Heartstopper, Our Flag Means Death and the over-criticism of LGBTQ+ content
on the unfair backlash to content created by and for the LGBTQ+ community
In 2016, digital artist Alice Oseman (she/they) started publishing a webcomic called Heartstopper, originally a spin-off of her YA novel Solitaire. The webcomic was then published as a graphic novel starting from 2019, and has since been turned into a successful Netflix show. In 2022, David Jenkins (he/him) created a show called Our Flag Means Death, which aired on HBO Max, a romantic comedy very loosely based on the historical figures of Edward Teach, a.k.a. the infamous Blackbeard, and Stede Bonnet, a.k.a. the Gentleman Pirate. Both shows have turned a wonderfully refreshing new page in the history of mainstream LGBTQ+ representation, in very different yet similar ways.Â
Heartstopper tells the story of Charlie Spring (Joe Locke, he/him), a gay teenager who befriends and falls in love with Nick Nelson (Kit Connor, he/him), a bisexual rugby lad. The two meet at school, where they’re seated next to each other during form class and slowly but surely become the best of friends. Charlie, the only out gay boy in the school, starts to develop a crush on Nick, but is discouraged by his more popular friend’s reputation for being a ginormous heterosexual. But as the book’s description on Oseman’s website puts it, love works in surprising ways, and Nick ends up going on a beautifully written and portrayed journey of self discovery and acceptance, learning he is bisexual and has feelings for Charlie, too.Â

Our Flag Means Death is a quirky and anachronistic workplace comedy, in which the workplace is a pirate ship, The Revenge, inhabited by an immensely diverse ragtag team of misfits and captained by Stede Bonnet (Rhys Darby, he/him), a bored gentleman-turned-pirate who pays his crew a steady salary. The crew of The Revenge encounters the legendary Blackbeard (Taika Waititi, he/him), who against all odds becomes enamored with the clumsy Gentleman Pirate. This show also portrays a journey of self discovery: though sexuality is not outwardly discussed and no one bats an eye at gay, polyamorous relationships (Lucius, portrayed by Nathan Foad, he/him, and Black Pete, played by Matthew Maher, he/him, seem to fit this description) or the use of they/them pronouns (Jim, a nonbinary pirate, is masterfully portrayed by Vico Ortiz, they/them), the now conjoined crews of Stede and Ed help each other embrace their true selves in all that they are, oceans away from all expectations.Â

Since its days as a webcomic, Heartstopper has received a great amount of love, being praised for its accurate and genuine portrayal of young love, friendship, mental health and everything in between. In the TV show, the same themes are not only skillfully scripted by Oseman, but also beautifully portrayed by a wonderful cast of young, predominantly queer actors, whose passion for the project seeps into their characters’ every line. The reception of the show has been overwhelmingly positive, so much so that only a month after its release it has been renewed for two more seasons, which we can assume will encompass volumes two and three of the four volumes of graphic novels that have been published so far.Â
Our Flag Means Death became something of a phenomenon overnight: since its release, it has been hard to go a day on the internet—especially the LGBTQ+ side of it—without encountering at least one mention of it. It, too, has received overwhelming praise for its easy and natural humor, a lot of it borne of the stellar cast’s improvisation, its portrayal of self discovery and acceptance that comes later in life, chosen family and unexpected love. Like in the case of Hearstopper, much of the show’s success has to be attributed to the cast and crew’s passion for their project: many of the characters got some of their most beloved traits thanks to the actors who brought their own input to their performance (i.e.: Samba Schutte, he/him, who plays Roach, carefully curating his character’s appearance, from his clothes to his tattoos, down to the combing of his beard), and no one seems to be a louder and more passionate member of the show’s fandom than the very same people that made it, most of whom interact with fans, discuss the show and share fanwork almost non-stop. Since its release, fans have been clamoring for Our Flag Means Death to be renewed, and on June 1st—aptly the first day of Pride Month—HBO Max finally announced that a second season will be made.Â
An interesting phenomenon in the era of Heartstopper and Our Flag Means Death mania has been the appearance of negative comments from young LGBTQ+ people talking negatively about either of the shows or pitting them against each other and against different shows.Â
Many have criticized Heartstopper for its cheesiness or claimed that it is uninteresting as it portrays young teenagers, whereas stories about older members of the LGBTQ+ community (such as, of course, Our Flag Means Death) or stories about people of a similar age, but more dramatized and sexualized (such as Riverdale) would be more exciting.  Â
A lot of criticism for the show relies on its being about two cisgender gay boys, implying a lack of further LGBTQ+ representation—the old forgetting about sapphics and trans people and only representing cis gay men phenomenon. While this is a very real problem that happens time and time again, it is certainly not the case here: sure, Heartstopper starts as a boy meets boy story, but it would be foolish to claim that this is all it is. Such a claim would mean ignoring very important characters and storylines: Elle (portrayed by Yasmin Finney, she/her, a trans actress) is one of Charlie’s best friends and a trans woman, who in the first volume has just transferred from the all-boy school to an all-girl one, where she meets Tara (Corinna Brown, she/her) and Darcy (Kizzy Edgell, they/them), two lesbians who in the course of the volume/season make their relationship public and deal with the aftermath of that decision.Â
Furthermore, Oseman has expressed the intention of including at least one asexual character—likely Isaac, played by Tobie Donovan (he/him), a character they created specifically for the Netflix show, and Tori, played by Jenny Walser (she/her), who is canonically asexual in the comic—in the future seasons of the show. Moreover, a storyline in the graphic novels, which we can expect to see adapted in the show, features two male teachers falling in love.Â
Really, this show seems to just about have it all, and it hasn’t only received good reviews from LGBTQ+ teenagers who see themselves in the characters, but also an overwhelming outpour of love from older queer people who see in this story of love, friendship and acceptance something they have longed for all their life, but have never been able to see represented on paper or on screen until Oseman came along and gifted us these all too real characters, who feel more like friends than something made up.Â
Another side of the same coin has been shown with Our Flag Means Death. While a lot of people adore the love story between Ed and Stede, so much so that, as previously stated, they use it to discredit love stories between younger members of the LGBTQ+ community as flavorless, a lot of Our Flag Means Death fans find their story too bland and boring, and instead choose to focus on toxic ships such as Izzy (Con O’Neill, he/him) and Ed. While the dynamic between those two is undeniably interesting and fascinating, and could very well prompt hours of speculation on whether Izzy is in fact in love with Blackbeard, whether he’s got a twisted attraction for the legend, not the man, or whether the two are exes, it would be incredibly odd and unfair to write off the main ship of the show, the one that rightfully classifies it as a romantic comedy, in favor of a ship that, if it was the focus, would only feed into the homophobic narrative of toxic and unbalanced LGBTQ+ relationships.
Curiously, the show hasn’t received a lot of criticism for its lack of sapphic representation from the very same people that brought it upon Heartstopper, a show that does have two main lesbian characters, whereas all of the sapphicism in Our Flag Means Death has been subtextual. This is a clear show of hypocrisy: why do some shows get a pass on their lack of all-encompassing representation, while others get their characters’ screen time nitpicked? And why do two LGBTQ-led, LGBTQ-created shows get pitted against each other so much, rather than each be celebrated for their shared and specific strengths?Â
Why do so many members of the community seem so eager to criticize their own representation, often claiming that something that is not written or portrayed by queer artists or that doesn’t give its LGBTQ+ characters a happy ending is better and more desirable as representation than a heartfelt, uplifting and realistic story such as Heartstopper, with all the cheesiness that might entail? Or why do they only find worth in a sweet, hilarious, hopeful show like Our Flag Means Death by focusing on the unhealthy dynamics in it, because a story of mutual admiration and respect that blossoms into love would be too bland? Why do members of our own community feed into the over-criticism of LGBTQ+ content that homophobes and transphobes so enjoy?Â
It seems that in the same way that we as individuals tend to be our own harshest critic, so certain people of a marginalized group tend to judge content created within their own community the most. This is likely a result of the internalization of the concept that if a marginalized group, such as Black people or LGBTQ+ people, tells a story, it has to be an extraordinary one, unequaled in all of its aspects and without even the smallest flaw.
White cisgender heterosexual people get to have media content ranging from terrible to mediocre to spectacular, but we, as minorities, need to earn our time on paper or on screen. We can’t write a cute, cheesy, christmas rom-com like Single All The Way or a fun vampire romance like First Kill, because their every flaw will be picked apart by everyone, including the very same people they are trying to represent, but cishet white people can have a plethora of Hallmark Christmas movies and multiple sagas of vampire-centric love stories to choose from every day of the week; we can’t write an easy, loving relationship rooted in mutual respect; instead, we should create only extremely complex dynamics, with every sort of nuance, that likely leave no space for a happy and hopeful ending. Â
LGBTQ+ people, people of color and every marginalized group deserve to tell stories that don’t center around trauma, that don’t end in a big old cry-fest, and that aren’t necessarily Oscar-worthy. Marginalized groups deserve to see themselves in a silly movie about two best friends falling in love, a cute TV show with a healthy amount of plot holes or a book that doesn’t redefine literature as a whole, and they deserve to tell those stories or have those stories be told by people like them.Â
Why judge Heartstopper for its cheesiness, why make a meme out of giving examples of things one deems to be better than it—often pieces of media that don’t feature a canonically gay character or couple or gay actors, writers, etc.? And why overlook the gentle beauty and diversity of Our Flag Means Death’s love stories to instead root for an unlikely ship full of anger and unhealthy power dynamics? Why not praise it for its portrayal of an effortless and pure enamourment, something LGBTQ people have seen far too little of?
Why ignore everyone these shows are actually life-changing for, and why expect everything LGBTQ+ people make to be life-changing, when it could just be pleasant and fun?Â
No matter their preference of media, no one can honestly argue that a story like Heartstopper isn’t needed: a story where diversity triumphs, written and portrayed by queer people and people of color, with a healthy balance of happiness and very real struggles that never fails to send a message of hope. Similarly, no one can argue that a show like Our Flag Means Death isn’t a refreshing and perfect addition to the landscape of modern media: a show with all the dry and colorful wit of The Office or Parks and Recreation, all the found family dynamics and positivity of Ted Lasso, all the absurdity and anachronism of A Series of Unfortunate Events, but overflowing with queerness.Â
A story like Heartstopper is necessary for queer youth, who can see themselves in mainstream media and grow up without having the scour the darkest corners of the world of entertainment to find a character or story they can mold enough in their mind or fanfiction to relate to; it is necessary for older queer people, who didn’t have the chance to see something like this while they grew up and came of age, who had to make do with no stories or stories that made them out to be predatory, cheaters or just plain unnatural and weird. A story like Heartsopper is necessary and cathartic for so many members of the community, no matter their age, and it should hardly be reduced to a dumb teen show.Â
A show like Our Flag Means Death is necessary for queer people of all ages, who can laugh until tears come out of their eyes without fear of being suddenly cornered by a homophobic or transphobic joke; it is necessary for older queer people, who can see their everyday experiences reflected and transported in a whimsical context; it is necessary for queer actors and creators who have never had such an accepting and wide space to explore their own creativity.Â
But even if Heartstopper was a dumb teen show and nothing more, it would not deserve such harsh criticism or unreachable expectations, and even if Our Flag Means Death wasn’t the masterclass of nuance that it is, it would still deserve recognition for its humor and genuinity, because the simple act of creating something as a member of a marginalized community is—let’s face it—revolutionary.Â