Erased: From ‘Slap’​ to ‘Slay’​ – The Evolution of Language in LGBTQ+ Communities

Language is who we are. It has been our constant companion throughout human history. And it shapes us as much as we shape it. 

In fact, language has such a profound impact on us that it affects our bodies. Your mother tongue determines the way your tongue rests in your mouth and how the delicate organs in your throat sit while still (this concept is called the ‘basis of articulation’ for those curious).

Learning a second language can also reshape the brain, forging new pathways in your grey matter. Becoming multilingual can bring you closer to others and closer to yourself, boosting memory, creativity and communication skills.

Of course, language is how we all interact – how we get to know each other, how we fall in love, how we argue, how we work, and how we build communities.

Language is magical. It is powerful. It is liberating.

And for LGBTQ+ communities around the world, language has proven to be lifesaving and life changing.

But first, a note

As in our recent Beyond the Rainbow report, this article will use the catch-all terms ‘queer’ and ‘LGBTQ+’ to refer to those who don’t exclusively identify as heterosexual and cisgender.

It’s important to acknowledge this because language is fluid and complex, and while a certain word may be accepted at large, it may cause others harm. We acknowledge that the word ‘queer’ has previously been used as a slur, but also that – through a concerted effort to reclaim the word – many of us now use it to refer to and celebrate our identities. These terms used here should only be interpreted as such.

We hope that this piece highlights both the importance and impermanence of language and encourages healthy discussion around its use.

The not-so-secret language of gay Britain

If you live in a country like the UK, the US or Canada today, it might be hard to imagine a time in which being ‘out’ could land you in prison – or worse. But the truth is that historical repression of LGBTQ+ identities is not that far behind us. In fact, it could easily be argued, it never quite left.

Even as recently as 2003, with the removal of Section 28 from the UK statute books, queer expression and queer lives in the UK have been threatened.

The 19th century was an even tougher time to be gay. Homosexual activity was still explicitly illegal in Britain, despite the presence of countless queer folk up and down the country.

Naturally, making something illegal doesn’t mean it disappears, and there is no way to erase something as core to personhood as sexuality or gender identity. And so, then-illegal homosexual acts were still enjoyed, subcultures were still constructed, and queer love was still celebrated. The community just had to be a bit inventive.

The secret power of many gay 19th-century Britons was a slang language called Polari.

Italian speakers will instantly recognise the origin of the name: parlare (to speak). They may also be able to understand a few words from Polari’s vast dictionary. After all, the language likely developed from another older constructed language called Parlyaree, one used between sailors on the Mediterranean.

The Polari still used in Britain to this day is a theatrical blending of Romance languages, Romani, Yiddish, rhyming slang, and the sayings of sailors, thieves and beggars. It would later also take on some of the terminology of 60s drug culture.

But back in the days of criminalised homosexuality, the language was a code, a signal, and a defence all in one.

To escape the ever-watchful eye and long arm of the law, gay people across Britain would discuss their days, plans and hook-ups in Polari. By doing so, undercover police and outsiders were kept out of queer spaces, or at least at a distance, allowing those in the space to live their lives in relative safety.

The ‘secret language’ of Polari can be thought of a mobile, intangible and joyful safe space for queer people in 19th and 20th century England. But, like all languages, Polari has transformed over time – and with it, the boundaries of that safe space.

The slang of gay subcultures in London and Manchester broke into the mainstream.

From near-criminal to totally camp

Can you translate any the Polari words in these sentences? There’s a good chance you can, especially if you’ve spent any time in the UK.

Your hair can look naff if you haven’t had the chance to zhoosh it up yet. And if someone you’ve been checking out ogles you back while you’re looking a bit manky, it’s probably time to scarper.

Fantabulosa, right?

Polari is just fun! It’s no surprise, then, that it is being revived in a number of major UK cities. However, we can’t forget that its use throughout history hasn’t always been quite so light-hearted.

With the decriminalisation of homosexual acts in England and Wales in 1967, Polari was no longer strictly necessary. In fact, it was beginning to seem a bit naff itself.

Acceptance of Polari, and the queer communities that spoke it, grew as shows like Round the Horne brought the slang to the mainstream. Kenneth Williams broadcast his Polari-infused radio and TV performances to millions of listeners throughout the 50s and 60s and, soon, Polari had well-and-truly escaped its original context.

The language made its way across the pond rather quickly. Barely half a century later, outrageous filmmaker John Waters was glorifying camp and the cast of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy were zhooshing up hopeless romantics for huge audiences.

Although Polari has largely dissolved into the gooey solution of our popular culture, it doesn’t mean its impact isn’t still being felt. It’s plain to see from the survival of key phrases that Polari continues to have an influence on queer culture – and much more besides.

But new forms of expression are needed for new time.

Voguing in vogue

Around the same time that Polari was falling out of fashion in Britain’s queer community, a movement was being born. Crystal and Lottie LaBeija founded the House of LaBeija in 1972 and kickstarted the modern New York City Ballroom scene.

The House of LaBeija took the reins away from previously discriminatory, white-run drag balls that had been taking place across America since the 1800s. Instead, this evolved style of drag ball encouraged Black performers to take the stage, dress to impress, vogue and show realness.

The Ballroom scenes of New York, Washington DC, and other major US cities were hot beds of talent and invention, transforming the lives of predominantly African American and Latino queer performers. These communities opened up vital conversations around HIV/AIDS in an era of deadly silence and created forms of dance and drag performance that have literally reshaped how we see the artform in general.

But perhaps one of its most lasting contributions to queer culture was a new language: the language of the Ballroom.

If you’ve ever ‘thrown shade’, told someone to ‘work it’ on the dancefloor, or asked a friend ‘spill the tea’ about a poor date, then you’ve been speaking it. Like Polari, Ballroom dialect has become a way for queer people to reach into shared cultural history and create a unique identity in an increasingly complex world.

The language of the Ballroom has long since gone mainstream thanks, at least in part, to the influence of one RuPaul. And RuPaul, in turn, was inspired by one of the founders of modern Ballroom culture. The ‘Queen of Drag’ got one of his first tastes of the artform in Atlanta, watching none other than Crystal LaBeija lip sync Donna Summer’s ‘Bad Girls’.

RuPaul’s Drag Race has certainly had an outsized impact on public perceptions of drag and queer identities in general. It was, perhaps, the first time a TV show with a wide audience openly celebrated queer culture. It introduced new generations to a long history of art and artists, including the legendary Ballroom scene documentary Paris is Burning. It also, no doubt, helped countless young folk across the world find comfort and camaraderie in their identity.

As the ‘Beyond the Rainbow’ report reveals, the presence of queer media in our lives, with all its linguistic and stylistic quirks, normalises and changes attitudes around LGBTQ+ lives. For all the controversies and conversations around shows like Drag Race, having queer influencers appearing prominently in media is, of course, good thing.

Thanks to the House of LaBeija and those that it inspired, we now have a brand-new lexicon of queer language to work with, one that connects generations to a vibrant shared history.

But is this language sashaying away, out of the hands of those who created it?

The political, the personal, and the commercial

Polari was once a secret language, spoken almost entirely within the confines of British queer culture. Similarly, the language of the Ballroom was highly contextualised within a drag scene run by African American and Latino performers. Yet both have now entered the mainstream – and even been outright commodified.

Today, it’s hard to explore Twitter, TikTok, YouTube or TV without coming across a ‘yass queen’ or a ‘slay’ spoken by someone who might not necessarily identify under the LGBTQ+ umbrella. The aesthetics of queer culture have – after decades of repression – not only been accepted, but have become fashionable, desirable and influential to a broad section of the population.

This transformation should be something to celebrate, but the truth is that not everyone is happy with non-LGBTQ+ people or – more controversially – brands utilising queer language. There is a fine line between ‘appreciation’ and ‘appropriation’, after all.

While a non-LGBTQ+ person may ‘yassify’ their way of speaking without having to worry about much more than how their TikTok following will react, a queer person doing the same thing may be subject to discrimination, or even harm. The very fact that there is now a term like ‘yassification’ speaks to the run-away popularisation of queer language and acceptance of a ‘queer aesthetic’.

Writer John Paul Brammer has previously provided one example of where we could draw the line:

Defining cultural appropriation isn't easy. Typically, it's used when members of a dominant group borrow the customs of another group, often one that's experienced oppression in some way. Drawing the line is tough. But it becomes offensive when a powerful group trivializes the work of a minority without giving credit where credit is due.

The language, slang, and codes we use are not just a personal choice, they are an inheritance from cultures and groups that came before us.

Language of any kind is politically charged – the way you speak can impact your access to employment, healthcare, social spaces and even basic dignity.

Once you understand these realities, it becomes easier to see why the use of LGBTQ+ languages outside of their original contexts can be controversial.

LGBTQ+ people are particularly suspicious of brands that adopt queer language and aesthetics, especially those that only seem to do so during key moments of the year. The ‘Beyond the Rainbow’ report highlights that such acts are incredibly transparent, likely doing more harm than good.

74% of LGBTQ+ respondents said that representation in advertising had visibly increased in recent years, but 3 out of 4 say that brands should do more to support their community outside of now-typical Pride month gestures. Brands must move away from stereotypes and hollow use of queer styles and, instead, work in closer collaboration with LGBTQ+ communities and creators.

By genuinely understanding and serving the needs of LGBTQ+ communities, brands, influencers and the public at large can all more confidently rest on the ‘appreciation’ side of the fine line.

Celebrating the evolution of language

Language – like culture in general – is incredibly dynamic. There’s just no way to pin it down, no way to ‘own’ a language, and no way to prevent those outside a specific group from adopting it.

We can see how queer culture has already broken its own boundaries in the fact that 60% of non-LGBTQ+ people report seeking out queer media (rising to 85% among non-LGBTQ+ 18-24 year olds). Queer languages and styles are no longer relegated to London’s gay subcultures or Harlem Ballrooms. Instead, they are available to, and enjoyed by, all who seek them out.

Authentic appreciation of queer languages and styles serves to change public perceptions even more towards the positive. Acceptance generally comes through exposure, after all. We just need to ensure that queer voices continue playing the leading role in the speaking of queer language.

As the world continues to embrace LGBTQ+ languages and styles, it becomes even more important for us to understand where they came from.

We can’t forget the reasons behind their creation, nor can we forget who originally used them. We must all appreciate and support the people behind the language, not just the language itself.

And we must all work towards a world where no one needs a ‘secret language’ just to feel safe again.