, and big angelic dark round eyes.

Figure 22
The Beauty Ideal of Vietnamese Gay Bottoms

Note. Source: shutterstock.com

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Considering the visual impression management habits that I have sustained since my young

adulthood in high school, I can assume that I am not an exception to the majority of Vietnamese

young gay bots who have been significantly influenced by South Korean, Chinese, and Thai

popular cultures via various forms of media, such as YouTube movies, soap operas, and reality

shows. From my experience as a high school boy, among the many South Korean, Chinese, and

Thai male celebrity influencers, Lee Jong Suk from the South Korean movie Pinocchio (2004),

Sean Xiao from the Chinese movie The Untamed (2009), and Saint Suppapong Udomkaewkanjana

from the Thai movie Love by Chance (2008) (see Figures 22, which depicts, from the left to the

right: Lee Jong Suk, Sean Xiao, and Saint Suppapong Udomkaewkanjana) have received

admiration from young gay men, including me, for their visual identity framing. The male

characters in these sensational shows have been visualized and idealized as beautiful and flawless

young men. They have quickly become beauty ideals for Vietnamese gay bots to look up to. Their

unisex beauty features have been widely adopted by young Vietnamese gay men who identify

themselves as twinks. I was one of them. We preferred smooth white skin, soft pink lips, silky

short hair, light jeans, and schoolboy clothing styles. We were aware of building the look of a soft

and innocent young boy who needs protection from a gay top. The worship of this male beauty

ideal has been a popular trend in young gay men’s building of their body image across Asia,

including Vietnam. Within the context of a Vietnamese homoerotic relationship, this trend could

be translated in Vietnamese as Tiểu Mỹ Thụ, meaning pretty bottom gay boys.

Vignette: Dyed Hair

I have been obsessed with dying my hair. I liked to play with many colours for my hair, and

sometimes I tried getting my hair curled as well. I thought it would make me look catchy and cute.

When I was a schoolboy, I got my hair dyed so many times with different colours, which were all
 141

extremely bright, such as pink, blue, red, and purple. The colours were attractive and made me

feel I was attractive. I wanted people’s attention.

Figure 23
Me with Red Hair

Note. Giang Le’s Photograph

I was crazy about fascinating hair-styles of some K-pop idols that I saw on television, both

male and female pop stars. The boys with lively and mesmerizing hair colours drove me wild,

actually not only me but many other Vietnamese teenagers, especially young gay boys my age. We

were starving for that fashionable look, and their hair colours were the first thing that would strike

you right away. They were iconic. I really loved their colorful hair.

The photo above was me with a typical Korean hair-style (Figure 23)22. It was curled and

dyed a shiny pink colour. To keep my hair in good shape and in a good colour condition, I

remember that I had to spend a lot of money on hair care. I was in Grade 10 at that time.

22
The photo used as a background in this vignette was downloaded from shutterstock.com.
 142

Vignette: Big Round Eyes Matter

Many Vietnamese teenagers have been obsessed with the baby face effect demonstrated

through the angelic image of K-pop idols. This effect stems from their white smooth skin, their

perfect hair dyed many bright colours, and their pretty smile when they perform on the stage or in

the music videos. Also, the big round eyes of these male and female idols are a big part of the

baby face effect. I was impressed by the mesmerizing look of many K-pop male idols who had

charming big eyes.

Figure 24
Park Ji Hoon Beauty Ideal

Note. Source: Asianwiki.com

When I was in Grade 10, around 2007, I was strongly impressed by Park Ji Hoon, a well-

known K-pop male idol across South East Asian countries, including Vietnam, from the K-pop TV

show, named The Produce 10123, in 2005. He had a baby face with doll eyes that made his debut

23
The Produce 101 is a reality TV talent competition show initiated by South Korean entertainment company,
named CJ E&M in 2005. This show aims to find the most potentially gifted Korean boys and girls to form either a
 143

a sensational phenomenon. Girls loved him and boys (like me) loved him too. Gay boys who were

identified as gay bottoms wanted to have his look (Figure 24). He was a good example of what an

attractive gay bottom should look like. The adorableness mainly came from his innocent big round

eyes, the eyes of a child. He set a beauty ideal for Vietnamese gay bottoms. We tried contact

lenses 24 to obtain that beautiful eye effect. I personally had many contact lenses in numerous

colours. I wore lenses every day when I needed to go out with my friends, and even to school. I

preferred the really big ones, sized 15 mm diameter, as they gave the effect of big round eyes. I

liked those with different colours, and my favourites included brown and gray. I only felt confident

in my look once I had my contact lenses on. I wore them until I left college.

Vignette: New Clothes, New Looks

I loved clothes and I loved boys. I had a desire to be recognized by others. I wanted people

to see me as a pretty boy. Writing the journal for this dissertation project, I recall the pressure into

the body image ideal of a beautiful gay boy amongst gay boys and gay men. From my personal

experience, I have felt that for gay bottoms, who are inferior to other, more butch men (known and

identified as gay tops) in a gay relationship, the pressure to become a good-looking gay boy has

been immense. It seemed to me that gay bottoms were more aware of a need to look beautiful than

gay tops.

When I was young, I was a real shopaholic, buying tons of new clothes to ensure that I

looked good and new every day whenever I showed up for others. I had a great desire to look nice,

new, and fresh when I went out of my house, to school, or just to be with friends at the malls or

boy group or girl group. There is no panel of judges, but rather the audience makes the final decisions as to who
should go further in the show as finalists. Finalists should be talented in multiple performing skills: dancing, singing,
music producing, and being visually attractive.
24
The contact lenses are thin and curved lenses on the film of tears that covers the surface of your eyes. The contacts
are produced with numerous choices of colour and in different sizes for the baby doll effect. For the effect of big
round eyes, young people prefer big contact lenses with 14-15 mm diameter. They prefer lenses with a range of
colours to enhance the visual effect, such as blue, green, sapphire, hazel, etc.
 144

cafes or bars. A date with some boy I really crushed on was a big deal for me, pushing me to get

new clothes, so I could have a new outfit to meet the new guy. I remember a guy I dated for a year

in Grade 11. He was so handsome that he was known as one of the hottest boys at school. Few

people knew that he was gay, so when we were dating, we were not really open to people about

out secret relationship. Our favourite dating spot was behind a big rock on the beach at night. We

always met after 8pm, hiding behind the rock so no one could see us. We met each other just a few

times a week. Before the dates with him, I was very anxious, not knowing what I should wear.

Often I bought new clothes, as I wanted him to see me always looking good and new, as a pretty

boy. I bought a lot of clothes. Nearly every week, I got a couple of new outfits, sometimes several

new shirts with different colours and patterns, some new accessories that matched the new outfits,

and many new shoes (I liked sneakers, as they made me look like a cool boy, and I really loved

white ones, such as those from Nike. I would wear white socks with my Nike sneakers.).
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Figure 25
Trying on New Clothes

Note. Giang Le’s Photograph

The photo (Figure 25) is me taking a selfie in a fitting room, trying on some new clothes

for a date with some boy.

I liked having some selfies in front of the mirror in the fitting rooms in the clothing stores.

I did not know why, but the mirror there really brought some good visual effects that made me

look taller and thinner, and the lights were good, too, making my skin and the whole photo look

smoother and brighter.

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Social Media

The theme, Social Media, has narratives that describe the power of the Internet, social

media platforms (e.g., Facebook), and some gay dating apps in shaping my experiences and

knowledge of being and becoming a gay boy. The organization of this theme goes from narrating

my personal experiences of living in a world of beauty filters where everyone, including gay boys

and gay men, looked beautiful to how I could use Facebook and a favourite day dating app to

communicate and hook up with other gay men. Stories in this theme navigate the process of my

gender performances moving from some virtual spaces to the real life.

Vignette: Filters

We are living in a world of beauty filters for altering images of ourselves before uploading

them on Facebook, Instagram, or other social media hubs. Most young people today prefer these

beauty tools, such as Camera 360, Snapchat filters and Instagram filters, to make themselves look

prettier in their social media sites ’visual posts. These filters enable users to produce face lifts,

smooth skin texture, fix blemishes, enlarge eyes, and modify facial proportions. Highly visual

social media sites like Facebook and Instagram offer users customized filters built into the apps to

augment photos for the purpose of increasing engagement and interaction rates on their sites (Kusá

& Záziková, 2016).

In my time as a schoolboy, Facebook had begun its era in Vietnam by being much enjoyed

by youth and young adults, myself included. I started using Facebook when I was in Grade 11, and

I have been addicted to this social media hub ever since. My Facebook has been my little world,

not simply a place where I socialize with my friends, but a (virtual) place/space where I have the

power to become who I desire to be. Filters are that power. They empowered me with a range of

tools to beautify my look. A young gay boy had to be pretty, especially on social media sites like
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Facebook, where people appeared beautiful. I did not see anyone with physical flaws there; all my

gay friends looked stunning. So did I.

Figure 26
Me with Filters

Note. Giang Le’s Photograph

I got my first Phone, an iPhone 2G, as a gift from my older cousin on my 16th birthday. I

took my iphone everywhere with me, taking tons of selfies which I then uploaded to Facebook, of

course. I was very active on Facebook, just like most Vietnamese teenagers. I used filters to

enhance my selfies before those pictures got onto Facebook. I liked to add some funny and cute

stickers, like a mustache (Figure 26). Since I got my first iPhone in Grade 11, I have been fond of
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selfies. Also, filters from Camera 360 app25 (my most favourite ever) have allowed me to change

both lighting and my physical appearance – for example, making my eyes bigger (even though I

always wore contact lenses to enlarge my eyes, I wanted them still larger) and adding more

sparkling effects, making my face thinner and my skin smoother. All my selfies became perfect

using these beauty filters. I expected selfies to embody my life as a young pretty gay boy. Through

those carefully altered images, I wanted my audience on Facebook to believe that the me in my

selfies was me in my real life.

Vignette: Flirting with Boys on Facebook

I liked flirting with boys on Facebook. They were attracted to my photos. Of course, I

needed to look cute and attractive. Thanks to the filters that I used to enhance my look, I always

appeared good in those photos. Boys who were identified as gay tops wanted to hook up with me,

so they liked my photos and commented with compliments on my adorable look. I interacted with

these boys by liking and replying to their comments, and quickly we came to private conversations

in Facebook messenger. There we could chat and then often ended up in in-person meetings. I got

some dates with boys from there. When we met each other in person, some seemed interested in

sex right away, but I did not prefer this type of man. I would say no. Some seemed nice and I would

spent more time with them on several dates to see how much further we could go in our

relationships.

The photo (Figure 27) demonstrates a date I had with a boy during high school.

25
Camera 360 is a professional but easy-to-use app for photo editing and selfie retouching. It is one of the first
photo editing apps for iPhones and other smart phones in the world, launched in 2007. People can use Camera 360
to edit photos with a range of filters, stickers, and make-up.
 149

The date happened when I was in Grade 11. I hooked up with a boy who liked some of my

selfies on Facebook. He flirted with me on Facebook for a month, and then he asked me for a date.

He was a cute guy. He was a few years older

Figure27
Figure 27 Dress up for A Date
than I, making him a college student while I
Dress up for a Date
was still in high school. He was more butch

than I, as it looked like he worked out quite

often. Actually, I came across him sometimes

in the park when he went swimming, and I

was there with my friends for a walk after

school. He got my attention there, and I was

the one who added him first on Facebook as

a friend. One of my gay friends told me that

he was gay and a top, so I planned to get his

attention. I was successful. We went to a bar

for the date. The photo was my selfie with

food he ordered for me on that date. I

Note. Giang Le’s Photograph collaged photos of myself with food and of

course posted them on my Facebook with a caption:

Dating with my boy. I got the boy that I wanted. I dressed in a red and black checkered shirt and

wore cute big glasses to meet my boy. I put on some lipstick too and the contact lenses for the doll

eyes. He was impressed, and we were in a relationship for a year before he moved to another city

with his family. Looking at this photo collage, I miss him so badly. We had so many good times

together as a gay couple.

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Vignette: The App

As a young gay boy who was craving love, I always wanted to know how to find hot guys

for dating. Finding hot guys has been a common topic among us, the gay boys, who were young

and seeking to get hooked up with cool guys. I have often chatted about hot guys at school, the

guy from next-door, the guy any of us bumped into at the coffee shop, or simply just a guy passing

by who looked really cute. We were excited about attractive boys and men and how to get a chance

to approach them all the time. We needed to find a way to get some boys to play with, I meant

date.

One day, one of my gay friends in the trio came up with some excitement that he could not

hide from us. I think it was Bi, the leader of the trio.

Girls, come here, oh my God, I have just found out something really exciting for us,

something that could help us find hot guys.

What’s that? Tell us…

I found an app for gay dating and it has all hot guys here

OMG! Let me see it, where can I get it on my phone? You must have a smart phone to get

it installed right?

Yes! iPhone or Samsung, whatever, but yep just smart phones work. You can get the app

from the Appstore on your iPhone, Giang.

What’s the app’s name?

Grindr.
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Figure 28
Grindr

Note. Source; grindr.com

I was introduced to a gay dating app named Grindr (Figure 28 is the latest poster Grindr is

using to indicate racial diversity through racialized bodies of gay men in their world’s commercial

campaign), when I was in Grade 11. Grindr is a location-based social networking and online dating

application for gay men. It was one of the first apps specifically designed and developed for gay

people when it was launched in March 2008. It has been quickly enjoyed by gay men around the

world, including Asian countries, such as Vietnam (Conte, 2018). It is available on IOS (iPhone)

and Android devices in both a free and subscription version.

Tons of gay boys and men have shown up on that app. I was first overwhelmed looking at

it, but it was also exciting to discover. We were just young gay boys, who could not hold our

excitement to search for potential dates. From the photos of some accounts, we saw that there
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were numerous types of Grindr gay users: young gay boys (like us, schoolboys), some who looked

a bit older but still young (college boys or workers). There were very few old men on the app,

which was good because none of us was interested in older men. It was a cyber world for gay men

to explore each other, to socialize, and to look around for potential dating or sexual partners. We

youngish gay boys (Grade 11) quickly became addicted to the world that was presented through

the app. The app as a new media technology domesticated our lives. The app changed from being

strange and wild into something we could not live without. It became part of our lives.

Figure 29
Me on Grindr

Note. Giang Le’s Photograph

Figure 29 is one of the ID photos that I used for my Grindr profile. It was me with an

innocent boy look: dark big eyes, smooth hair and shiny flawless skin, pinky lips, and a shy smile.

I looked a bit thin at that time. I meant to keep my body slim and fit, as it was a body type commonly

favoured by Vietnamese gay bottoms. A slim fit body would easily get attention from gay tops. I
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chose to wear black as it made me look thinner. Grey, navy, white, and brown were good, too. I

looked more mature wearing plain T-shirts (sometimes with very small stickers, just tiny items on

the clothes, not too much), and shorts, and skinny jeans. Boys with a feminine look would not be

able to hook up with gay tops on the app. Gay tops did not prefer boys who looked too girly. That

explained my body image shift when I showed up on the app looking for a dating partner.

Figure 30
Grindr Gay Top

Note. Source:grindr.com

In contrast to my slim-fit body from my photo on Grindr, the photo of figure 30 signifies a

typical image of a gay top shown on Grindr. This was an ideal body image of my desirable gay

top. The man in this photo was a Grindr dating partner of mine when I first used this app. We

chatted and eventually met when I was about to finish high school. We met only a few times before
 154

my high school graduation. He was much older than I, as he worked already at that time and I

was still a high school boy. We had sex. He was my first time. This was one of the photos of him I

have kept with me to date in my diary. He had quite a well-built body, with huge arms and a big

chest. I was crazy for huge arms and chest. For me, that was hegemonic masculinity and should

be indicated physically by gay tops, who played a dominant role in a homoromantic relationship.

It showed that the gay top could offer the gay bottom some protection, including a sense of safety

when they were together. A well-built body also made the gay top sexually attractive to gay

bottoms.

Performativity Shifts

This key theme has three vignettes that describe a shift in my performativity from a

feminine boy to a more butch and manly boy. Stories in this theme support the idea that identities

are constantly porous and shifting. Stories about the performativity shift were narrated through my

voice as a boy reliving a critical moment with my feminine gay friends being looked down upon

by some straight-acting gay men in a club. Performativity shift was seen through images and some

visual identity constructs: clothes, accessories, and the haircut.

Vignette: That’s Too Girly

There was a moment in Grade 12 when my gang/trio and I realized that we could not look

too feminine, dressing like girls with colourful clothes and dyed, long, wavy hair, or acting sissy.

We should not continue some of the “stereotypical gay male traits, such as being outspoken,

sociable, talkative, and concerned about glossy appearance” (Eguchi, 2011, p. 38). We still needed

to care for our look, but it required us to be more manly, not as girly as it had always been, because

we had become tired of being called faggot.

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Figure 31
The Incident in a Club

Note. Digital artwork created by Giang Le, December 2021

This body image shift began after a critical incident when one of my gay friends (the second

sister in the trio) and I were rejected by some boys in a gay club. Recalling the scene of that

memory, I have created an image of what happened to us in the club.

As schoolboys under 18, we were not legally allowed into a gay club in Vietnam; we often

bribed the guards at the front door to get in. This was actually the norm among young boys and

girls to find a way to get into adults clubs in Vietnam. Returning to what was going on with my

trio and I in the gay club, we were really attracted to a group of gay tops standing at the bar

counter. They were very attractive men, who looked butch and handsome. Surely, they were older

than us. They acted impressively cool in that gay club, and I could see many gay boys around

them. Their outfits were simple, like typical gay tops preferred to wear – polo T-shirts (white, grey,

or black, usually), straight fit jeans, and high-cut hair style. Their faces were angular, making
 156

them look straight. They were truly the stars in the gay club that night, and we knew we had to get

their attention. We tried to come close to their table, and asked for a toast, but they did not respond.

They did not care about us. We got declined. We failed. I remember that there was a boy in that

group who sneered at us, throwing some offensive words to us about our girly look: “Đồ con bóng

ẻo lả,” meaning “you, faggots, look feminine” (Figure 31). We felt offended and hurt. Right away,

we knew that we needed to change ourselves. No more feminine look!

Figure 32
Look Like a Straight-acting Boy

Note. Giang Le’s Photograph

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After that event, we changed our look. I started wearing more straight men’s clothes, such

as plain white shirt, black necktie, and black square glasses. My hair returned simple black and

high cut. I looked more like a straight boy (Figure 32). I took this photo as a selfie when I was in

Grade 12. I looked a bit mature, like an office man (that’s what my friends called me when I

changed to this style). I started to enjoy this new look because I recognized it was easier for me to

get attention from gay tops, who liked non- feminine boys. I felt that as long as we as gay bottoms

could get attention from gay tops, we were willing to change our look to align with what they

expected from us. The attention from gay tops did matter to us. We placed ourselves in a inferior

status to them truly.

Vignette: You Must Act Manly

In this vignette, I go back to my gang and write about a shift in our gender performances.

We had lots of fun, sharing clothes, hanging out together, and gossiping about boys at school. We

supported each other, embracing “the gay-hood” as we knew that we needed it as a source of

power. We used that power to fight against other boys who often bullied us at school and outside.

We taught each other to become more attractive to the top gay men. Bi and Huy were my sisters

in the gang.

Bi: Hey! I think we need to change. We cannot be girly like this. It’s no longer attractive

to tops.

Huy: Why cannot we be ourselves? What’s wrong with our look? Why do we have to change

ourselves?

Me: You stupid. Tops they now don’t like girly boys anymore. They hate us. They want

manly boys to date with. You don’t know that, really?

 158

Bi: Giang is right. It’s the new preference of today’s tops. You don’t recognize that we

cannot date any hot guys recently. We are so outdated. If we don’t change, we will be

dumped.

Huy: OMG! So how can we change? What should we do?

Bi: We need to act more manly. Don’t act like a girl, don’t be cute! Unisex clothes must be

thrown away. Act cool like a boy!

Me: Agreed, we need to get some clothes like cool sunglasses, white shirts and black pants.

No more colourful clothes! No more teens’ styles. They make us look so girly.

Figure 33
Act Cool

Note. Giang Le’s Photograph

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As we viewed the feminine image of the beautiful little gay bottoms as “outdated” and

undesired by the gay tops, we changed our styles entirely. We dressed and acted like the cool boys

with more manly traits. My fashion style shifted to young menswear. I came to prefer black and

white clothes, such as a white shirt tucked into straight black pants (Figure 33). I took this selfie

of my new look when I was in Grade 12. Having a cravat on was perfect with cool sunglasses to

create a straight-looking outfit for me. The beautiful little gay bottom image was gone. Instead,

there were gay boys who looked very butch and muscular with strong and well-trained bodies, but

it turned out they were gay bottoms in their relationships.

My new look reflected what was going on in Vietnamese and likely Asian popular culture

at that time with the rise of young male celebrities in Asian (especially Korea) musical videos,

movies, and TV commercials. In Grade 12 (in 2009), we saw male idols who were very muscular,

and we were driven crazy by their sexy bodies: big arms, huge chests, and six-packed abs. OMG!

I really loved spectacular muscles, like what we had often seen from the sculptures of Greek Gods.
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Figure 34
Nickhun

Note. Source: kpop.fandom.com

Nickhun was one of my favourite K-pop idols at that time. He was from a boy band, named

2PM26, which was famous for the image of the members being butch and muscular, which made

them stand out from the other K-pop boy bands with a feminine image. Nickhun was a great

example of a boy who could look cute and butch at the same time. His face was adorable and

innocent as a pretty gay bottom, but his body was muscular (Figure 34). It was hard to identify his

beauty ideal as a gay bottom or gay top because he could fall into both categories with that image

of his lovely face and impressively sexy body. Admittedly, when I was young, I was attracted to his

muscular body since I was a gay bottom who could easily fall in love with a muscular gay top. I

26
2PM is a South Korean boy band that works under the management of JYP Entertainment Company. This group
was formed in 2005. It is composed of six official members: Jun K, Nickhun, Taecyeon, Wooyoung, Junho, and
Chansung. They promote a different image of K-pop boy bands, which is very butch and muscular. All members
look strong, tough, and muscular, making their fans call them Monsters. 2PM represents a strong masculinity in K-
pop boy bands.
 161

did not mind his baby face that could be associated with a gay bottom’s typical face type, and I

saw it as a plus. He looked cool. Surely, for today’s Vietnamese gay boys’ beauty ideal, Nickhun

had a body image as unattainable, due to masculinity, encompassing paradox and tension. Others

might see him as a sexy man and he did not represent an image of a gay bottom specifically, but

for me and my childhood gay friends, he had an idealized image of a gay boy who should look cute

and butch at the same time. Two in one!

Vignette: The Haircut

Hairstyle also demonstrates a shift in my performativity. My hair needed to give me a

straight look. When I changed my hairstyle in Grade 12, it was a shock to my family and everyone

else in my class. They were surprised by my new look, especially my hair. I became tough and

butch. I was no longer feminine with a long and curled hairstyle.

Figure 35
The Under-cut Hairstyle

Note. Giang Le’s Photograph

 162

A tidy and high haircut was part of the body image of a straight-acting boy/son. I asked to

get my hair cut short and undyed. At the beginning, I did not really enjoy that style, but as long as

it kept me away from my relatives ’complaints and my parents said okay to this “straight-looking”

hair style, I could go with it. The under-cut hairstyle is a short-to medium-length style that

contrasts the top with the sides. There are many variations to this hairstyle, but the basic idea is

long top and short sides. It gives boys and men a strong and determined look. Following the shift

in my visual identity, I had the under-cut hairstyle, but I still tried to make my hair a bit fluffy with

hair spray (Figure 35). I asked the barber to make my hair slightly wavy. This, I felt, could soften

a bit the high undercut. Figure 31 signifies my customized variation of the under-cut hairstyle –

my hair was still short and tight to meet my parents ’expectation for a straight-looking son, and at

the same time I was able to retain a bit of a gay boy’s appearance with a blow-out and wavy

haircut. It did not give me a sharp and angular cut, but rather a seamless and blended style that

lent a general smoothness to my face. Undoubtedly, I looked quite good with that haircut.

Boys ’Loves

The last theme is about boys ’love through which intimate relationships were retold. Three

narrative vignettes featured in this theme category focus on gay romantic relationships I

experienced in the past. Some relationships were told as fantasies about me in love with male pop

stars, whom I idolized when I was a boy. There are stories about a classmate whom I crushed on

during my high school. I imagined we were in a romantic relationship as he was especially nice to

me, and I secretly loved him. The last story is about a friend in the last year of high school who

treated me kindly, although he was known as a naughty boy at school. The term, bad boys, was

mentioned in this story to describe characteristics of the boy I was in love with during my high
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school. Although I am aware of bad boys as a prominent construct and topic in women’s fantasies

(Myhill, 2002; Rebellon & Manasse, 2004), I want to emphasize that the focus of my stories in

this theme is boys ’love and my fantasies about falling in love with other boys at school.

Vignette: Fantasies

I had so many dreams when I was a schoolboy. I am a gay bottom, so I often dreamed of

the gay tops who appeared more butch and muscular than me. I was heavily attracted to tougher

boys who I assumed could take care of me and please me as a lover. I fantasized a relationship

with one of these types of boys. We were a couple and I would act like a girl who received care

and love from boys. But we were a gay couple to be exactly, and I was a gay bottom with

subordinate masculinity 27 traits, such as being cute, thin (I am now bigger), and smooth, with

white flawless skin. In that gay relationship, I demanded protection and much care from my

boyfriend.

I distinguished my dreams of boys I had crushes on. In some dreams, I dreamed of boys

whom I could never reach. They were male celebrities who only appeared on TV, in music videos

and movies, in magazines and newspapers. As a fan boy, I worshiped their beauty accompanied

by their shining halo as attractive and successful boys. They always looked perfectly cool. In my

dreams, I fantasized that I was one of these boys ’secret boy friend. We were dating secretly, as

they were famous while I was just an ordinary unknown boy.

27
According to Connell (1995, 2008), subordinate masculinity is a form of masculinity which lacks some
dominant/hegemonic masculinity qualities. These qualities are opposite to hegemonic masculinity; for example, it
involves effeminate and feminine acting, such as being over-sensitive and emotional, being too girly. Those with
subordinate masculinity are often weak physically and emotionally.
 164

Figure 36
Asian Male Idols

Note. Source: shutterstock.com

When I was in Grade 12, I was a fanatic follower of two male idols (in Figure 36, from left

to right): One is Alec Su You-Peng from Hoàn Châu Cách Cách-Return of the Pearl Princess28 (in

Vietnamese and translated into English as the series ’name), a Chinese soap opera that was

sensational in Vietnam at that time; another is Ưng Hoàng Phúc, a Vietnamese male singer who

was highly enjoyed and became an ideal boy friend for many Vietnamese young girls and gay boys

like me. These male idols had two different body images, involving body shape, face shape, hair

style, eye contacts to seduce people, and ways of dressing up to appear in movies and other kinds

28
Return of the Pearl Princess is a 1998-1999 Chinese television costume drama that was a big hit when it was
released in this period of time, not only in China but also across Asia, especially in South East Asian countries,
including Vietnam. The story is set in the 18th century Qing Dynasty during the Qianlong Emperor’s reign. The
story is about a lost Princess, later named the Pearl Princess, returning to the Royal family after a long time living
outside the Palace, among ordinary people. Alec Su You-Peng played the role of a Prince who loved the Pearl
Princess.
 165

of social media, such as magazines and TV. As celebrities, they worked hard to build their visual

identities as attractive to others, including me. On the one hand, Alec Su You-Peng appeared as a

sweet boy next-door with round face and white skin, wearing glasses like an educated boy who

would treat you nicely and be gentle with you.

On the other hand, Ưng Hoàng Phúc looked like a bad boy who was tough and butch in

shape, having a high-cut hair style. His eyes looked sharp and his muscles would have given me a

sense of being well protected if we had been in a romantic gay relationship. I was deeply in love

with these two types, fantasizing a gay relationship with them (of course, different dreams than I

had when I was a fan boy). Due to their different body image styles, they would have likely treated

me differently as their boy friend. In my fantasies, they might have been gay, since they had fallen

in love with me. In my fantasies, I imagined that I looked the same as a clandestine gay boy friend

of Alec Su You-Peng and Ưng Hoàng Phúc. To both male idols, I would still have appeared

feminine, having a small and thin body, wavy fluffy hair, big round eyes – the visual effects that I

could obtain from putting on the contact lenses – and dressing like a cute gay boy.

I think I fantasized myself having the same body image as a gay bottom, in a gay

relationship, because I have always identified myself with identical feminine traits. I have always

imagined and expected that I would not shift my visual identity much when I jumped into a gay

relationship, as my sexuality and sex role would be unchanged.

Vignette: Gay Romantic Relationships

I dreamed of being in romantic relationships with boys whom I could meet in real life.

They might be straight, not gay, in real life. It did not matter, because we could only have been in

a romantic relationship in my fantasies. I crushed on many guys when I was a gay schoolboy. They

were my classmates, and they were among a small number of boys who were kind to me. Being
 166

with them, I felt safe, and seen as a normal boy. Some of them considered my non-normative

gender performances cute, and my queer gender performances were not a big deal for them. I could

be myself – feminine, childish and as emotional as a girl.

In one of my recent publication in a Routledge collection edited by Dr. Fiona Blaikie (Le,

2021), I wrote about my experience with a boy who sat next to me when I was in Grade 12. He

was a boy whom I usually fantasized about being in a gay relationship with. We spent time together

for three years. He always stood out to protect me from other boys who bullied me in and outside

the school. He drove me home every day and picked me up often at my home. I loved the feeling of

sitting behind him on his bicycle, leaning on his large back. I felt safe and peaceful. That feeling

was precious. It was as pure as my secret love for him for the whole four years. He did not know

that I loved him so much. I hid it well.

I fantasized that we were a gay couple in my dreams. Those dreams were real to me, since

I met him every day at school. How could it have been more real to a gay boy craving a gay love

with a boy who was nice to him both in dreams and real life? He was a big boy, tall and butch. In

my eyes, he was a caring protector. His hair was high cut. I was a small boy who was always

vulnerable to other boys.

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Figure 37
I'm in Love

Note. Digital artwork created by Giang Le, December 2021

I fantasized that he cared for me as well, taking me out for dinners and movies as other

normal/heterosexual couples do. I dreamed he would hold my hand to ensure that I was at his side

all the time, so he could protect me. We kissed when we enjoyed the sunrise together at the beach

(we were both living in a beach city). Figure 37 describes my fantasy of a scene in which I was on

a beach with the boy I loved. I rested my head on his shoulder, watching the beautiful sunrise

together with him, my love. That moment, in my dream, I wanted time to pause so I could have the

moment for myself. I was deeply in love with him, and many times I did feel that I could reach him

both in my fantasies and in real life. It was too beautiful to be unreal. We were young and wild –

schoolboys with lots of dreams.

Vignette: Unrequited Love with a ‘Bad Boy’

This vignette is about my one-sided love for a boy during high school in Vietnam. I met

him when I was in Grade 12. He was special, not only because he was straight and popular with
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girls and likely gay boys, but also because he was well-known as a bad boy29. Bad boys are popular

at school. They validate their masculinities and gain the status of being tough, cool, and hot through

hierarchical power relationships with others in an inferior position. For example, bad boys often

bully gay boys. Bad boys need to be sexually attractive to girls and to flirt with them. They need

to have sex with girls. They are not faithful to any girl as they just want to play around with as

many girls as possible. The boy I crushed on in this story was actually a famous bad boy in my

high school. He was straight, and he dated many girls. I recall a quick talk with my gang (my trio

of gay friends), in which I confessed that I was deeply in (one-sided) love with that bad boy.

I uttered a sigh.

I think I have a crush on a new guy. He’s so hot!

My “sisters” screamed out loud.

Who’s that boy? Who? OMG, do we know him? In our school? What class?

I needed to shut them up right away. That was so embarrassing. People looked at

us curiously.

Okay, I will tell you everything, but please turn down your volume. You speak

loudly.

They looked excited. I could see sparkle in their eyes.

Do you know Jack (pseudonym)? He is so hot, isn’t he? I think I like him.

My confession made them freeze.

Have you lost your mind? Yes, he’s a hot boy, everybody knows that. But, everybody

also knows that he’s a bad boy. He’s skipping classes, he’s flirting with girls, he’s

dumping girls, he’s beating other boys, he’s messing up with teachers…

29
Bad boy is a construct that refers to the impact and effects of hierarchical masculinities at school (Martino &
Pallota-Chiarolli, 2007).
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Yeah! And his clothes, his hair…untidy in class. Sometimes I saw him shirtless.

He’s smoking in the school washroom I heard. I bet he’s also homophobic…he’s too

dangerous for you. Stay away from him, Giang! He will be a big trouble.

I guess my “sisters” were right. He might be a bad boy, a playboy, whatever labels people

gave him. Most importantly, he could be homophobic, and it would put me in danger of being

bullied by him. He had all features of a bad boy: loud, macho, tough, aggressive, smoking, and

good looking (too sexy when he went shirtless or half unbuttoned). He always looked rebellious,

disrespectful, and rebellious, like a rock star. This look made his bad boy reputation. Being a bad

boy seemed to demonstrate his practice of hegemonic masculinity. From my experience, it looked

like he was at the top of the hierarchy of masculinity. He fitted perfectly in that pecking order, as

he appeared desirable to girls, broke rules, played sports quite violently, and always stayed

aggressive, and lots of fights with other boys. He was known as a bully at school, and it seemed to

him that bullying was a way to determine who dominates and who is dominated.
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Figure 38
The Rebellious Jack

Note. Digital artwork created by Giang Le, January 2022

I created this image (Figure 38) of him when by accident I came across him at a night club

in the summer of 2009. That was when we were at Grade 12 and about to graduate. He was

smoking and checking his phone by the front door of the club, and I saw him when I was waiting

for my gang – my “sisters.” He saw me and said hi and smiled in a friendly way. In that moment,

I did not see an aggressive boy. Honestly, I never heard any rumour or story that he bullied a gay

boy. We just assumed he could be homophobic. It was just assumed that bad boys were arrogant,

profane, homophobic and misogynistic. Nonetheless, this boy whom I crushed on was not that

homophobic. After a smile, he approached me and talked with me while I was waiting for my
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friends (he might have been waiting for his too). We laughed, and he was actually humorous. He

said that I looked cute and made a joke that if I were a girl, he would be flirting with me. He

complimented my outfit; I had dressed adorably, with a white polo shirt, pink shorts, and my

favourite Nike sneaker shoes. I had a funky snapback cap, too. The contact lenses were a must-

item for a night party, of course. I wore some soft pinky lipstick to keep my lips moist and sexy.

Those clothes and accessories completed a youngish gay boy look. And my crush’s compliment

was a testimonial to that attractive look.

He said we could be friends. After this accidental meeting, we sometimes talked at school.

He was nice to me, and my “sisters” were really jealous of me talking to a hot (bad) boy of the

school.

After a coincident meeting by the front door of a local club, we became good friends. Even

now, we are still friends on Facebook (FB) and sometimes interact on each other’s FB, commenting

and liking postings. He's now a banker, working in the City of Ho Chi Minh, the commercial and

trading hub of Vietnam, located in the South. He has often posted himself in formal work clothes,

with a white collared-shirt and slim-fit pants (Figure 39). The shirt is always tucked in, and he now

seems to prefer dark colours, like grey, black, white, or light navy. He looks much more formal

than before. His style has completely changed. The only rebellious marks from the old schoolboy

days include his earring on one side, his shaggy, fluffy hair, and his facial expression (cool,

untamed, arrogant, and macho). Those have made him attractive even in a formal outfit. He is

doing fewer parties than when he was a high school boy; still he hangs out with friends (his

colleagues I guess). In some selfies that he shares on FB, he is still drinking, but not smoking as

much as before.
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Figure 39
Jack as A Mature Man

Note. Digital artwork created by Giang Le, January 2022

I recall some memories that I had of him when we were both rebellious schoolboys. In

Grade 12 we partied a lot, going to local clubs and drinking, with him smoking (I was not a

smoker; that was for straight boys).

I sometimes asked:

Why are you smoking that much? It harms your health.

He answered with smoke out in the air; we chatted in the back of boys ’washroom at school.
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Do I look cool with that? I do, I know I do…

It was true that he looked really cool. Other boys looked up to him, and girls were crazy

about him. Jack saw smoking as a requirement for acting cool that enabled him to maintain his

hegemonic masculinity.

However, Jack was quite different from other straight boys, who were homophobic and

misogynistic and who policed dominant heterosexual masculinity by bullying feminine boys with

insulting names: đồ lại cái, con bóng, con bê đê (faggot, homo, etc., in English). Jack was not that

kind of boy. He never insulted gay boys like me. In fact he protected me. Bullies knew that he would

beat them up if they came after me. Once he rescued me from being sexually harassed by another

boy in the school washroom. Also, I saw him at a local club where there were male-female

transgender performers. That club was really famous among foreigners (my hometown is a tourists

city, so we welcomed many foreign travellers). Few local people went to that club, but Jack really

showed his joy with the transgender performers, dancing with them when they came off the stage

(Figure 40). I was there enjoying the show with him, as we kept each other company.
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Figure 40
Jack in a Club with a Drag Queen

Note. Digital artwork created by Giang Le, January 2022

“I think they are funny and good performers! They are talented, and that’s their job. They make

good money from their job, and it’s not against any laws. Why do we have to care about their

gender identity? I don’t see any problem with it,” Jack said to me at the club.

“Giang, I want to be your friend and I don’t give a fuck that you are gay. No boys have a

right to hurt you, okay? Tell me if they hurt you! You are better than them, you are better

than those bitches who keep telling people that you are sick, and I should stay away from

you.” He told me this trying to calm me down after he beat up some boys as they tried to

grab my backpack, and I was crying in front of my class.

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“You are funny, Giang. If you were a girl, I would make you my girl friend. But, you are

not. Okay, now let’s go to the canteen and I will get you something to eat!” We talked and

he offered me a nice treat when we had a short break at school.

To be honest, I cannot guarantee that these words are the exact words he said to me at that

time; it was in the past when we had that conversation. Thus, I must clarify that all of these words

indicate how I recall the memory I had with Jack.

There are 27 narrative worlding vignettes selected to present as findings in this chapter. All

vignettes were placed in different themes that help offer a whole picture of me living a life as a

gay schoolboy in Vietnam. Vignettes are spaces for my stories to emerge and capture my personal

experiences as well as emotions that depict difficulties I went through in the past in various

intimate contexts, such as my family, my high school, friendships, and gay romantic relationships.

There are people alluded to across my narratives as key early influencers (e.g., my father, my close

gay friends, and celebrities in movies from the West to the East) who shaped my visual identities

and understandings of being a gay boy. Popular cultures and social media were also mentioned as

integrated components into the framing and shifting of my visual identities and performativity.
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Chapter V: DISCUSSION

Following Chapter IV on findings that were placed in themes, Chapter V concentrates on

the influence of internal and external factors, such as Vietnamese conventions and social media

and popular cultures, on the framing of my visual identities, which I see as porous and evolving.

The voice that remains dominant in these discussions is my voice as a critical and queer academic,

interpreting narratives presented in findings. I discuss connections to theories and literature on

gender performativity, Vietnamese conventional norms restricting gender performances and

fluidity, and other constructs (i.e., affect, shame, vulnerability, intimacy, media, and love).

Discussion on Conventions and My Look

Vulnerability and Danger

The first finding theme is vulnerability and danger. Now, as a gay scholar looking back

and analyzing experiences, I contemplate my body, my mind, my soul, and my feelings, which

were put in danger in family and school spaces. I was vulnerable to men, who used their power to

target and abuse me. Butler (2016) views vulnerability as a disempowering character trait.

Vulnerability, according to her, characterizes a relation to “a field of objects, and passions that

impinge on or affect us in some way” (p. 13). She argues that it is based on social relations and

can become a fixed label on particular groups of people, such as women and people with non-

normative gender and sexual identities (e.g., gay, transgender, and queer communities).

Vulnerability was framed by my innocence and a trust in social relationships with my grandpa and

my cousin. Vulnerability was also indicated through my appearance as a feminine boy—a boy who

looked like a little girl. Vulnerability could be viewed through the lens of intimacy that appeared

across narratives in the first theme. The intimacy could be recognized in accounts with my grandpa
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and my cousin where intimacy became “a narrative about something shared, a story about oneself

and others that will turn out in a particular way” and it is often set within “zones of familiarity and

comfort: friendship, the couple, and the family form” (Berlant, 1998, p. 281).

The understanding of vulnerability is not restricted only through my stories, but also

through the story of my queer friend in high school (e.g., vignette: The Queer One—The Outlier)

whose identity was out-of-category. I used “she” and “her” as pronouns to tell her story because

she liked to be addressed that way – she said she wanted to be my sister. Vulnerability is complex

in this vignette, as it shows two layers. My queer friend was oppressed by everyone in school,

including my gay friends – her queerness went beyond any category of gender performance of that

time. The second layer of vulnerability is my taking a risk to become her friend. I was afraid of

being boycotted if anyone knew of our friendship, but I pursued it anyway.

Men have always made crucial impressions on me. Those impressions could be negative

and dark, including the sexual harassment, bullying and shame that were key to the construction

of my vulnerability. Shame put me in danger. Shame, which is a key concept of feeling and

motivation for transformation in queer theory (Sedgwick, 1993), defines the understanding of

being queer. Being queer or gay is a form of stigma, captured in the expression “shame on you”

(Sedgwick, 1993, p. 4). Shame appears in many of my vignettes. Shame is manifested and

manipulated by the power of men over me as a subordinate boy in family and in school. Shame

frames my identity constructs. I felt shame when I was sexually harassed by my grandpa, my

cousin, and my male classmate. Shame also ignited the resistance that was expressed by clothing.

I had to wear longer and dark coloured clothes to cover my body and skin in front of my grandpa.

Shame was also important when my visual identity as a girl (i.e., white smooth skin, soft hair, and
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a baby-face30) became a reason or an excuse for men and boys to harass me. Shame could be

conveyed as a result of bullying. Walton (2016) defines bullying, in the context of schooling, as a

threat to “not only the safety and lives of students, but also the very social order in schools” (p.

36). Bullying is also rooted in discourses of normativity, one example of which is gender and

sexuality. Hence, school bullying is both gendered and embodied (Horton, 2019b; Horton et al.,

2015). Being too different, such as a boy who looks like a girl, can draw negative attention from

others (Martino & Palllotta-Chiarolli, 2007; Walton, 2016).

Shame signifies vulnerability when I felt ashamed for having a queer friend. I think if she

had been living in Vietnam today, she would have been transgender like Linh. I was guided and

empowered by my queer friend whose identity was overwhelming to people at that time. Shame

is an addition to the complexity of my feelings, pointing to the fluidity of experiences depending

on contexts and people I encountered in my life. I could feel ashamed for having a queer friend

but also feel inspired by the power and courage of hers for being confidently queer at that time.

She played the role of an early teacher of how to become attractive to other boys and men. The

notion of queer (Butler, 1993, 1999; Sedgwick, 1990, 1993) and my early understanding of being

gay (Le, 2021) were indicated through the contribution and influence of this queer friend to/on my

visual identity constructions. She helped me master how to dress up and be pretty for other boys

and men. Like Linh, this transgender friend used her performativity to protest against the policing

of her identity. Vietnam, through the story of my queer friend as well as Linh, was a queerphobic

context where, to quote Horton and Rydstrom (2021), “the only natural gender and sexual

combination is between a man and a woman, so when something goes against this order, it is seen

as abnormal” (p. 64). Broadly speaking, being queer is considered abnormal because it is perceived

30
Baby-face means young adult faces that have some facial features similar to those of infants. A baby-face is
usually defined to have a round face with big innocent eyes, high raised eyebrows, a narrow chin and a small nose.
 179

as against heterosexuality. In Vietnam and beyond, heteronormativity is highly promoted (Horton

& Rydstrom, 2019, 2021; Le, 2021).

Contested Conventions

Conventions that regulated the framing of my identity were contested and influenced by

people in my family as well as in high school. They played a significant role in shaping my

thoughts, experiences, and understanding. Family life and school life are thus seen as critical

internal and external habitus settings31. Throughout the first narrative vignettes (e.g., My Dad), it

is obvious that my family provided a substantial habitus landscape of care and influence to shape

my experiences, and importantly, my visual identity as a gay boy. School was also a critical place,

with spaces (e.g., classrooms, school yard, and the parking spaces) in which my identity constructs

were affected and framed. Conventions I experienced are norms and stereotypes against non-

normativity expressed through my performativity via clothing, styles, and behaviours. Norms were

gendered and reinforced by people, such as my parents, teachers, and friends whose identities were

heterosexual. Influenced by these people, I felt very much an outsider and different for not being

able to conform to norms perpetuated in Vietnamese society. Conventions were challenged across

spaces and times by the (re)construction of my identity.

From the lens of intersectionality, I reflected on my roots—the faith and culture of my

family, my gender and sexuality, and my ethnicity. These roots have constructed identities. They

have formed habits because “habits die hard; we are loyal to our sensory roots” (Blaikie, 2021, p.

55). The roots shaped my habits, including what I looked like and how I lived, thought, and acted.

Here I focused on my experiences as a gay son in a Vietnamese traditional family where I had

been taught conventional Confucianist and Buddhist ideologies and values; for example, as the

31
Habitus settings “embody shifting relationships, time frames, places, and experiences” (Blaikie, 2018, p. 216).
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first-born son, I needed to behave like a straight boy, meaning I could not be “fem” or “sissy” in

front of my parents (Le, 2021). Gay does not belong in my family, nor likely in any Vietnamese

family, where men need to be butch, macho, and manly. In Vietnamese culture, men are superior

to women and hold ownership of the family as the ultimate authority figure (Le et al., forthcoming).

Also, men are responsible for continuing the family lineage through straight marriage. This is

perceived as the only way to express filial piety in Vietnamese family culture. All of this, including

the religious context, is reinforced through Vietnamese laws and policies, pointing to structural

roots and power.

Performativity has been framed by social and familial conventions in different contexts

and lenses: in family via the image of my father as the ultimate authority figure, in high school via

school uniforms, and in popular culture via Western movies about American boys and men in gay

romantic relationships. My performativity was materialized by clothes and pressured into a certain

look that I hoped would be attractive to a boy I has a crush on (Le, 2021). My body was

significantly gendered under the influence of cultural inscription. Gender is a “doing” and “the

repeated stylization of the body” (Butler, 1999, p. 25). In the sense of performativity, Butler (1999)

posits that gender proves to be performance that constructs identity; hence “gender is always a

doing, though not a doing by a subject who might be said to pre-exist the deed” (p. 25). Identity is

performatively constituted by “the very expressions ’that are said to be its results” (Butler, 1999,

p. 25).

My visual identity as a “good boy” in the family was constructed by familial conventions,

which were influenced by Vietnamese Confucianism and Buddhism. I was trained to become a

good child who would be obedient to adults ’orders (Le et al., 2020b). From the perspective of

Confucianism and Buddhism, the role of men, such as my father, is to be superior to women and
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children. I was a Confucian child in my family, with duties and responsibilities. I was taught to

observe filial piety. This included protecting the reputation of my family, a responsibility that a

first-born son needs to take seriously. My dad was a role model of a real man in an Asian culture,

where hegemonic masculinity (Connell, 1995; Le, 2021; McVittie et al., 2017) is preferred.

Influenced by Confucianism that was established in Vietnam by Chinese cultural and political

domination from 111 BC to AD 938 (Le, 2021; Le et al., 2020), the Vietnamese family regime has

promoted the important role of men, including fathers, husbands, and sons that informs my father’s

hegemonic masculinity. The consequences of hegemonic masculinity in the context of Vietnam

are more complex when Buddhism has contributed to impacting Vietnamese family values and

practices with the notion of filiality (Horton & Rydstrom, 2019). The impact of these two

ideologies could be seen through the image of my father: He has a straight marriage, is the main

financial supporter of his family, is good at sports, and issues orders to others. My dad’s hegemonic

masculinity exerted a pressure on me to perform my gender and sexuality as the first-born male

child in my family. Looking up to my father for the ways he dressed and behaved as a straight and

strong man was how I extended filial piety to my parents. It indicates righteousness, respect, and

wisdom that are rooted in Vietnamese Confucianism and Buddhism (Le et al., 2020b). Hence, like

my father’s conventional look as a straight man, I was taught to form my visual identity as a

straight-looking boy with sunglasses and a man’s suit.

A straight-looking boy meant acting macho as a required gender performance that refers to

the ideal hegemonic masculinity (Connell & Messerschmidt, 2005). It meant “being assertive and

aggressive, courageous, almost invulnerable to threats and problems, and stoic in the face of

adversity” (McVittie et al., 2017, p. 122). By doing so and acting so, I would be able to support

my family in the future role as a husband and a father. This stereotypical belief indicates a form of
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compulsory heterosexuality in which men will become husbands and fathers. This could be

demonstrated and embodied through clothing (i.e., formal suits and sunglasses) and behaviour (i.e.,

being bossy like a leader in the family) that would constitute the desired body image of a real boy,

who soon would become a real man, just like his father.

Conventions that framed visual identity were also situated in high school. The school is a

site for the making of gender (Connell, 2008). Connell (2008) states school sports that involve “a

certain level of physical confrontation and (legal) violence” are viewed as an embodiment of

masculinity. Sports at school, such as football, boxing, basketball, and ice hockey are tests of

manhood. They contribute to the definition of hegemonic masculinity and other forms of

masculinity in schools, such as subordinate masculinity (Connell, 1995; Connell &

Messerschmidt, 2005). School boys who are identified with hegemonic masculinity traits, such as

acting cool and macho, often play sports well and engage in many physical activities (Martino &

Pallotaa-Chiarolli, 2007). The idea and image of a good boy was perpetuated through school

uniforms (as described in vignettes: The School Uniform 1 & 2), so the image of a good boy was

fixed and conventional, which restricted my creativity. Hence, I jumped out of that conventional

look as a good boy. I transformed the school uniforms, getting them tailored to become more slim

fit and belly-tight, and putting some cartoon pins on them. I felt the school uniforms perpetuated

gender stereotypes. Therefore, my alterations to the uniforms broke through the gender discourse

in school. The way I transformed my uniforms was Foucauldian when it was contextualized in

school where there was power, there was resistance. My uniforms’ transformation was a form of

resistance to structural norms that were perpetuated in schools. Through school clothing, I asserted

my non-conforming gender performances as creative and feminine.

A skinny body used to attract other boys who were more manly, dominant, and butch
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contradicts the conventional body image of a boy in the Vietnamese family and school. In

vignettes, such as Losing Weight to be a Girl and Pressure to Look Good, I describe how I

transformed myself into the image of a physically vulnerable boy seeking attention and protection

from muscular-looking boys in my high school. To look good meant to become slim and fit, so I

could wear girls ’clothes, such as baggy denim jumpsuits. Becoming a skinny boy in a baggy denim

jumpsuit was unconventional. However, I wanted that look because as one of my gay friends said

“boys do not like fat girls.” My visual identity as a feminine boy grew out of the conventional

norms that define the body image of Vietnamese boys and girls: Boys must look tough and butch,

while girls must look demure and vulnerable (Le & Yu, 2019; Le et al., forthcoming). The effort

to look skinny embodied through my body image indicates internalized fatphobia. Fatphobia is an

irrational fear of moralizing, and discrimination against those labeled “obese," and people with

obesity. Obesity is a pejorative label that is perpetuated by the medical community. Fatphobia is

weight-based oppression, encompassing negative attitudes and stereotypes surrounding and

attached to larger bodies (Cameron & Russell, 2016). In fat studies and in relation to queer and

body images of people with non-normative gender and sexual identities, fatphobia is a form of

hate, discrimination, prejudice, and violence. Most of which are socially acceptable in the media

(Conte, 2018; Kyrola, 2016), in fashion (Azeez, 2016), and in education (Cameron & Russell,

2016). Across my vignettes about my body image as a skinny boy, fatphobia could be indicated

through the pressure to lose weight and to look good in some particular clothing and in media,

including on Facebook and gay dating apps, such as Grindr.

The pressure to look good through a slim and fit body and the demand for losing weight

illustrate an oppression to my body as a gay boy who was obsessed with a beauty ideal that has

remained dominant in gay communities. Fatphobia has become largely an unchecked social
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prejudice against diverse body types and images of gay boys and gay men (Cameron & Russell,

2016; Conte, 2018). Gay boys and gay men who are unable to conceal their physical flaws,

including fatness and femininity are often considered undesirable in gay places and spaces, such

as in schools, in gay romantic relationships, and on gay dating apps (Conte, 2018; Davis, 2021).

The beauty ideal as a gay boy looking thin and pretty, from my narratives, can be viewed as a form

of fatphobia, which depicts discrimination and hate against those who are non-skinny gay bodies.

The body image of a gay thin-looking boy is also discussed by Eguchi (2011) in their

autoethnographic study that Asian gay boys and gay men often experience pressure to maintain a

thin body that fits the typical feminine image. There are more muscular gay men who expect their

relationship partners to stay fit and skinny, whilst straight-acting or masculine gay men reject boys

who are too fat and too femme (Clarkson, 2006). Plus, to look good is to get beautiful new clothes

and high-end fashion accessories (i.e., Casio watch, polo shirt, and Nike shoes), which represents

upper class status. My visual identity via body image as a skinny and beautiful gay boy was

constructed by social class elements, including clothes and styles. It is more than social class when

I countered the pressure caused by not only the fancy and stylish clothes I wore, but also the

resistance to hegemonic masculinity that I needed to look butch. Pressure is a form of resistant

capital, which according to Yosso (2016), refers to knowledge and skills “fostered through

oppositional behaviour that challenges inequality” (p. 80). Pressure as a form of resistant capital

became an approach to countering the idealized body image of gay people that they should not

look fat and feminine.

Additionally, social class can be manifested through the idea of looking good. Looking

good refers to fancy clothes and high-class styles with an expensive vehicle, fine dining, and even

a good education background. Esthetics or an appreciation of beauty that can be demonstrated

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through how much a gay man cares about his body image is class-based. Thus, the dominant gay

culture is constructed by social class, which leads to the social and political dynamics of sexual

identity (Barrett & Pollack, 2005). Gay people tend to seek to attract and please men whom they

feel attracted to, and therefore tend to view their own bodies as sex objects. Tiggemann et al.

(2007) note that gay men are often concerned about their physical attractiveness in general. Gay

men are reported to experience body dissatisfaction, indicating a discrepancy between their current

and their ideal figures. They feel peer pressure to look good, thinking that their physical appearance

matters not only to themselves but also to others, including their gay community and their partners

(Yelland & Tiggemann, 2003). Morgan and Arcelus (2009) report that gay men feel more

susceptible to the influence of media representations of male body image than straight men. They

set up the body image ideal following the presentations of attractive male bodies in the media.

Gay friends who create a community of support are critical influencers in many habitus

contexts: in family life and school life (e.g., vignette: The Gang). My visual identity constructs

were inspired by friends whose insider’s perspectives of being gay were strong and empowering

to me as a newcomer into the gay boys ’world. Their visual identities were surely unconventional.

The gang I belonged to consisted of femme boys in colourful clothes wearing make-up. We all had

slim and fit bodies. We were pretty boys who cared about our looks, which needed to be flawless.

We acted like beauty queens in high school. We were not muscular or manly like other boys. Thus,

we were looked down on by other students and even teachers, and insulted with names such as

faggot. My visual identity was shifting and porous between family and school. At home, I needed

to act as a straight son. I followed my dad’s look as a real man. In school, with my gang, I looked

feminine and girly. With my gang, I could be a gay boy, encompassing funky fashion styles and

colourful dyed hair versus simplified men’s clothing. My parents noticed my non-normative gender
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expressions that were against the performativity of a straight boy, and they were not happy with

my outlook at all.

The conventions of body image of gay boys and gay men were contested by visual identity

constructs inspired by the image of cowboys in the American movies, such as Brokeback

Mountain. The body image of male characters in this movie changed my perception of gay men’s

visual identity constructs. My conventional perception of gay men’s visual identities had been

restricted by my social environments and relationships. I used to think that gay boys and gay men

were always feminine (Chesebro, 2001). The American film industry indicates my exposure to

another gay culture from the West in which gay men appear more muscular and more manly. From

the body image of gay men in Brokeback Mountain, I learned that gay boys and men might not

necessarily be feminine (Eguchi, 2011). They could look butch and gentle. I came to understand

that the visual identity of gay boys and men was fluid across cultures. My visual identity constructs

were influenced by the masculine traits of the white gay men in the movie. I started wearing denim

and jeans for a more manly appearance. Connell (2000) states that whiteness is a normative

masculine frame that dominates other ethnic groups. White gay men assume Asian gay men are

too feminine (Chesebro, 2001). Han (2008) explains this assumption by saying that “because white

gay men make an ‘investment in whiteness, ’they eradicate whatever male privilege Asian gay men

may have by relegating them to the feminine position” (p. 20). However, I tried to balance

masculinity and femininity, wearing rough fabric but preferring the slim fit that made me look

thinner. This balance signifies my mediation between masculinity and femininity. Therefore, I do

not view my introduction to the body image of gay men from the West through American movies

as a colonization factor to my visual identity constructs. The introduction is simply to broaden my

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understanding of gay cultures beyond Vietnam. I did not completely copy the body image of gay

characters featured in the movie; rather, I modified it to gain the look that I preferred.

Creating My Look

The vignettes (e.g., The Twink Look, The Korean Look, and Tiểu Mỹ Thụ) demonstrate

how I constructed my look as a young gay boy. The young gay boy I became was beautiful and

relegated to the feminine position as a gay bottom in gay romantic relationships. Being a pretty

gay bottom is not easy at all and involves a lot of pressure. The pressure for playing a less active

role in the gay relationship with other gay men (Nguyen, 2019) varies in terms of visual impression

management. To achieve a good visual impression management, a gay bottom faces a lot of

constraints in the ways he dresses, speaks, behaves, and performs. Goffman (1990) defined

impression management, also known as self-presentation, from the perspective of sociology as the

ways that people attempt to control how they are perceived by others. By creating particular

impressions about their capabilities, attitudes, motives, status, emotional reactions, and other

characteristics (including visual identity) people can influence others to respond to them in

desirable ways. This kind of influence speaks to the notion of gender fluidity, which is achieved

through a “stylized repetition of acts” (Butler, 1999, p. 191). The kind of influence also can connect

to the idea of power (Foucault, 1982), positing that everyone has power to influence others and

that society is run by power culturally and politically.

The narrative vignettes (e.g., The Twink Look, and New Clothes, New Looks) are framed

by the multiple pressures to obtain a sense of belonging in the community of beautiful young gay

boys in Vietnam. The concept of belonging is challenged and contested by my complex feelings

and affect as a gay bottom in a society where being flawless has been key to survival. Berlant and

Stewart (2019) note that “belonging is felt in the body” and “the body holds experiences and
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feelings around belonging” (p. 128). In my vignettes, belonging was felt when I was slim enough

to fit the twink look, which is standardized as a beauty ideal for all gay bottoms. Belonging came

when I got my hair dyed, made my eyes big and round, and purchased new beautiful clothes.

Belonging would occur when I got attention from people on Facebook and in real life because I

was recognized as a beautiful boy. Belonging would occur when I looked like a girl in the eyes of

other boys.

The look framed world-making. World-making (O’Donoghue & Berard, 2014) is a critical

process of creating belonging when we engage in interactions with others in sociocultural, classed,

religious, ethnic, political, and aesthetic worlds. We are always being and becoming relationally

in many social, cultural, and political contexts (Blaikie, 2021). World-making is a process of social

and personal identity construction, as the forming of identities (i.e., race, class, ethnicity, age,

profession, and gender and sexuality) is constructed and reconstructed by numerous social

relationships/memberships and discursive formations (Foucault, 1982; Taylor, 2015). Social

memberships and discursive formations are key to the creation of belonging via world-making.

My social membership in the community of Vietnamese gay boys was formed around my efforts

to make myself fit into the beauty ideal of a gay bottom. Specific clothes and fashion styles became

performative statements (Blaikie, 2018, 2021) that generated discourse to regulate my gender

performances. For instance, my world-making was formed by the twink look and my

understanding of the twink look as a perceived beauty ideal for Vietnamese young gay boys who

were seeking protection and love from other boys and men with hegemonic masculinity features

(e.g., butch, macho, and steroid). In my world-making, I worshiped the twink look, encompassing

a small-framed body and an adorable baby face.

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I clarify that I wrote the vignette about the twink look from my experience, memory, and

voice of a twink who was a bottom in Vietnamese gay culture. Hence, at that time, my

understanding of gay boys and their visual identity constructs was restricted by my habitus

landscapes (e.g., friendships) in which I socialized with gay friends—my trio who were bots. I

have found that my conception of gays was quite binary with sharp distinctions between topness

and bottomness: gay bots were twinks fetishized as feminine and fragile, while gay tops were

straight-acting and more muscular. Furthermore, my understanding was restricted by my exposure

to Asian popular cultures, including K-pop and gay porn in which “Asian men are portrayed as

harmless wimps and nerds […] They are seen as undersexed and feminized” (Hoang, 2004, p.

224). Hoang (2004) describes the feminization of Asian men in gay porn within the context of

minority power relations where “the role of the pleasure of porn plays in securing a consensus

about race and desirability that ultimately works to our disadvantage [as Asian gay men]” (p. 224).

I wrote the vignette with an intention to preserve nuances of being and becoming a typical twink

and gay bot in Vietnamese gay culture. However, in discussions about the twink gender

expressions as a queer scholar understanding gender fluidity (Butler, 1999), I understand that a

twink is not necessarily a bot or as slender as 5’7 ’’and 125lb. Twinks ’boyishness makes them less

manly but not necessarily feminine or passive. Brennan (2016) analyzes Jack Lyons—a famous

gay porn star, featuring diverse twink images: muscle and lollipop. Muscle and lollipop are

qualifiers for twink. The lollipop modifier indicates a particular type of twink, which is often

framed in a colourful and feminine manner. Jack Lyons can be both muscle twink while

simultaneously cultivating a lollipop-twink identity. Hoang (2004) also writes about Brandon

Lee—an American Asian porn star, whose twink identity is not a passive bottom. Brandon’s

remasculinization in gay porn challenges the dominant view of Asian men (myself included) in
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gay porn as forever bottoms. Brandon’s body image is youthful-looking, muscular, and butch, and

his topness is indicated through an emphasis on the big size and hardness of his penis (Hoang,

2004).

Discussion on Media, Performativity Shifts, and Loves

Social Media

Social media and its influence in shaping everyone’s life and performativity are key to the

evolution of people’s visual identity construction. Highly visual social media platforms, such as

Facebook, illustrate a micro-world in which people utilize tools, including beauty filters, to

enhance visual impression management, alongside real life. Facebook, which represents the cyber

world of filters, has become a landscape where people, especially youth, feel free to express

themselves, impress others, and socialize in multiple ways (Robinson et al., 2017). The pressure

to perform on the world stage, especially on social media is indicated through my performativity

across vignettes about social media hubs, such as Facebook as the world of filters and the app. My

performativity in these spaces demonstrates the importance of looking youthful and beautiful for

young gay people. For example, in my stories, I chose to construct my identity as a pretty boy

whose visuality was flawless, with a smooth white complexion, sparkling big eyes, and a thin face.

My images were always enhanced by beauty filters provided by Facebook before they were

uploaded and shared with others online.

In social media hubs, such as Facebook and Grindr, (e.g., vignette: The App) social and

personal identity constructs have been framed by multiple interactions with others in some intimate

contexts. Wu (2021) found that many gay men prefer using dating apps (i.e., Grindr) as a hook-up

site. Apps like Grindr are widely used by gay people for sexual or romantic alternatives and as a

channel to the gay community (Silverstone, 2006; Wu, 2021). My identity constructs were shaped
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by gay romantic relationships with boys and men who appeared muscular and sexually attractive

to me. These boys and men were gay tops with hegemonic masculinity traits, such as huge arms

and big chests. They were protectors in gay love relationships. In these spaces, my sense of

belonging was created through clothing, fashion styles, and beauty filters that made me a beautiful

boy on Facebook. I really enjoyed the recognition of people who were my Facebook friends and

by the boys and men complimenting my look. I earned my membership in the community of pretty

gay bottoms on Facebook. I felt that I was as pretty as other boys, and that made me feel safe. My

membership in the Facebook community was recognized when I got attention from the boy I had

a crush on and when I dated him in real life.

Social media becomes intimate with gay relationships and beauty ideals for gay boys and

gay men (Wu, 2021). In several vignettes (e.g., Flirting with Boys on Facebook and The App),

social media hubs such as Grindr—a gay dating app that I began using in Grade 11where gay

people to hook up with one another. Apps like Grindr are enjoyed by gay men, but they also can

create threats to the relationships of gay people. For example, many users on Grindr are looking

for casual sex and engage in infidelity (Weiser et al., 2018; Wu, 2021). I encountered many gay

men who asked for sex right after the first date. They were seeking casual sex or a short-term sex

partner. On this dating app, I also recognized a binary perception of gay men’s visual identities:

gay bottoms were slim and fit (however, gay bottoms must not be too feminine), while gay tops

were butch and muscular. Bodies matter in terms of gender performativity, and gay bottoms and

gay tops are expected to perform differently to become attractive to one another. Age is another

consideration–age is positioned within a social hierarchy (Butler, 1993, 2004), and old gay men

are oppressed and marginalized. They are classified to be old by their look as aging, wrinkled, and

fat. I did not see old men on Grindr.

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I look at the intersection of queer and class that contribute to the framing of my visual

identity constructs in social media spaces, such as on Facebook and Grindr.. According to Barrett

and Pollack (2005), the cause for a relation between social class and expression of sexual

orientation is differential access to economic resources, which can be demonstrated through

materialism, including clothes, lifestyles, and educational and employment opportunities and

privileges. Born in a middle-class family, I was granted access to class-based resources that offered

me better educational opportunities and living standards. For a Vietnamese high school student to

have an iPhone in 2008, it was a privilege that other children from working-class families might

not have. The iPhone I was given by my family provided me with access to social media, which I

called the world of filters. The iPhone also led me to Grindr—the app where I socialized with other

gay men. Class-based privileges I was given constructed my understanding of the dominant gay

culture, framed by beauty filter functions on apps and clothed bodies.

Performativity Shifts

Visual identity is porous and shifting (Blaikie, 2018, 2020). The shift in my performativity

to become a more butch and manly gay boy supports the notion of fluidity and the possible

evolution of individual identity when framed by the (re)production of knowledge that is always

situated and embodied (Blaikie, 2021; Cerulo, 1997; O’Donoghue & Barard, 2014). The

(re)construction of personal identities can take place in the (re)production of people’s knowledge

and conceptualization of the social world. Following the discussion of Horton and Rydstrom

(2021) about facing the other, the (re)construction of personal identity is intertwined with

socioeconomic, cultural, and political structures, and the conditions that are provided to shape

ideas about how people present themselves to others. These structures and conditions include

social norms, values, beliefs, traditions, religions, media, and popular cultures (i.e., music, movies,
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and fashion) that frame daily life and social interactions (Bourdieu, 1982; Goffman, 1983). Facing

the other meant initiating a shift in my visual identity when through social interactions with my

gay friends, other gay men, and the exotic beauty ideals of male celebrity influencers via music

and movies, I realized a need to change my body image into someone who had more hegemonic

masculinity traits.

The shifts in visual identity constructs indicate the unfixedness in defining gender and

sexuality, which is attributed to queer. Queer can be looked at through how I shifted my

performativity as I anticipated “the precariousness of the signified” by identifying “the limits

within its conventions and rules, and the ways in which these various conventions and rules incite

subversive performances” (Britzman, 1995, p. 153). Queer through my shifting performativity is

considered a way of doing and an act of performing (Butler, 1999, 2004, 2015). That act of

performing took place with the purpose of making my body image fit in with the evolving contexts

of being, belonging, and becoming. I needed to transform my body image so I could become

someone. I became a more butch and manly boy through specific kinds of clothing and style to

sustain my role as an attractive gay boy in different contexts, such as in a homoerotic relationship

with other gay men, and in my heteronormative family.

The shifts occurred in many places. For example, in the club, my gay friends and I were

looked down upon by other gay men whose visual identities were more butch and steroid. In

vignette: That’s too Girly, the act of being frowned at by other more butch and muscular gay men

in the club demonstrates sissyphobia among gay boys and men (Bergling, 2001; Clarkson, 2006).

Those, including both gay bottoms and gay tops (usually gay tops), who are more straight-acting

and looking have negative attitudes toward overly feminine boys and men (Clarkson, 2006). These

butch gay boys and men assume they are superior to feminine gay people. Kimmel (1996) notes
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that straight-acting gay people use their masculine traits as a way to repudiate femininity. From

that incident in the gay club, my gay friends and I understood that our body image needed to be

shifted. We transformed our body image into more straight-looking boys. The performativity shift

occurred collectively in my gay friendship, which demonstrates how we redefined ourselves as

more manly and more masculine boys when we navigated greater exposure to some other gay

cultures.

The shifts also support the idea that identities are socially constructed and (re)framed by

contexts in which social conditions (e.g., family values, social relationships, care, and affects)

become affecting factors. My visual identity shift originated from a beauty ideal as both cute and

butch, such as in vignettes: That’s too Girly, You must Act Manly, and The Haircut. It started with

my hair transformation. The under-cut hairstyle was a way to look straight and conceal my gender

and sexual identity as a gay son. It also supported my visual identity reconstruction to become a

more butch and manly boy. Also, family and school continued to be pivotal enculturated

landscapes of identity construction in which my lived experiences and understanding of being a

gay boy were framed. Relationships, care, and love played an important role in (re)conceptualizing

my identity as a gay boy, including my performativity and mindset. Under the influence of exotic

popular culture and Vietnamese conventional family values (the image of a straight first-born son

as the face of the whole family), my body image shifted. I managed to look both adorable and

butch via clothing and behaviour.

The shifts also signify the complex relations of gender and sexuality, which might define

how queer challenges and troubles the binary understanding of gender and sexuality, including

gender and sexual fluidity and performances. Gender and sexuality are independent (Sedgwick,

1990, 1993). My performativity shifted, but my gay sexuality remained unchanged. I continued to
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feel sexually attracted to men whose gender performances were physically stronger and more

muscular than mine. I still played the less active role in a gay relationship with other gay men,

even though my visual identity changed into looking like a more butch and manly boy. The body

image could be attached to gender performativity as a form of doing (Butler, 1999) while sexuality,

encompassing sexual orientation, behaviour, and identity (Diamond, 2002; Siann, 2013) was

unchanged.

Femmephobia can be a lens to look at my performativity shifts in which I felt a need to

change my gender performances that were too feminine, outdated, and not preferred by other gay

men who played a dominant role in the gay relationship. Femmephobia is a systemic devaluation

of femininity, by policing feminine qualities as they correspond with the dominant culture.

Femmephobia is rooted in femme theory (Hoskin, 2021) that is defined as a resistance to

“patriarchal norms of femininity, particularly those that restrict, exclude, and limit [feminine]

expressions across intersectional axes” (p. 8). Femme theory aims to liberate femininities and

feminine subjectivities from regulation (Hoskin & Blair, 2021). Failure is a common affective

motif in femme theory (Hoskin, 2021) and fat studies (Conte, 2018) because they are frameworks

to conceptualize experiences of failure as sites for challenging the hegemonic norms that subjugate

fat femme gay men through impossible expectations. Failure can be identified at the moments

when I had a conversation with my gay friends about a need to become more butch and manly.

Failure can be detected when my gang and I were insulted by other gay tops in a gay club for our

femme appearances. My performativity shifts signify a shame to confront patriarchal norms and

forms of otherness that abject fat and feminine subjects.

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Boys ’Loves

Fantasies, Gay Romantic Relationships, and Unrequited Love with a Bad Boy depict gay

romantic relationships with boys and men. Emotions in these relationships were complex involving

dream fantasies. My emotions were mostly positive, and I felt happy and embraced. Even though

the boys were in my dreams, they still felt real to me. I felt a sense of power and belonging, as I

got the boys and men I wanted and the relationships I always wished for. The images of dream

boy friends derived from my idolizing of two Asian male celebrities (i.e., Alec Su You-Peng, a

Chinese actor and Ưng Hoàng Phúc,a Vietnamese male singer). Although these two male

celebrities presented two different hegemonic masculinity traits and personalities: a sweet, gentle

boy versus a steroid, tough boy, I maintained a subordinated/femme role in the fantasized gay

romantic relationship with both of them. The fantasies about a gay romantic relationship with some

male idols are a space of sexual intimacy (Berlant, 1998), as gay boys in culturally conservative

contexts, such as Vietnam, are not allowed to expose their sexuality and relationships publicly

(Horton, 2014; Horton & Rydstrom, 2019; Le & Yu, 2019).

Intimacy is key to the theme Boys ’Love, as the narrative vignettes create an intimate space

for me to tell stories about my experiences with boys in my old life as a gay boy in Vietnam. The

boys in these stories were not necessarily gay, as the sensory affects and connections with them

were built and storied on the basis of my own impressions and feelings about them. They were in

dreams and fantasies, which are the only places they could exist and interact with me. My

interactions with these boys became intimate, as in dreams and fantasies they could become real

to me, and my feelings for them were real. We could talk, touch, care for, and love each other. The

boys in these intimate spaces/spheres are dream gay tops with a certain body image of hegemonic

masculinity (Connell, 2008), and the boy in high school whom I crushed on and fantasized about.
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There was the popular boy, Jack, who was nice to me, but well known for his rebellious appearance

and personality. Jack in my vignette was labelled to be a bad boy, who conforms to normative and

traditional masculinity and perpetuates hegemonic masculinity, acting cool and macho, and

looking butch and aggressive (Ferguson, 2001). Jack smoked as a form of acting cool to help

perform proper masculinity. Smoking for Jack was a form of arrogant and rebellious behaviour at

school to maintain the dominant role of the peer group, in these social practices of masculinity

(Martino & Meyenn, 2001). Smoking is linked to compulsory heterosexuality, which can be

viewed as an institution that acts on individuals from birth and promotes male dominance (Rich,

1980). Apart from Jack, in my vignettes about boys ’love in reality, in media, and in fantasies there

were also boys on a gay dating app with a virtual visual identity. And there were boys I had actual

dates with, where I framed my visual identity constructs by dressing up, making up, and behaving

as a gay bottom. This place could never be exposed publicly, but within that intimate relationship

we enjoyed closeness, tenderness, love, care, and openness with each other (Hatfield et al., 1993).

In the work of Lauren Berlant (2011, 2012), intimacy is “a mode, resource, and effect of

how worlds are built” (2011, p. 77). For Berlant (1998), intimacy builds worlds, and “it creates

spaces and usurps places meant for other kinds of relation” (p. 282). Intimacy is expressed by the

storying of my narratives about love relationships, which could be either real or fantasized. My

visual identity in these fantasized relationships is a queer practice that brings “the intimate into

circulation to create spaces of intimacy in registers including, but not identical to, the register of

freedom” (Berlant, 2011, p. 45). Spaces of sexual intimacy were formulated from my dreams and

fantasies. Spaces were (un)real, such as my dreams of the boys I crushed on in high school. In

those spaces, I questioned about a boy who was seen as a bad boy but treated me nicely as he

would have treated a girl.

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Berlant (2011, 2012) and Berlant and Stewart (2019) posit that in thinking about intimacy

as a way of world-making, fantasy can offer us “finitude and formal satisfaction, whereas the fact

of the matter is that we are living in the ending and don’t know where we are in that ending”

(Berlant, 2011, p. 101). In my dreams and fantasies, I did have that satisfaction of being who I

wanted to become. I fantasized being a pretty gay boy who was loved, cared for, and protected by

other gay boys and men whose visual identity was physically dominant, with a large chest, six

packs, and huge arms. I did not fantasize an end, as I did not see the worlds in my dreams and

fantasies ending. My world-making was ongoing and constantly evolving in many ways. For

example, my visual identity constructs were (re)shaped in fantasies about different boys and men.

I saw my visual identity constructs shifting in connection to the identities of other boys and men.

In dreams, I appeared quite tender and adorable. Going out with Jack, the bad boy I crushed on, I

acted more manly, with dark clothes in different spaces of intimacy such as a gay club. I became

more manly, as I did not want Jack to feel ashamed of having a femme friend like me. I was afraid

that other people would think that he was gay for being with a gay boy. My porous and shifting

identities were essential for my world-making, indicating the complexity and capriciousness of

intimacy in world-making where intimacy is present to the “normative and non-normative

practices, fantasies, institutions, and ideologies that organize people’s worlds” (Berlant, 1998, p.

284).

To conclude this chapter, I reiterate that the heart of my dissertation is a set of personal

stories in form of vignettes that are counter-narratives in which I spoke from a marginalized

position about my lived experiences as a gay boy in Vietnam. For Bamberg and Andrews (2004),

counter-narrative refers to the narratives/stories that arise from the vantage point of those who are

often on the outskirts of society. The use of counter-narratives in education is to bring stories and
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experiences of vulnerable people into classrooms with the purpose of critiquing traditionally

accepted narratives (Miller et al., 2020). Counter-narratives become an important approach to

disrupting the programming around historically marginalized students and to counter the dominant

narrative in the classroom by learning from and with underrepresented students (Ball, 2000;

Solorzano et al., 2002), such as those with gender and sexual minority identities. Across my

narrative vignettes, I countered the patriarchal narrative of mainstream Vietnam and Vietnamese

views on gender and sexuality, including norms against gay people. Specifically, I countered the

internal habitus-based narrative of my family and its milieu, especially my social class, culture,

and patrilineality, such as the oldest boy’s pressure. There are several fronts that I countered,

including the first-born son, gendered norms, sexuality, social class, and particular body images

of Vietnamese schoolboys. Therefore, through my vignettes as counter-narratives, I could confront

numerous gender and sexuality issues faced by not only me but also gay youth in Vietnam.
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Chapter VI: CONCLUSION

Challenges in Writing about Myself

At the beginning, writing about myself was difficult, since my first language is not English.

Writing about the self, which is key to autoethnography, entails critical reflection and an

understanding of the importance of subjectivity in qualitative research (Adams et al., 2017; Ellis,

2004; Jones et al., 2014). Reflection and subjectivity in autoethnographic writing is about looking

deeper into the process of writing and the context in which writing occurs and dominates to create

something called “writing stories” (Richardson, 2001). “Writing stories” about myself as a gay

schoolboy in Vietnam is key to my methodological approach. “Writing stories” as a method of

inquiry (Richardson, 2001) has required me to expose my true self in the public scholarship, where

my identity as a gay scholar has been formed. It is a personal process but also can be considered

an act of identity politics (Nochlin, 1971). I have found it challenging to unveil my identity as a

gay boy through sharing personal narratives. What if my parents or anyone in my family reads this

piece of personal writing? I imagine that my younger sister, who used to study in an international

university in Vietnam, might read this and translate it into Vietnamese for my parents. What if

some of my old colleagues who were lecturers of English language in Vietnam could read this

study? What if some of my old students in Vietnam could read it? I am no longer affiliated with

any Vietnamese institution, but the fear of being recognized as a gay boy or gay man still lingers

with me.

Working with personal memories is not easy, since recounting old memories about the dark

side of the writer is suffering. Many, especially from the perspective of positivist researchers

(Onyx & Small, 2001), have said that memories are unreliable. Nonetheless, I am convinced that

“the memories are true memories” and “they are not inventions” (Crawford et al., 1992, p. 51),
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although they might be recollected through many forms of expressing and presenting, such as

dreams and fantasies (St. Pierre, 2013, 2018). In my study, dreams and fantasies are critical

memory spaces, my real lived experiences as a gay boy in Vietnam. Dreams and fantasies bring

my memories alive to me. Dreams and fantasies are of what could not happen in real life, but they

nevertheless carried my hopes and my love.

Writing this dissertation has made me relive painful memories of when/where I was a gay

boy in my family and in my high school. There are many dark moments that I buried for a long

time, and I did not want to dig them out. They were too overwhelming. Again, memories always

speak the truth, and the truth can be bitter. For instance, I wrote about someone in my family who

sexually harassed me. I wrote about men in my life as a gay boy. Those men made me feel naked

in their eyes; thus, I learned to use clothes to cover my skin and my body. Clothes were my armour

against their craving eyes. I wrote about a boy who threw me to the burning ground in the school

parking lot and took off my clothes. I started dreaming of those scenes and those people again. I

did not tell anyone, including my parents, about them and what they did to me because at that time

I was so scared, and I was not one to make my parents believe what had happened to me. In my

family, I was powerless and voiceless.

The methods were also a challenge in terms of data analysis. I have always been stunned

by the “creative latitude in the production of an autoethnographic text” (Ellis & Bochner, 2000, p.

743); however, it is also necessary for me to frame this dissertation in some way to feel how it

works in (re)telling my life story visually. I am a visual researcher, which means that my thinking

is visual, and I prefer to integrate images (e.g., photos and drawings) with texts in my studies (Le,

2021; Le et al., 2020a, 2020b; Le et al., 2021; Le et al., forthcoming). This is not (re)telling stories,

but rather storying stories multimodally. Images and texts as entangled push against boundaries of
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doing research, especially autoethnography that views texts as the dominant medium of studying

and presenting narratives (Ellis, 2004). In my doctoral study, I have struggled with handling data

(i.e., memory data) and seeking an approach to analyze data, as this data consists of my personal

memories, and data collection and analysis happen at the same time (Richardson & St. Pierre,

2017).

I anticipate that the feelings evoked in readers might be unpleasant. However, it is the

purpose of autoethnographers when they write their stories to build emotional connections, so they

can help readers relate to their own experiences and reflect on their own life stories (Bochner &

Ellis, 2016). Autoethnography studies have been criticized for being self-indulgent, narcissistic,

introspective, and individualized (Atkinson, 1997; Coffey, 1999). Autoethnography concentrates

the researcher on writing about their realities of being and living, and it leads to Walford’s (2004)

concerns about how much of the accounts presented in autoethnographies are real conversations

and events as they happened, and how much they are the writer’s inventions. Ellis and Bochner

(2000) conceive autoethnography as a recreation of the past in a narrative way to represent “an

existential struggle to move life forward” (p. 746). Hence, for autoethnographers, subjectivity is

assumed and accepted as a core value. I chose to trust this methodology to lead me. It has enabled

me as a scholar to think and reflect critically about my own experiences, so I can understand what

happened to me, particularly in relation to how Vietnamese gay boys constructed and reconstructed

their visual identities in the time when I was a gay schoolboy. Through my autoethnography, I

cannot associate or generalize my life story. I can only speak of it and examine it through the

interaction between the self and others (i.e., my parents, my relatives, and my friends) who had

certain connections to my life. My story matters, though, as it allows me to reflect and study deeply

the social and cultural context of Vietnam in which my experiences were framed.
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The Significance of The Study

The significance of my dissertation is to provide a nuanced and granular picture of the life

story of a gay boy in multiple Vietnamese contexts of being, learning, and becoming. The contexts

of this study include my high school, family, and social relationships in which I was involved as a

gay boy (i.e., my love relationships and friendships with other gay boys and men). These contexts

are early habitus landscapes in which my visual identity and understanding of being and becoming

gay were framed under the considerable influence of social and cultural conditions, such as

Vietnamese traditional norms, media, and popular cultures. Becoming gay refers to the formation

of my visual identities as a gay boy–my clothed and accessorized body as well as my sexual

orientation.

I do not write this study just for me or for gay men and people in the gender and sexual

minority communities in Vietnam. I write and frame my work to expose issues faced by LGBTIQ+

people around the world. My work goes beyond me and my personal issues. What happened to me

could happen to any boy or youth with non-normative gender and sexual identities. My stories

could be about gay boys in conventional Asian families in countries such as Brunei, Myanmar,

Iran, and Afghanistan feeling ashamed and their lives being at risk (Bearak & Cameron, 2016;

Encarnación, 2014). They could be about boys in India, Turkey, and Singapore who are not

allowed to freely commit themselves to same-sex relationships. I write my stories to tell their

stories.

Four core theories are focused on discussion in my narrative worlding vignettes: theories

about queer (Butler, 1993, 1999; Sedgwick, 1990, 1993), gender hegemony (Connell, 1987, 1995;

Connell & Messerschmidt, 2005), identity construction (Cerulo, 1997; Taylor, 2015), and

intersectionality (Crenshaw, 1991). Via vignettes that were framed by my personal experiences
 204

and worlding myself through autoethnography, the study contributes to a body of literature on

gender theory, especially queer theory and sexuality, identity construction, and intersectionality.

These theories and important concepts were discussed and critiqued through my voices as a boy

retelling stories and a narrator who is also a gay scholar. I, as a gay scholar, examined my narratives

in relation to the literature, theories, and constructs.

This study contributes to burgeoning scholarship on gender and sexuality studies in

Vietnam (Horton, 2014, 2019a, 2019b, Horton & Rydstrom, 2019, 2021; Le, 2021; Le et al.,

forthcoming). The study is constituted of my own lived experiences, which are contextualized in

multiple Vietnamese settings. As a counter-narrative and critical autoethnography study, it is

constructed by the recollection of my memories in the past and retold through my personal writing

as method of inquiry. My work is a response to a call for more studies done by Vietnamese gay

scholars and for Vietnamese gay communities. Therefore, this study contributes to the

complexities of being a gay boy in key habitus landscapes in Vietnam and beyond.

The study contributes to scholarship in the field of autoethnography via the authentic voice

and the storying of a gay boy who has led a challenging but also rewarding life in multiple contexts.

The storying is presented through worlding vignettes. For arts-based research, my study

contributes to the work of creating narrative worlding vignettes with visual artworks that I made

during my dissertation project. I created different artworks, such as my drawings for specific

vignettes that focus on storying gender and sexuality and how we, as teachers and educators, might

support children and youth on their journeys. The visual narrative vignettes are situated in multiple

Vietnamese landscapes. They are relational when they show people who had crucial influence on

the (re)constructing of my visual identity. These influencers were my parents, my grandpa, my

cousin, my gay friends, and the boy who harassed me in high school. Popular culture and social
 205

media were also powerful in framing and reframing my visual identity through the body images

of male Asian celebrities. Discussion on popular culture and media, in relation to Vietnamese

young people’s identity constructs, helps me not only make sense of my experiences but also make

sense of experiences of others whose identities might also be porous and evolving to global popular

culture and social media.

I want to contemplate the educational setting, in my study, which is Vietnamese education,

especially Vietnamese high schools where the representation of LGBTIQ+ youth, including gay

boys is invisible (Le, 2021; Nguyen et al., forthcoming). First, against the hidden curriculum

fostered in Vietnamese mainstream education (Nguyen et al., forthcoming), I believe that gender

and sexual minorities need to be well represented in curriculum through explicit integrations of

gender and sexual diversity and inclusion into teaching and learning. For example, Nguyen et al.

(forthcoming) posit that in English high school textbooks, Elton John as a global influencer is

mentioned, but his sexuality as gay is not included for teaching and learning activities, such as

class discussions, which might extend students ’knowledge of gender and sexual diversity. Second,

I encourage teachers and educational policy makers in Vietnam to offer students more

spaces/opportunities for dialogues on critical topics: gender fluidity, norms, and forms of

oppression. Having seminars and workshops with guest speakers who are gender scholars and

influencers from LGBTIQ+ communities is a great idea to provide youth learners with insider

knowledge and experiences. Third, from my dissertation, I urge teachers and school leaders to

learn more about students ’experiences and listen to their stories, especially marginalized stories.

My work indicates that stories of gender and sexually diverse youth are often unheard by teachers

and other authority figures. Therefore, I suggest that teachers and school leaders should come close

to their students via different channels (e.g., peer mentoring and students ’
 206

groups/clubs/associations) and pay more attention to their voices for a better understanding of what

they might go through in terms of gender discrimination and bullying. They, then, can provide

students with support and consultation about gender and sexual issues and identity constructs.

There are support groups and clubs in Canadian high schools for LGBTIQ+ youth, such as

Gender and Sexuality Alliances and LGBTIQ+ Drop-in-Culture Link (Fetner et al., 2012). In

Vietnam, LGBTIQ+ students still have not had access to these support groups in high schools,

even though promises were made by the Minister of Education in 2020 to include sex education

and counselling program in Vietnamese mainstream education (Human Rights Watch, 2020).

Hence, as a based practice, I suggest launching LGBTIQ+ support groups that are driven by

LGBTIQ+ youth in partnership with teachers and school leaders who care about the wellbeing of

these communities. I also suggest a resource list of popular culture resources through which

LGBTIQ+ issues are discussed and LGBTIQ+ cultures and influencers/artists are promoted. The

list is made available in Vietnamese for the use of teachers, researchers, and education counsellors
32
on the website of Vietnam Youth Alliance (https://vnyouthally.org/). The purpose of

encouraging teachers and education counsellors in Vietnam to use these resources in their teaching

is to increase students ’awareness of the representation of LGBTIQ+ communities in many fields,

including media, popular culture, and education. These resources can be used as an entry point to

start discussions and conversations with students about gender and sexual non-conformity, norms,

and inclusion in the classroom. These suggestions are based on my hope for teachers and school

32
Vietnam Youth Alliance (VYA) is a non-profit organization established in 2019 by a group of Vietnamese young
activists who work to share knowledge of gender and sex education in relation to LGBTIQ+ issues with Vietnamese
youth and young adults. VYA provides seminars and workshops in which voices of LGBTIQ+ youth are raised to
both the public and private businesses and governmental organizations that care about the representations of
LGBTIQ+ people in Vietnamese society.
 207

leaders to become critical companions with students on their journeys of exploring gender and

sexuality as porous and constantly shifting.

The political implications are important when Vietnam as the context is contemplated and

the use of terms is a consideration for political purposes. In Vietnam, gender and sexual minorities

have not been understood and used appropriately (Horton, 2014). The word, bê đê, is still widely

used by Vietnamese people to call any gender and sexual minorities. Bê đê can be gay, lesbian,

bisexual, or transgender (Horton, 2019a, 2019b). For many people, especially old people, such as

my parents, bê đê is a stigma in various contexts (e.g., in family, in school, and in the workplace).

Recently, in August 2022, Vietnam’s Ministry of Health announced that homosexuality is not a

disease and any form of conversion therapy is not allowed across the country. Although this

announcement is a crucial step towards human rights for LGBTIQ+ people in Vietnam, there is a

lot of work for policy makers, educators, and community leaders to create a more inclusive and

accepting society for people like me. It is important to think of the framing of to-be-real through

the lens of self when the self is looked at from the lens of others who are outsiders. For example,

as a gay man in Vietnam, I have been always curious about how people, such as my parents, my

colleagues, and my friends who are heterosexual see me. What lens are they using to look at me?

Their lens frames the way they treat me, including the employment benefits at the workplace and

affects I have with them.

I would like to conclude my work with reiterating the importance and uniqueness of my

dissertation, since it offers stories of Vietnamese gay boys, including mine. It is research done

authentically by a Vietnamese gay scholar for Vietnamese gay people. My work is intended to

pave the road for further discussions to construct future scholarship and research on gender and

sexual minority communities in the global South, including Vietnam. I would suggest that further
 208

research should be done on a larger scale considering stories of gay people from various socio-

economic backgrounds in Vietnam. Gay boys from low socio-economic families might have

different experiences than me as a boy from a middle-class family. Experiences of discrimination

faced by gay people also vary from region to region of the country, in relation to cultural

differences. Thus, geography can be a consideration for further research. Different methods (e.g.,

photovoice and participatory ethnography) involving photography, interviews, and fieldwork

could be used to study a larger set of narratives of participants who come from gender and sexual

minority communities in Vietnam. These are my suggestions in terms of participant’s demographic

segments and methods for further research on gender and sexual diversity in Vietnamese contexts.
 209

Courage

I think the largest gain for me in writing this dissertation has been that I found the courage

to relive and story my experience. I have written my heart out. Admittedly, I have found it

challenging to revert to those old hurtful memories. However, writing has empowered me by

offering me a choice of what to tell and examine through the lens of a gay scholar. In my writing

I face myself, a Vietnamese gay boy. That boy was abused and insulted in his family and in his

school. Now I have taken courage and given him a voice. His story is mine. I have trusted my

writing “to take me somewhere I couldn’t go without writing” (St. Pierre, 2018, p. 605). I have

learned deeply through my writing in this study that “writing became my principle tool through

which I learned about myself and the world”—the world of a gay boy (Richardson, 2001, p. 33).

It has required courage to admit the influence of men who abused me in the past, including

my grandpa, who used me as a toy to satisfy his sexual desire, my cousin, with whom I had an

intimate relationship, and the boy in the school parking lot who bullied me. They played a crucial

role in framing my memories as well as my identity as a gay boy who appeared vulnerable and

weak in their eyes. What they did to me made me feel ashamed, and I hid it from my parents. For

a long time, I felt that I was a disgrace to my family. I have never told my parents these stories. I

was afraid they would not believe me, and because I am gay I am a shame to my parents already.

As a Confucian child, I was obedient and silent about whatever they did to me. Silence meant

“yes” for their misdeeds. Silence means suffering in Vietnamese conventional Buddhism (Le &

Yu, 2019). Remaining silent is a prerequisite for women and children to be considered good wives

and kids in Vietnamese families (Le et al., 2020b; Vuong et al., 2020). Women and children suffer

the power of men, silently. Now, I want to use this dissertation to speak up and tell my stories,

since they matter in empowering not only me but other gay boys and people in the LGBTIQ+
 210

communities around the world whose lives are filled with experiences of being bullied, oppressed,

and sexually assaulted.

Primarily framed by queer theory (Butler, 1993, 1999, 2004, 2015; Sedgwick, 1985, 1990,

1993), my life story reflects shame, which in queer theory “is perceived as a motivation for

transformation” (Le, 2021, p. 217). Writing offers me an intimate space of self-healing.

Conceiving that being queer and gay is a form of stigma in Vietnamese heteronormative society,

encompassing family and school, shame is transcended by my writing as a praxis of healing. In

writing about my lived experiences, I feel closeness to the gay boy who I was in the past. I converse

with him and let him speak in my writing. I am no longer ashamed of my true self. I am more than

a gay boy now; I am a gay scholar who feels proud of my gender and sexual identity and eager to

expose my memories to others. As such, I understand the need to tell my stories, and writing

enables me to contextualize and construct them into multiple personal narratives of being and

becoming in different social and cultural settings (i.e., family, school, in friendships, and love

relationships). Having that courage to write about my personal life, I emphasize the importance of

studies of the lives of boys in complex social and cultural contexts.

Courage motivated me to search for some approach to reflect on my memories and work

with them as core data. I needed to think out-of-the-box when I chose autoethnography as my

methodology. Some memories I was not able to textualize, so images (i.e., photos and drawings)

became a way to visualize what I experienced in the past. Visualization of data makes memories

real in my writing. For example, I drew being abused by my grandpa and my cousin. I drew being

assaulted by the boy in my high school.

As expressed above, I fear that my life story and my gender and sexual identity will be

exposed to my parents, my old colleagues, and my old students. I have not come out to any of them
 211

yet—my parents still insist that they gave birth to a straight son who will soon marry a girl to

continue the family line, like other Vietnamese straight boys. I decided to leave my work as a

college lecturer of English because my colleagues in Vietnam would not accept me as a gay teacher

in a heteronormative college of education and training. I also never revealed my true gender and

sexual identity to my students in Vietnam because I was afraid they would not respect me anymore.

Hence, writing this piece of my personal lived experiences has required huge courage. Richardson

(2001) warns autoethnographic writers that “writing about your life is not without perils” (p. 37).

How could I become a proud gay scholar with a fear of being exposed in writing? How could I

frame my scholarship while being fearful of being identified as gay? I have needed to set myself

free in my writing because I can no longer live with that fear. Being a gay scholar writing about

living as a gay boy and a gay man is being fearless.

In thinking of some of the challenges in writing my dissertation, writing in English as a

second language has certainly been a big obstacle for me. However, I have realized that the most

important thing is that I have been brave to write an autoethnography study in English. As an

autoethnographic writer, I have needed to trust my writing and to focus on telling my stories. I am

who I am as non-normative and evolving in the context of identity theory and gender theory that

posits identity and being as malleable and fluid. Autoethnography allows me to be and become

who I want when I come down from “the ivory tower of academia” to write and share my life story

(Hytten, 2004, p. 98). Therefore, I embrace my weaknesses in writing. The stories I tell are more

valuable than mere correctness, and English is no more than a means of connecting with my

audience. I do not aim to examine the role of English any further–I just want to acknowledge it at

this moment of coming proudly to the end of my dissertation as an in-becoming Dr. Le.
 212

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