Why We Hate Our Bodies

Body Dysmorphia Among Gay Men

Summer is almost here, and the gays are out in force. Just last Sunday, in Central Park, thousands of gays converged to celebrate the first Second Sunday of the season. But underneath all the skin, sunscreen, and speedos lurked something else, a constant looking around, a subtle shift of the hip to stretch out a stomach, the way an influencer checked the sun's shadow on his abs before posing.

Because what goes hand in hand more than gay summer and body dysmorphia?

Th First Second Sunday of 2025

As the weather heats up, so does the exhausting pressure to be 'summer-ready.' We scroll past impossible bodies on Instagram. We navigate through grids of headless six-packs on Grindr. And it's not just online; it's at the gym, at bars, in parks, at parties. Any gay space where clothing comes off is an opportunity for comparison and the insecurity that comes with it.

In a survey I conducted this week, over 95% of gay men said that being gay has shaped how they view their bodies. 64% of them said that they view their bodies as worse than they are, and only half are satisfied with the bodies they have. These numbers are heartbreaking, and yet the reasons behind them are baked into the very fabric of gay culture, stretching back decades. P.S. If you want to fill out the surveys, they’re on my Instagram every Monday!

So today, I'm exploring why gay men are so affected by body image, the surprising historical reasons, and a few ways that we can shake off some of this burden, together.

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A Personal Note

I grew up a pale, chubby kid in Hawaii, which was not an easy place to be pale and chubby. All through my upbringing, I would see tanned and ripped bodies and long for nothing more than to be like them. No matter what, I couldn't help but think about my own body and what I thought it lacked.

Then, once I came to New York City, those demons came with me. And even if the survey didn't tell me, I know I'm not alone. Every single gay person I know thinks about bodies a lot. I've been around some of the most fit people I've ever met, and they can be more self-conscious about their bodies than I am, even if I have objectively fewer abs than they do.

So, how did we all get here?

The Complex History of Gay Bodies

Body dysmorphia, for this article, is "a mental health condition that disrupts how you see and feel about your own body and appearance," and it has a long and rich history among gay men.

In the 1970s, the popular body type was called the "Castro Clone." This man was usually very muscular, hairy, and probably had a mustache. He embodied many of the ideals of the seventies and perhaps became so popular as a defiant response to the bigots of the era. They can't call you a "sissy" or "pansy" if you look like you spend your days in the lumberyard.

Mike Davis and Al ParkerCourtesy from COLTstudiogroup.com

This body type reigned supreme for a decade or so until the AIDS crisis. As many men began to suffer from rapid weight loss as a result of the disease, skininess, which had once been prized, became an indicator of infection. So as the 80s wore on, the lumberjack ideal of the 70s gave way to a body type that was leaner and hairless. In a time when gay men were unjustly considered morally and physically 'dirty', the body type we adopted was literally clean-cut.

Throughout the 90s, the fear of AIDS continued to loom, and bodies still spoke volumes about health. Then in the 2010s, there was hope on the horizon. With PrEP, maybe the AIDS-related pressures of body image would disappate. But social media had already taken hold. What could have meant body liberation for countless gay people instead became an increased pressure to look photo-ready at all times.

The Rise of Social Media

There's no denying that the massive rise of social media has contributed immensely to the pressures that gay men feel about their bodies. 90% of survey respondents said that social media is one thing that affects how they view their bodies most, followed by sexual desirability (67%) and then gym culture (58%). The images that get the most traction are the ones of the uber-fit, and this creates a toxic online environment where we see images of people with no backstory to how they got the bodies they did. They could have been born lucky, or they could be on steroids, or maybe they got surgery to enhance their jaw, or tuck away unwanted fat. It creates a pressure to conform that is more in line with the beauty standards women are faced with than our straight male counterparts; in fact almost 80% of gay men feel objectified about their bodies, compared to only about 60% of straight men. And so we are comparing ourselves not with real humans, but with whoever Instagram decides to show us.

The Torment of App Culture

Then you look at the effects of Grindr and other dating apps, and all the effects from social media are compounded. On the apps, you're instantly judged by the photos that you choose to display. There's no nuance and no way to connect with someone based on personality or character. In addition, apps like Scruff literally show the most Woof'd page, which is just a hotness leaderboard. This leads to increases in anxiety and terrible body image issues because we've now conflated our sexual identities with a tiny square in a sea of other men. This is not the way to find a fulfilling connection to others and therefore better feelings about your own body.

Conflict IRL

And even when you get off the apps, it’s hard to avoid the comparison in real life. Of course, if you have a good body, you are going to want to show it off, and there’s nothing wrong with living how you want to live. I am not here to shame, but to destigmatize the shame and start a conversation. But like attracts like, and we can end up with physical spaces that are populated almost entirely by the fit, rich, and white. These spaces can become overwhelming and often exclusive. What’s more, over half of the survey respondents said that they have avoided a date, hookup, sexual, or social event because of how they felt about their body. This is clearly a widespread problem that needs to be talked about.

A Few Solutions

So what can we do?

These problems are so deep and personal that nothing I write here is going to cure decades of learned behavior and societal pressure, as much as I wish it would. But maybe there are some ways we can reframe our thoughts and realize it's society, not us.

• Recognize the Patterns - As I've outlined above, there is so much context that goes into the body standards of gay men. You can take that information and reframe the ways you see your body, since we are no longer living in the same culture that made muscularity vital. The shame we feel about our bodies is intentional in this society to maintain the class status quo. It’s not you.

• Avoid Triggering Spaces - If you know that certain spaces trigger your body insecurities, maybe avoid those for a while. There's no point revisiting a space that you know will make you feel bad. Instead, cultivate nourishing communities and then maybe revisit those places with these new folks!

• Find Places You're Celebrated - Look for community spaces that don't revolve around aesthetics. These could be game nights, advocacy groups, friend hangs or queer centers. One respondent said, "My friends do more for my confidence than strangers ever will."

• Name What You Love - We have lots of body parts, and I'm sure there are some that you enjoy. So take the time to really be with yourself and figure out what those parts are. Then celebrate them and love them.

• Listen to Moira - As Moira Rose says, "Take a thousand, naked pictures of yourself now. You may currently think, "Oh, I'm too spooky." Or, "Nobody wants to see these tiny boobies." But, believe me, one day you will look at those photos with much kinder eyes and say, "Dear God, I was a beautiful thing!"

Your Body is Beautiful

At the end of the day, we only have one body, and that body is a beautiful thing. It's a miraculous combination of millions of cells working in harmony that we get to care for, not that we need to fix.

So be gentle with it. Celebrate it. Find the joy in what feels good to you. If that's going to the beach in a Speedo and posing for pictures? Werk! If that's walking to a pride event in a kaftan? Werk! If that's staying inside on the couch because it's too damn hot? Werk!

Find what makes you feel incredible. Find what makes you feel fulfilled. Find spaces where you feel comfortable and celebrated. Because this life is fleeting and fragile, and if you can love the body you're in (easier said than done), that's an act of radical self-love in this society that wants to keep you down. And who knows, maybe that love will ripple outwards and even change the outlook of those around you.

P.S. There were so many incredible quotes from the survey that I want to include a few of my favorites here. The surveys are anonymous, so if you read your words, thank you!

“When I was younger, I was a bit desperate (secretly, even from myself) to keep it attractive to men. When my body started to age very quickly, I experienced a deep letdown. Strangely, though, as an old gay man, the unexpected admiration I receive from young gay men is a bit of a healing balm.”

“Daddy/bear appreciation has given my headspace about my body type a boost from what it used to be. Having someone genuinely appreciate me for my fuzz and beef and gray hairs is such an emotional relief.”

“I think as gay men we are collectively comparing ourselves to one main aesthetic and age group. So, at 30, you’re comparing yourself to hot 25 and 30-year-olds. At 45, you’re likely comparing yourself to that same age group instead of your peers. And if you don’t recognize you’re doing it, you start to think everyone has a better body than you, when in fact it’s not nearly everyone, it’s just the prototype after which all gay advertisements have been modeled for decades. It hasn’t changed much, even with diversity outliers. In fact, it’s probably gotten even more unattainable. Thankfully, I recognize this and don’t see these bodies as my personal barometer, but many sadly do!”

“I have so many thoughts. but essentially: it’s subconsciously reoriented the value system i hold towards myself. I’m treated differently based on any minor change in body fat % & muscle mass “for the better”. i enjoy exercising and looking and feeling as strong as i can with where i’m at. And I do think an element of libido and attraction is beyond our control. But I also think those things are fickle, and the normalized vapidity towards gay bodies is wildly unproductive. It’s complicated and sad, but not a lost cause. If Western women have been able to spearhead a body inclusivity movement in the last 20 years, gay men can as well.”

“The ‘standard’ is much harder to acquire than it would be for any straight guy. We’re bombarded with body imagery, and it’s often directly correlated with pride. Suddenly, I feel like I can’t exhibit pride in the way we’re meant to, because if I’m not meeting that standard… how can I be proud of myself if I don’t feel proud in my skin and in my body.”

“I just accept it and try not to make it the center of my universe. There is so much more to life than feeling pretty. I am so much more than that, and it's easy to focus on other things I do like about myself.”

“I've had the best times and honestly the most profound experiences when my body was at its "worst", very much in quotations, and I still just went for the out there outfit for example. Reminds me of a time I was self deprecating to a friend at Harlem Pride a few years ago, while wearing a crop top for the first time, belly out, and this other guy overheard and went "honey, there's no such thing as a bad shape. You look great. See you later, handsome." and winked and it was like... groundbreaking.”

“Body culture among the gays is super, super toxic. I wish we could be nicer to each other. I also wish that the super fit gays would include more non-built body types in their Insta photos of them in Fire Island. It really feels like such a click, and it dehumanizes all of us because we are reduced to body parts.”

“I wish I understood that my body was absolutely fine in my 20s instead of beating myself up over it.”

“My friends do a lot to boost my confidence in my body, whereas strangers (and my inner-saboteur-biased perspective of their judgment) very often hurt it.”

“This is complicated. I feel differently now (at 37) as someone with two fulfilling relationships, one of which is 15 years strong and the other is specifically is attracted to my body type, then I did when I was younger and everyone was a twink or jock. I still suffer from my own feelings about my body, but I don’t feel unloved anymore.”