It’s been almost three weeks since Chante Joseph released her Vogue article ‘Is Having a Boyfriend Embarrassing Now?’, an essay that discusses the challenges heterosexual women face when sharing their relationship status with others. It’s safe to say that Joseph’s piece caught popular culture’s attention in the way that journalism used to, inviting opinions from left, right and centre into one mainstream conversation.
Many agree with her stabs at ‘Boyfriend Land’ and her frustrations with social media. Many more disagree with her cynicism on relationships and apparent dismissal of love. What people don’t seem to be picking up on is the impact of this article beyond Joseph herself: her sources, content, and the context of this publication shape the influence of her takes more than most acknowledge.
The article begins with a focus on social media, as Joseph discloses to her reader, ‘If someone so much as says “my boyf–”, on social media, they’re muted’. Her annoyance at the “my boyfriend”-ification (term is the author’s own) of many account she follows doesn’t seem to stem from any sort of anti-patriarchal or gynocentric position, however. For all her attempts to frame this article as a hot feminist take, she reveals that there is no prolific backing for her annoyance by contradicting herself in the article’s next paragraph: ‘Women are obscuring their partner’s face when they post, as if they want to erase the fact they exist without actually not posting them’. So, which is it? Are women on social media parading their men around and discrediting their autonomy, or are they hiding their boyfriends in an attempt to soften the critique of women like Joseph?
Joseph admits that this paradox is confusing in itself (‘it feels like the result of women wanting to straddle two worlds: one where they can receive the social benefits of having a partner, but also not appear so boyfriend-obsessed that they come across quite culturally loser-ish’) but with more filler words and loose digs at the patriarchy. What exactly are the social benefits of having a partner if enjoying the company of said partner is ‘culturally loser-ish’? And, for a publication with such obvious social status, is there not a more distinctive description for this than ‘culturally loser-ish’?
At this point in the article, Joseph leans into unpicking what has become the internet’s new favourite buzzword. According to Joseph and her clearly unnuanced takes, we are existing in ‘an era of widespread heterofatalism’.
This summer, the concept of ‘heterofatalism’ was released into the zeitgeist as both the New York Times and The Guardian published opinion pieces revolving around or exploring the history of the theory. However, this didn’t seem to catch on until Joseph and Vogue reintroduced the term.
The word itself appears to hold different meanings for different communities, with many disagreeing on its origins and its implications.
The term is often tied to Asa Seresin’s 2019 essay On Heteropessimism, which explores the construction of heterosexuality in Maggie Nelson’s The Argonauts and makes explicit mention of the way in which this relates to queer theory, particularly. Seresin’s essay is detailed, insightful, and nuanced in a way that expropriations of her theory are not: ‘If “heterosexuality” becomes shorthand for misogyny, the proper object of critique falls from view, ‘ she writes. While Seresin’s analysis of ‘heterofatalism’ understands the intersection of misogyny, homophobia, and individualism involved in forming women’s view of heterosexuality, mainstream articles such as Joseph’s reduce this theory to its most accessible components.
Search results for ‘heterofatalism’ show Seresin’s essay first, but it is easy to dismiss a Substack article from 5 years ago in favour of familiar publications such as Vogue and the NYT. This results in a shift in understanding of ‘heterofatalism’, as Seresin’s thoughtful words are no longer discussed and have been exchanged for more orthodox takes on the theory.
For example, Guardian columnist Emma Beddington understands heterofatalism as an epidemic of women ‘viewing their heterosexuality as a misfortune and lifelong disappointment, given the flakiness and apparent commitment-phobia of the men they encounter’. Meanwhile, Australian publication Body + Soul claims it ‘describes a pessimistic view of heterosexual relationships, often characterised by the belief that they are inherently flawed and destined to fail’. It is this distorted definition of ‘heteropessimism’ that Joseph implicates in her article, inherently replacing the theory’s focus on the impact of homosexuality and social prejudice with a centralisation of heterosexuality and social stigma. To comprehend the genuine definition of ‘heterofatalism’, it must be understood that prejudice and stigma are not the same. Joseph’s work does not articulate this.
If the author’s misappropriation of this term is not troublesome enough, Joseph’s supposed evidence for the intensity of this issue only trivialises her argument further. She cites her ‘call out on Instagram to [her] 65,000 followers’ and ‘a top comment, with 12,000 likes’ as testimony for the ‘heterofatalism’ epidemic, immediately showing that her claims are primarily aimed at those with a significant Instagram following or ability to attract online attention. This then begs the question: are most people even meant to relate to this?
To a certain degree, no one is expecting Vogue to publish the most influential, insightful political advice and takes. As a fashion and culture magazine, it’s obvious that columnists are expected to speak to the mainstream and address public interest. However, the timing of this article in relation to the closure of Teen Vogue (announced last week) signifies that interesting political links can be made.
Teen Vogue’s place in the socio-political realm has been undeniable for its young audience. As Candice Norwood understands, ‘the changes at Teen Vogue reflect a larger political and cultural moment taking place throughout the country.’ From reproductive rights to racial politics, Teen Vogue acted as an important vehicle for political education in youth spaces.
Therefore, to release Joseph’s article (an indulgence of the frustrations privileged social groups face at the cost of the misappropriation of a nuanced and complex theory) during a period of increasing conservatism cannot be incidental. It is one thing for a fashion magazine to discuss casual, conversational problems in a vacuum. It is another thing for a publication to endorse such trivial concerns while openly cutting its political affiliations, and as the rights of minorities that form part of its audience are being increasingly eroded.
Regardless of Joseph’s desired intention, it is difficult to excuse all of the issues with her article and the moment it occupies in Vogue’s recent history. Her piece has definitely made waves in public opinion, but not for the reasons it should have done. While many are now busy debating the writer’s views on the value of their relationships, Joseph’s clear misunderstanding of ‘heterofatalism’ and distortion of the significance of current social issues seem to have gone unnoticed.
The bottom line is thus: being embarrassed to post your boyfriend online is not a pressing or universal issue of our time. It is a product of an internet-infatuated obsession with personal branding, individual boundaries, and an attempt to ignorantly re-centre heterosexuality in mainstream conversation.
