Reclaiming Ownership of Language

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Language is power. It shapes our perception of the world, our place within it, and how we are permitted—or denied—the right to name ourselves. So when I call my show faggoty, it is not for shock value. It’s not a gimmick. It’s a conscious, deliberate, and deeply personal act of reclamation.

The word “faggot” has been used for generations as a weapon—spit like venom from the mouths of strangers, bullies, lawmakers, even family members. It’s a word most queer people know not from a dictionary, but from the way it lands in the gut, sharp and immediate, when hurled in moments of rejection, humiliation, or violence. It’s also a word that has survived. And like many survivors, it has had to evolve, adapt, and—eventually—find its own means of self-definition.

The addition of the “-y” in faggoty changes its texture. It’s not just a slur anymore; it’s a descriptor reclaimed with intention, a word that once existed only as an insult and now becomes something like armor: sparkly, defiant, unmissable. Faggoty is an embrace of queer flamboyance, of femme power, of the ways we’ve always created our own language and culture in spite of what’s been thrown at us. It’s a middle finger and a love letter, all at once.

We’ve seen this kind of linguistic transformation before. The word gay itself once simply meant happy. Then, in 19th-century slang, it referred to male sex workers and “deviants.” And now, it’s a mainstream identity label, appearing on everything from pride flags to HR documents. Queer, too, has undergone a complex resurrection—from a cruel playground taunt to a radical, inclusive umbrella term that still carries unease for many, particularly those who lived through eras when it was only used to hurt. These evolutions don’t erase the pain associated with the words—but they allow us to hold that pain, to transmute it, and to speak for ourselves.

When I use the word faggoty, I’m planting my flag in the ground of that tradition. I’m claiming space for the part of my identity that has often been told to quiet down, to “man up,” to be less “obvious.” My show celebrates that obviousness. That limp wrist, that high voice, that glittering masculinity that refuses to conform. I am not interested in sanitizing my queerness to make it more palatable for anyone else.

I understand this word may still hurt some. I honor that. I carry those wounds too. But I also believe in the power of self-naming. When we reclaim slurs, we don’t erase their history—we wrest control of it. We strip the word of its ability to shame and instead use it as a banner of resistance and pride. I don’t use faggoty lightly, but I do use it boldly. Because I believe that the parts of ourselves we were taught to hide are often the ones most worth celebrating.

So yes, this show is faggoty. Not just in title, but in heart. And that’s the point.

Love,

James