Why Nigella Lawson is a Gay Icon: A Rumination on Gay Mens Obsession with Camp, Tragedy and Female Sexuality

Strong, powerful and slightly ridiculous women have a long-established role in queer culture, especially for gay men. These women are a mirror, reflecting our struggles and ambitions when positive representation was out of the question. So, if a gay icon is a woman who is resilient, glamorous, exaggerated and sexually empowered, it is time to induct Nigella Lawson into the pantheon.

There has been something of a trend in recent years of awarding ‘Gay Icon’ status to questionable recipients. Now, I’m certainly not going to suggest that this is the most pressing issue facing our queer community at this current time, but it is certainly indicative of certain malaise surrounding gay culture as it becomes engulfed in mainstream (read straight) society and media. To award individuals like Taylor Swift gay icon status is to show an ignorance of what constitutes a gay icon. For a gay icon, and a star who champions gay people, can be mutually exclusive. Something more is required to become a ‘Gay Icon’. A true sense of camp, grandeur, slightly ridiculous but a will of iron underneath it all. Gay icons are individuals (often women) who through force of will, lives of tragedy and a sense of being lager than life reflect the experiences of queer people. Unfortunately, this aspect of the Gay Icon legacy is being lost, and to maintain a strong sense of gay identity, we must remind ourselves of why we afford these women such reverence. And, to me, TV cook and writer Nigella Lawson should be number one on our list of new inductees.

At face value, Nigella has all the qualities required of camp – she is almost ludicrously eloquent, has an idiosyncratic way of speaking and acting, oozes femininity and sensuality, revels in her own quirkiness and oddness and has made a career out of bucking trends in her field. All of these traits land her squarely within the realm of camp. However, it is worth questioning the value of simply being a camp personality, and why this pertains to queer people, especially gay men. And one could argue that Nigella, daughter of Margaret Thatcher’s Financial Secretary Nigel Lawson (as if being a girl named after your father isn’t already a little camp), Nigella raised incredibly wealthy and being Oxford educated, cannot possibly reflect the struggles of queer people. Sure, Nigella has acknowledged her queer fans, and has even embraced the notion that she may be a ‘gay icon’ - but her credentials run far deeper than that. If we delve into the calling cards of camp, we see that Nigella comfortably fits within the pantheon of gay icons.

For any gay icon, public perception reveals much of why a woman may appeal to their queer fans in a more tangible way than with their straight ones. Within the mainstream press, Nigella is known as much for her supposed sexuality as she is for her food. True, much of the discussion around Nigella’s achievements are clouded by discussions on her figure, her suggestive turn of phrase or her knowing looks to the camera. All of the above carry a strong whiff of misogyny, and of men being incredulous that a woman can be successful based on merits other than her ability to weaponize her sexuality. Nigella herself has expressed annoyance at such assessments of her public persona and has rebutted these assumptions many times in the press. It is undeniable, however, that the public at large has acknowledged or recognised that Nigella is a woman who exists also as a sexual being, and what’s more, that she is comfortable in inhabiting such an identity. Though Nigella may deny this aspect of her personality, conversations on feminine sexuality are intrinsically linked to any discussion of her success.

Discussing the optics of Nigella’s sexuality when she herself is uncomfortable with such assessments is tricky, and risks alienating or offending those who wish to divide feminine sexuality from female success, given the historical use of the former to undermine the latter. However, it is here that we can begin to understand how Nigella fits within the pantheon of queer icons because gay men, rather paradoxically, have a long history of obsessing over exaggerated female sexuality. This obsession, of course, is not always reverential and can itself be informed by gay male misogyny, such as the prevalence of gay men body or slut shaming women. However, there also seems to be a long-standing feeling amongst gay men that female sexuality is empowering, particularly in instances where it is often painted to be villainous. One need only consider the number of gay men who list Jessica Rabbit as an influence, or those who side with Ursula over Ariel in The Little Mermaid (who is, in fact, based on Divine, the original Drag Superstar), through to the plethora of drag performers who make feminine sexuality a central part of their act.

What unifies all these examples is that gay men are subverting portrayals of feminine sexuality that are used to denote a female character as dangerous or morally corrupt – for example, we are expected to be turned off by Ursula’s body positivity because her weight is meant to be a signifier of her evil intentions. In celebrating feminine sexuality, gay men are vicariously overcoming decades of systemic oppression that has subjugated their own sexuality by claiming it as morally unethical. In a heterosexist society, the demonization of feminine and queer sexuality comes from similar origins, and celebrating one is a rebuttal of the ideas undermining the other. Of course, Nigella is not a cartoon, and therefore her sexuality is not as exaggerated to that of a drag performer, but the way her sexuality is reported in the media suggests as similarly disapproving attitude. Though her sexuality is not used to denote her as villainous, it is used to undermine her achievements as a woman entrepreneur, suggesting her success is based on her sex and not her talents as a presenter, writer and business women. But much like the femme-fatales of cartoon history, Nigella has shown a level of self-awareness that allows her to lean into this stereotype and parody it. Her second cookbook, How to be a Domestic Goddess, utilizes an ironic title as a comment on Nigella’s approach, which is far-removed form traditional ideas linking femininity with domesticity, given her propensity for using pre-packaged, pre-prepared ingredients in her cooking. The tension created by the media’s attempts to reduce Nigella to a list of limiting stereotypes, and her sly undermining of these attempts, links directly within the history of gay men celebrating the portrayals of women that are meant to weaken them.

If the perception of feminine sexuality in gay male culture is a signifier of anything, it’s the value gay men place on figures who have overcome some kind of obstacle or injustice, and this is where the ‘Gay Icon as Tragic Figure’ comes into play. Singer Marc Almond states in his biography Tainted Life that ‘at the heart of all true camp is tragedy’. Certainly, tragedy is a recurring signifier of female gay icons. Characterising a figure as tragic does not equate to casting them as weak or worthless - it is the struggles that a diva faces in their life that afford them a queer icon status, the fight against personal injustice and strife that endear them to us. Consider the role of Judy Garland in queer culture – the patron saint of gay men everywhere – and how her life is as notable for its tragic aspects – drug abuse, unemployment, loneliness and industry ridicule – as for her films and music. Similarly, tragedy lies at the heart of queer cinema – the destitution of Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard, the delusions of Baby Jane Hudson, or the fate of Frank-N-Furter in The Rocky Horror Picture Show. As established in Ancient Greek Theatre, a tragic figure is one who is undone by their own flaws in the end, and therefore their downfall is inevitable. However, this simplistic definition has been developed in the public consciousness, and a figure we may perceive as tragic may be undone by forces beyond their control. Judy was a tragic figure in a sense that she was forced onto barbiturates at the age of 16, an addiction that she never truly overcame and greatly impeded – and eventually ended – her life.

Naturally, ideas of womanhood, addiction and, yes, sexuality, all come into play because they are the forces by which our heroes, fictional or not, are defeated by. Often, the examples are intertwined – Judy Garland, Edith Piaf, Billie Holiday, as well as the fictional heroines such as Norma Desmond, Baby Jane and Sally Bowles all experienced a similar trajectory – they were undermined for being women, reduced only to their appearance and sexuality and forced into unhealthy lifestyles in order to maintain it, before ultimately being discarded by the mainstream for growing too old. It is perhaps why so many gay icons are women – heterosexual men simply do not experience this tragic cocktail of misogyny, ageism and body shaming. These issues are equally identifiable for a queer male audience, a culture which places similar emphasis on appearance, age and respectability. The fascination amongst gay men for the intersection between beauty, age, sex and tragedy is perhaps best exemplified in one of the few instances of a male gay icon – St. Sebastian, the beautifully serene Christian martyr, often depicted naked and show through with arrows. But is crucial to remember that is in these women’s passion to overcome such tragedy that they become sympathetic heroes, even if history decided they would be doomed to fail.

But how does this relate to Nigella? In fact, Nigella’s life in the public eye has faced an almost identical trajectory. Abused by her mother (who suffered from various eating disorders and, Nigella has theorised, some form of OCD) as a child, losing her mother, sister and first husband John to cancer within the space of 5 years, and the abuse she suffered at the hands of her second husband Charles Saatchi. Like a Judy or a Billie, Nigella was forced to confront all these issues within the public eye, and the public has been privy to the troughs in her career as much as the peaks. She has faced public humiliation for her reported drug use, and because of her image in the British press as some sort of nymphomaniac, her body is under constant scrutiny.

However, these instances alone would not cement her reputation as a queer icon if they happened separately. It is in the combination of these trials that we see something of a Judy Garland mirrored in Nigella’s public image, but also how her public image has been pivotal in shaping her approach to life and her work. Nigella has stated that she cooks to ‘finish a conversation’ with those she has lost, and her approach to food – one that celebrates life, family and guilt-free pleasure – is indicative of a woman who has experienced real tragedy and survived against the odds. Many are quick to dismiss Nigella’s writing and descriptions of food as reflective of her privileged upbringing and Oxford education, but if one considers the recurring motifs in her work, it is clear to see that her relationship with food is inspired by a need to express her own experiences. In her cookbooks, the introduction to her recipes often take up twice as much space as the recipe itself, and she uses them to ruminate on her experiences, her memories and her views on the family and the way we relate to each other. This ethos is summed up in her common quip ‘food will never be just fuel’. Though we may rarely consider food as having some sort of spiritual or emotional significance, it does – it is present at every significant life event, used for celebration, remorse and reconciliation. It is imbued with emotional resonance and context, and it is in this medium that Nigella expresses her philosophy. Food, in that sense, is much like music. As Judy expressed her pain and sorrow, and joy, through her songs, so does Nigella through her food. It is in this shameless attribution of emotional resonance to things that do not necessarily require them – for example, a two-page introduction to chocolate brownies – that is at the heart of true camp, the intersection of tragedy and a passion to survive. And throughout it all, Nigella has maintained a constant level of brevity and wit, and even an edge, established during her 2013 trial. After admitting that she taken cocaine with her late husband John Diamond, and when asked if she was a regular user, she hit back with the quip ‘I promise you, regular cocaine users do not look like me'.

Nigella Lawson is a figure for whom gay men show a certain fondness, yet her reputation as a bona-fide queer icon is yet to be fully established. Perhaps she will fully achieve this title with time – the ultimate tragedy – as so many of our icons do. For queer people, representation was all but non-existent, so we rooted for women who’s struggles mirrored our own, struggles that we identified as existing on the same axis of misogyny and repression that were used to subjugate our own community. The true nature of a camp icon is often overlooked, and the title handed out with reckless abandon as we make greater and greater strides towards equality. But it is worth remembering that our most established heroes were born of a time much bleaker than now, and that the experience for many is still one of repression, aggression and shame. In times like these will still need to recognise the issues that disproportionately affect our community, and recognise the women who have suffered, fought and won alongside us. And if we are ready to establish more women who are qualified to take that gauntlet, I think Nigella is a good place to start.