Every May, a very specific kind of glitter bomb explodes across the globe—and it’s called Eurovision. For the LGBTQ+ community, this annual spectacle is more than a song contest. It’s tradition, it’s theater, it’s political, and yes, it’s gay AF.
Ask anyone who’s ever been to a queer Eurovision party (or seen one on TikTok), and they’ll tell you: the sequins, key changes, flag waving, and melodrama are just part of the ritual. Eurovision has become a beacon of queer celebration—and it’s not by accident. From trans icons to lesbian ballads and drag queens with beards, the contest has served up decades of unapologetic queerness on a global stage.
Let’s go back. The queer timeline of Eurovision truly began in 1997 when Iceland’s Paul Oscar took the stage with “Minn hinsti dans.” Out, proud, and serving goth leather realness, he didn’t win—but he ignited something. The very next year, Israeli trans queen Dana International snatched the crown with “Diva,” a power bop that honored Aphrodite and Cleopatra and made her an international superstar. Her win wasn’t just about music—it was about representation, and a moment of validation for trans women everywhere.
Since then, Eurovision has only gotten queerer. Serbia’s Marija Šerifović brought masculine energy and soulful power in 2007, eventually coming out as a lesbian in 2013. Austria’s Conchita Wurst took things up a notch in 2014, delivering a goosebump-raising performance while rocking a full beard and a full gown, embodying gender fluidity with glamour.
And now, in 2024, all eyes are on Olly Alexander. The openly gay singer and actor is repping the UK, and despite political calls for him to boycott the competition over Israel’s inclusion amidst war in Gaza, Olly chose to stay. His statement? A call for peace, solidarity, and the safe return of all hostages. “We stand united against all forms of hate,” he said, in a powerful moment that turned Eurovision from a pop contest into a platform for resistance and resilience.
A Safe Space in Sequins
Eurovision is unique because it’s one of the few global stages where queer artists aren’t just tolerated—they’re celebrated. In a world where mainstream sports and competitions are often steeped in toxic masculinity, Eurovision is pure, unfiltered expression. It’s glitter and heartbreak and power ballads. It’s queer joy.
While some countries still frown at rainbow flags, Eurovision beams queer artistry into homes worldwide, whether they like it or not. It’s soft power through pop music, showing young LGBTQ+ folks in less accepting environments that there’s a bigger, brighter world out there—one where they can wear what they want, love who they want, and belt into a wind machine like nobody’s watching.
So no, it’s not just the camp factor that makes Eurovision gay. It’s the politics. It’s the drama. It’s the unapologetic self-expression. It’s the history of queer voices refusing to be silenced—and winning trophies while doing it.
Eurovision is protest in platform heels. And for the LGBTQ+ community, it’s a rare, beautiful thing: a mainstream space where queerness isn’t just visible, it’s revered.
Let the sequins fly.