Vice President JD Vance’s Bluesky debut was, to put it kindly, a flaming digital car crash. The 40-year-old Republican walked into the queer-friendly platform with the swagger of a man who didn’t read the room—or the room’s entire history of rejecting anti-trans nonsense—and promptly got blocked by over 110,000 users. That’s not a typo.
His first post was a smug nod to the US Supreme Court’s green-lighting of Tennessee’s trans healthcare ban. Quoting Justice Clarence Thomas and peddling the line that gender-affirming care for trans youth is based on “questionable evidence,” Vance tried to bait users. Instead, he got obliterated. Within 24 hours, nearly 50,000 users hit block, with thousands more following suit by the hour.
“This Isn’t Happening” — Even the Trolls Are Jealous
In a bit of comic relief, right-wing commentator Jesse Singal lamented being dethroned as the app’s reigning most-blocked user. “You work hard your whole life to achieve something great,” he joked, watching Vance zoom past his own 81,000 blocks with the grace of a lead balloon.
And while Vance managed to scrape together 10,000 followers, most of those are likely doom-scrollers or rage-clickers. The vice president’s “official” account fared no better—it also earned a top spot on the block list.
The replies under Vance’s post were a masterclass in digital drag. “Dude, wtf are you even doing here?” wrote one user. “Please return to Truth Social and f**k off,” snapped another. The sass was swift and communal, echoing the platform’s broader stance: Bluesky is a safe haven, and Vance isn’t welcome.
A Queer Refuge Says “Not Today, Satan”
Bluesky isn’t just another social media startup. Since its founding by former Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey, the platform has served as a vital space for trans and queer users fleeing the harassment circus of Elon Musk’s Twitter. Its moderation policies and community-driven vibe created fertile ground for LGBTQ+ subcultures to thrive.
That context makes Vance’s post not just tone-deaf, but aggressively hostile. His attempt to stir the pot in a space that has been a rare pocket of peace for the trans community wasn’t just rejected—it was repelled like a virus.
It’s more than an online slapdown. It’s a symbol of resilience. In an era where anti-trans rhetoric is being normalized from courtrooms to cable news, the LGBTQ+ community on Bluesky collectively hit the block button to say: “No more.”
Vance may hold office, but he holds no influence here. The future of political discourse may still be grim in Washington, but on Bluesky, at least, trans folks and their allies are making the rules. And the first rule? Don’t mess with the queer internet.