I’m Gay. I’m Your Best Friend. But I’m Not Your GBF.
Growing up, many queer men found themselves forming close friendships with girls. For some, like me, it just felt natural; connecting with girls seemed easier, almost instinctual, even from a young age. We didn’t question it much back then, but as we got older, social dynamics around friendships became more apparent. Boys tended to stick with boys, girls with girls, and unless they were dating, there wasn’t much crossover.
If you were a boy who mostly hung out with girls, it often sparked assumptions — namely, that you were gay. This stereotype evolved into the “Gay Best Friend” trope, which reached a pop-culture peak in the early 2000s as a staple sidekick for straight women in film and media. The trope might seem harmless, even fun, at first glance, but there are layers worth unpacking.
The "Gay Best Friend" Trope: More Than a Sidekick
The "Gay Best Friend" (GBF) trope, popularized in the early 2000s, is a character archetype well-known in media, often depicted as a quick-witted, fashion-savvy sidekick to a female lead. According to Urban Dictionary, a GBF is portrayed as the essential companion to any “hot girl” and is often seen as an indirect means for straight men to connect with that girl, provided they respect the GBF’s boundaries and avoid homophobic remarks.
In pop culture, GBFs like Damian in Mean Girls, Stanley Tucci’s characters in The Devil Wears Prada and Burlesque, and Stanford and Anthony from Sex and the City typically embody this stereotype. They often serve as confidants, offering emotional support and humor but rarely stepping into their own complex storylines. Instead, they're usually cast as “safe” gay characters—funny, sexless, and loyal, crafted to support the journey of their straight friends, especially women. Many of these portrayals lean heavily into camp, with exaggerated mannerisms and flamboyant fashion.
But while these portrayals brought some visibility to gay characters on screen, they’ve also faced retrospective criticism. A 2021 article in The Guardian referred to the GBF as “TV’s laziest cliché.” The trope, while entertaining, perpetuated a limited and often shallow view of gay men as mere sidekicks, denying them the multidimensionality afforded to straight characters. And often, these GBFs were played by straight actors, which contributed to a one-dimensional representation that didn’t reflect the authentic lives and relationships of gay people.
Looking back, the GBF trope reflects an era when queer representation was filtered through a heteronormative lens, prioritizing the comfort of straight audiences.
The History of the “Gay Best Friend” in Pop Culture
The "Gay Best Friend" trope may seem like a modern phenomenon, but its origins in pop culture stretch back several decades. One of the earliest examples, according to The Advocate, is Buddy from the 1984 film The Woman in Red. Buddy serves as a helpful friend to the film’s lead, a man embroiled in a messy infatuation, coming to his rescue during an awkward situation at a birthday party. Buddy, like many of his successors, is portrayed as a supportive sidekick, largely existing to prop up the straight protagonist’s storyline rather than explore his own.
In 1994, Reality Bites introduced Sammy, a more sensitive portrayal of a gay best friend. Unlike the fashion-forward, witty stereotype, Sammy was more insecure, his sexuality portrayed through a celibate, somewhat tortured lens. While this might have provided audiences a glimpse into the challenges of being gay, Sammy’s storyline reinforces the idea of a “sexless” gay friend, one who exists on the periphery of intimacy and romance.
Characters like Christian in Clueless (1995) and Jack McFarland in Will & Grace (1998) further solidified the trope. Christian, once the object of Cher’s crush, transitions to “shopping buddy” status when she realizes he’s gay, while Jack McFarland leans into camp and flamboyance for comic relief. Additionally, Jack’s relationships are only implied and never fully explored, often relegated to passing comments rather than fully developed storylines. While these portrayals were groundbreaking in providing mainstream visibility, they also limited queer representation to supporting roles, distancing these characters from sexual or romantic complexities.
This limited depiction, as screenwriter Amrou Al-Kadhi argues, allowed commercial platforms to present gay characters without engaging with their sexual identities. The GBF trope, characterized by harmlessness and comic appeal, served advertisers and audiences without challenging norms or offering truly multifaceted queer representation. While these characters were beloved, they also perpetuated a narrow, somewhat sanitized image of gay men. Over time, this representation may have signaled to young queer audiences that fitting into this “safe” stereotype was the only path to acceptance in mainstream culture.
In examining these early portrayals, it’s clear that the GBF trope, while well-intentioned, often pressured queer characters—and by extension, real-life queer individuals—to conform to a specific image, one that prioritized comic relief over authentic representation.
The Emotional Toll of Being the “Gay Best Friend”
In June 2021, Cosmopolitan published a powerful article by Daniel Harding, titled Gay Best Friend: A Letter to Straight People from the 'GBF.' Harding’s perspective offers insight into the complexities and emotional weight of being labeled a “GBF” by his straight friends. While this label might initially seem like a symbol of acceptance, his experience reveals the isolating effects it can have.
In his article, Harding recounts his coming out journey and how his straight friends welcomed him, embracing him as their “gay best friend,” which came with expectations: he was the shopping buddy, the late-night confidant, and the safe male friend. Initially, these friendships felt like a lifeline, offering him a sense of belonging he hadn’t felt before. But as time passed, the GBF label began to weigh on him, drawing an unspoken line between him and his friends, who were implicitly viewed as “normal” while he was not. His friendships, though well-intentioned, reminded him that he was always “the other,” positioned just outside the circle of shared experience.
Harding describes instances where this role left him feeling awkward and alone. He often found himself as the only boy in a room full of girls, like at sleepovers where he was reminded he “should be out playing football.” These experiences underscored how, even in spaces where he was valued, he didn’t quite fit. A memory of attending the movies with friends—where every girl had a date, and Harding sat with just his popcorn—reaffirmed his status as the “single gay friend,” perpetually in the role of sidekick rather than equal.
The deeper impact of this label went beyond just feeling out of place. It continually forced Harding to confront his sexuality in social contexts, making his identity a central focus even when he longed for it to fade into the background. Every time his friends introduced him as their GBF, he felt a twinge of discomfort, as if his friends were unwittingly highlighting the very aspect of himself he sometimes wished could just “blend in.” For someone who had wrestled with being gay, this constant emphasis only deepened feelings of alienation.
Harding’s story resonates with the experiences of many queer individuals who find themselves cast into this role. While these friendships might appear affirming on the surface, they can subtly emphasize differences that, over time, contribute to a sense of loneliness. As Harding’s narrative reminds us, the “gay best friend” label isn’t just a fun moniker but a role that can carry an emotional toll, one that speaks to the broader challenges of seeking acceptance without compromising authenticity.
The Pressure of Playing the “Happy-Go-Lucky GBF”
Harding also observes that in rom-coms, the gay best friend often facilitates the heroine’s happy ending, but the audience never gets insight into his own story. Psychologist Dr. Becky Spelman notes the potential harm in this trope: gay best friends are often cast into highly specific, limited roles that flatten their personalities. This reduction to stereotypes can be especially detrimental for young gay men who may feel pressured to “perform” a particular version of themselves in exchange for social acceptance.
The impact of this trope has extended beyond media, inspiring some women to actively seek out a “GBF” to add excitement or charm to their lives. The 2013 film GBF satirizes this trend, portraying cliques who use a hookup app to track down closeted gay students, all in hopes of finding the “perfect” gay sidekick. A 2018 article in Repeller expanded on this phenomenon, noting how certain portrayals, like those in Will & Grace, fostered the notion that a gay best friend is an essential accessory—a compliment to the women who “request” them as companions.
This commodification of gay men as “ideal friends” even sparked a wikiHow article titled “How to Find Your Gay Best Friend.” While the guide does include a disclaimer encouraging genuine connection, the opening acknowledges how media portrayals of the GBF trope have driven people to seek out such friendships as if they were must-have social accessories.
The desire to fulfill this stereotype can be a weight that overshadows a gay man’s personal growth, replacing authentic friendships with relationships built on expectation rather than true connection. For some, the label feels like a badge of acceptance; for others, it’s a reminder of how easily society can reduce individuals to caricatures.
Evolving Portrayals: From Stereotyped Sidekick to Complex Character
In recent years, rom-coms and other media have gradually begun to portray gay best friends with greater depth, challenging the shallow stereotypes that once defined them. A 2019 article from Entertainment Weekly highlights this shift, looking at several characters who break the mold of the “sassy sidekick” by offering more complex representations of gay men.
In Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994), for example, the character Gareth, portrayed as the GBF to the male lead, has a meaningful relationship with his partner, Matthew. Unlike earlier portrayals, Gareth and Matthew’s love is treated with respect and empathy, especially in the emotional scene where Matthew delivers a heartfelt eulogy for his late partner. This nuanced depiction allowed viewers to see a gay character whose life and love were given the same weight as those of his straight counterparts.
Similarly, in Mean Girls (2004), the character of Damien, played by Daniel Franzese, brought a new kind of visibility to gay teens. Franzese remarked that Damien wasn’t the usual gay teen character bullied into the background but was instead part of the main cast with his own story arc. As one of the first gay teen roles that didn’t rely on victimization, Damien set a new precedent for LGBTQ+ characters, proving that they could occupy space without solely existing to boost the main character’s storyline.
More recent films, like Crazy Rich Asians (2018), have continued this trend of more complex portrayals. In the film, the character Oliver is part of an ultra-wealthy and conservative family, yet he asserts his gay identity with subtlety and confidence, reflecting both cultural pressures and personal empowerment. His character is far from a stereotype, showing that LGBTQ+ representation in mainstream media can explore multiple layers of identity.
This trend reflects a broader shift that by the mid-2000s to early 2010s, LGBTQ+ characters began to evolve beyond one-dimensional roles. Al-Kadhi argues that the reductionist stereotypes associated with the gay best friend are disappearing, largely due to an increase in LGBTQ+ characters being written and directed by queer creators. As a result, more genuine, varied, and authentic portrayals of LGBTQ+ individuals are emerging, offering audiences richer, more relatable stories that go beyond tokenism.
A New “Best Friend” Trope: The Rise of the Trans Sidekick in Hollywood
As LGBTQ+ representation grows and queer characters are increasingly created by queer writers, a new trend has emerged in Hollywood: the “trans best friend.” In many recent films and TV shows, trans characters are often sidelined, serving primarily as supportive accessories to their cisgender counterparts. This trend, according to Them contributor Nadine Smith, is a repackaging of the outdated “gay best friend” trope, now applied to another marginalized community.
Smith points to several high-profile examples where trans characters are tokenized rather than fully developed. In Dallas Buyers Club (2013), Jared Leto, a cisgender actor, portrays a transgender woman depicted more as a mythical figure than a realistic person. Leto’s character exists largely to enhance the storyline of the main (cisgender) character, perpetuating a pattern where trans identities are used as emotional props rather than complex individuals.
Similarly, Transparent (2014), a groundbreaking series for its exploration of trans issues, cast Jeffrey Tambor, a cisgender man, in the lead trans role, while actual trans actors were relegated to secondary, “best friend” roles. This decision underscored a persistent issue: while Hollywood has made some strides by including trans talent, these actors are often cast in stereotyped, supporting roles, emphasizing cisgender stories above their own.
Despite the backlash against casting cis actors in trans roles, Smith highlights that trans characters continue to be used tokenistically. Hollywood’s reliance on these familiar tropes suggests that while the “gay best friend” stereotype may be fading, it is being replaced with a new form of tokenization for trans characters. Instead of presenting trans lives with the nuance and depth they deserve, these portrayals reduce trans characters to mere sidekicks, reinforcing the idea that their experiences are secondary to cisgender narratives. This shift may be indicative of a deeper issue in Hollywood, where stories from marginalized communities are selectively spotlighted but rarely given center stage, perpetuating limited, one-dimensional portrayals for the sake of “diversity.”
Moving Beyond the Gay Best Friend Trope
Through Harding’s poignant reflections on the lingering use of the "Gay Best Friend" label, he suggests that while it may be used endearingly by many, it ultimately reinforces the idea that gay people are "different" from their straight counterparts. While the term may not always be malicious, it still limits the complexity of our identities.
Over the years, the portrayal of the gay best friend has evolved, but the stereotype still lingers. Gay characters, especially in the media, are often expected to be the comedic sidekick—witty, fun, and always there to support others. But just as gay people are complex, multifaceted beings, our representation needs to reflect that. We can be anything we want to be—our sexuality is just one aspect of our identities.
In the end, the gay best friend trope may have once been a stepping stone for representation, but it no longer fits the full spectrum of who we are. We don’t need to play a supporting role in someone else’s story. We are the main characters of our own lives, and it’s time to embrace the full complexity of who we are—moving forward into a future that’s authentic and fulfilling.
And remember. Every day is all we have, so you've got to make your own happiness.
For more information on this topic, listen to Episode 34. GBF: Gay Best Friend.
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