The Case for Thai Lesbian Dramas

You may have heard that "representation" is important to minorities and marginalized groups. But why? What's the big deal about having a gay character or a person of color on the screen? (And, technically, not just on the screen but contributing meaningfully to the plot...)

The obvious—and valuable—benefit to diverse representation in media is that people can see themselves more easily in different situations. We recognize experiences that are unique to our combination of race, gender, sexual orientation, ability, and any other number of qualities we relate to. It also has the complementary effect of helping others gain empathy for people who are not like themselves. The more we see diversity, the easier it is to relate to more people. The less fear we have of people who are different in some way.

I was raised in an exceptionally homogenous area: almost everyone was white, almost everyone was the same religion, almost everyone was upper-middle-class. There were clear values, accepted gender roles, expectations on family composition, and a very clear path that children were supposed to take: school; church activities and achievements (based on sex assigned at birth, e.g. Boy Scouts for males, "Personal Progress" for females); and finally the two-to-three step coming-of-age process: mission (for males), college, marriage.

My dad would tell us about how when we started growing up, we would see our friends make bad or, at least, different choices. I was very confused by this, because up until my senior year in high school, all of my friends were checking all of the boxes prescribed by my community: high-achieving, scholastic, sporty, pro-social, active Church members. Then something happened that shattered my whole world.

Can you come pick me up? my friend asked over the cell phone speaker. She was clearly afraid and upset. I assured her I was on my way and I jumped into my dad's car to go find my friend. When I saw her walking down the quiet neighborhood road, I was starting to get scared. I'd never seen her so upset and my mind came up with a hundred different things that might have happened. She got into the passenger seat, and I clumsily asked how she was doing.

My mom found out... she said, breathing heavily and shaking, that I'm a lesbian.

Dumbfounded. That wasn't in my hundred predicted possibilities. What does that even mean? I might've thought to myself. However, I quickly turned into supportive-friend mode—who cares what that means, I needed to console her.

“That’s ok. You’re ok,” I assured her. We went back home and talked. Unfortunately, other things happened that day when her parents tracked her down that were deeply disappointing to me about how they and other people in my community handled my friend’s unwanted outing. I saw how fear impacted previously close relationships, how a community that boasted its loving nature failed to uphold its own values.

That day, and especially that moment of confession in the car, would become a memory that visited me daily for many years. Why? Why was this so impactful to me? At some point in college, I would realize that lesbian was a word that described a human experience that overlapped with myself—although I would never and, for certain personal reasons, still don't identify as a lesbian. Instead of seeing this closeness to my friend's experience as a positive thing (I'm not alone?!) it was mashed up into a giant mess of shame that I used to self-flagellate for the next decade.

You see, lesbian was one of those words that was whispered in my community, if said at all. It was a scary word. So intensely scary that even now it chokes in my throat on occasion, despite my intense love for the people in this population, among whom is my own wife. I'd rather say, "gay," before, "lesbian." It still took me quite a long time to realize that lesbian just means someone identifying as a woman whose sexual preference is other women. Basic, simple. But that fear of all things queer in my faith tradition and neighborhood growing up made it impossible for me to even know what I was experiencing, which led to silent suffering, ostracization, and confusion for why I didn't belong even though I had all of the boxes checked—except for the obsession-with-boys box, but that one didn't seem to matter ;).

Media-Made Misogyny

If you looked through my YouTube channel subscriptions just six or seven years ago, you would see an array of exclusively male-hosted channels. There was a great diversity of topics from sports/fitness to python coding to graphic design to bushcraft, but absolutely none of them were exclusively run by females. I told myself I just preferred these channels because the female influencers out there only made content about boring things like hair and make-up.

It was the same rhetoric I used to justify why my friends were always tomboys or at least weren’t on the most extreme feminine side of the gender spectrum. I thought it was just because I could better relate to masculine-themed topics and activities—masculinity was the only valuable side of anything. If someone was "too girly," there was simply nothing interesting we could talk about or bond over.

After 2020’s Black Lives Matter protests helped me realize that I was still not listening to different voices, I started to finally diversify who I read, who I watched, and who I listened to. This has been the most rewarding and uplifting choice I’ve made in my media and literature habits, by the way. That process also showed me that it wasn't just my preferences that kept me in a male-dominated echo chamber, because it takes work to find content and voices that are outside of the mainstream norms.

The point here is that even into my early thirties, my media consumption has been dominated with misogynistic thoughts and habits. And I blame myself, but I also blame the media in the West for continuing to reinforce stereotypes as well as blatantly bad power structures. Growing up, every movie, every show, and later every YouTube video I watched tended to treat women as boring, unintelligent (or at least not intellectually stimulating), or as decoration. The characters that were most interesting were the men. They had the celebrated parts whether as protectors, providers, or paternal wisdom dispensers. Their roles were diverse, deep, and well-explored (this is starting to sound like what we saw with gendered robot characters). Women in most mainstream media seemed to be supporting the male roles or were always eventually forced into relationship with the lead males (The X-Files, anyone?).

How could I resist the pull towards male-led content or storylines when none of the female roles connected with me in any way? There's our call back to the importance of "representation," that we mentioned earlier. While I am not the spokesperson for the female audience, I still think that media has excluded a large number of women—even straight, cisgender women—in favor of replaying the same old gender-jail that we've had for centuries. To be sure, there are outliers, and I was a sheltered kid, so I wouldn't have recognized the power in Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Xena: Warrior Princess by being great category-breakers. However, something has recently helped to shift my views about women, particularly in media, and has made it easier for me to listen and to seek out female / feminine voices.

Thai Lesbian Dramas

A few years ago, my wife and I were looking for something interesting to watch since we had run out of shows that both of us were interested in (see again, need for representation). Thanks to the algorithm, we somehow stumbled upon an international production that actually had a lesbian couple—even more startling, it was in Thai (Asia is not exactly known for queer-acceptance, let's put it that way).

Immediately we were hooked. There was an explosion of "GL" media primarily from Thailand, especially since 2024, that centered queer characters as the actual main characters. It was so refreshing, fun, and has introduced us to a whole culture and side of the world that wasn't in the picture at all before. We've devoured these series, and it's astounding to me how much content is out there—way more than anything made in the U.S. It's almost like Thailand saw the gap and decided to do something about it. While I'm not sure of the motivations, and it certainly has been profitable for the media companies creating these series, it still seems like there's a different take on queer stories than those that we have in the West.

The West has a few main themes, especially when you niche down to just the lesbian-specific films: pain and suffering; wild and irreverent; and a few normal-feeling ones (like movies that anyone could watch). In contrast, Thai lesbian dramas have a huge span of themes, settings, and characters. Want the clash of a small-town farmer and big-city diva? You got it. Want a story about choosing love over revenge for murdered parents? There's a few. Want to see corporate rivals or women who are trying to save their small family business? What about dealing with extremely difficult parents or having extremely accepting parents?

The more series I devour, the more I see a breadth and depth in women—especially women that I'm not drawn to—that I've never seen anywhere else. Every series helps me see women solving problems, making choices, affecting their own reality, building and destroying things, making mistakes, making things work, being creative, being witty and charming and awkward and headstrong and submissive and clever and I love every single flavor of this diverse presentation.

It seems so simple, but I literally haven't seen anything like this before, where women are celebrated for who and how they are. They are the main characters. The men don't get to be the heroes that diminish the contributions of women to the story. These series treat the women as people, not as decorations. It just feels different than almost any other mainstream film or series in the West (queer or otherwise).

The thing that really makes me appreciate these series, too, is the potential for immense good to come from them as the years go on. As popularity grows, as queer teens and adults alike discover this vast content library, we have a queer-positive place to see ourselves and others reflected in media. Even better, I'm hoping that straight and cisgender people will also watch some of them.

So many Thai dramas are unapologetic in how the characters are. Most will have a character state something like, "she's into women," and everyone just gets it—even if they're mildly surprised at the information. No fuss, no shame, no pearl-clutching (well, sometimes pearl-clutching, and those stories are still important to portray). To have a huge majority of stories where queerness is the norm could mean we start seeing fewer awful reactions in the real world, like what my friend experienced with her parents and our community.

Cyborg

Media has a huge role in impacting our thoughts, opinions, and behaviors. Praise to Thailand for their contribution to a more accepting outlook on LGBTQ+ people. Even if it's not "intentional," I think that they will have helped change the world for the better.

I am astounded at how these shows have helped reshape my thinking about women. It really does sound awful to admit that I have such an ingrained, internalized misogyny, but it is true. And I can't tell you sufficiently how breaking down these patterns of thought just through watching lesbian shows has changed me. If you want to watch, here are some of our favorites:

• Pluto: Love this one. On her wedding day to a man, Oom tells her identical twin sister Ai-oon to break up with her lover for her—May, a woman who lost her sight in an accident. Oom ends up in a coma that night and Ai-oon has to decide whether to go through with the break-up or keep pretending to be Oom after she falls for May. Makes me cry every time I watch it.
• Heartcode: A woman looks for answers after her father's death is suspiciously ruled a suicide. Reconnects with a childhood friend that she can't help but fall in love with, even though her lover's father might have been involved in the pseudo-suicide case.
• Reverse with Me: A woman with the power to reverse time in small increments tries to help save the one she loves.
• Us: A woman seeking revenge on a doctor for medical malpractice that cost her parents' lives finds herself in love with the doctor's daughter.
• Petrichor: A crime-fighting mystery as a police officer and medical examiner take on cases together, including one that threatens their very lives.

I promise you won't become a lesbian even after watching such great productions—after all, I watched The Light Between Oceans with my parents and still didn't turn straight. You may, however, be changed for the better, but that might be a risk you’re willing to take.