Before OnlyFans and before PrEP, there was Ken Colbert—a towering 6’5” icon who turned heads and raised pulses in the golden age of gay porn. In the ‘80s, he was a staple of the adult industry’s most memorable flicks, from Pipeline to Ivy League, earning a reputation not just for his size, but for his style. Then, just as quickly as he’d come onto the scene, he vanished—leaving fans to assume the worst. But Ken didn’t die. He lived. And now, four decades after the spotlight dimmed, he’s stepping back into it to remind the world he was never just a body—he’s a survivor.
Colbert’s journey from rural Pennsylvania to the gay strip clubs of Norfolk and New York City reads like a queer fable. Kicked out early, adopted by biker gays, and mentored by a drag queen named Diana Ross (not that one, but just as fierce), Ken’s first brush with queerness was electric. “I was overwhelmed — to see a bar filled with gay people dancing and having a good time,” he recalled. It was the ‘80s, and the gay world was both alive and on the edge of tragedy.
A Star Born on Stage and Film
His entry into adult films was unplanned. First a coat check boy, then a bartender, Colbert slipped on stage to help out during drag performances and never looked back. His natural charisma and refusal to hustle for cash like some of his peers made him stand out. “I wasn’t into making money on the side with the johns — I enjoyed the dancing,” he said. That focus on performance over prostitution, and his towering frame, turned him into a fan favorite almost overnight.
Still, those who remember the “pre-condom classic” era of porn will tell you the careers were fast and dangerous. The shadow of AIDS loomed large—and for many stars of that time, it was fatal. Ken didn’t escape it. Diagnosed during a time when an HIV-positive status was a virtual death sentence, he nearly died. But he didn’t. He survived. And now, after 40 years, he’s speaking openly about his life, his struggles, and what it means to still be standing when so many of his peers are not.
Remembering the Forgotten Icons
Ken Colbert’s survival isn’t just personal; it’s political. In a world that often forgets or buries its gay history—especially the erotic chapters—his testimony is a reclamation. He’s not ashamed of what he did, nor should he be. “I’m proud of what I accomplished,” he says, and he should be. Not many can say they helped define a genre, lived through a plague, and found peace in the aftermath.
For today’s queer generation, his story is a reminder: sex work is part of our legacy, and survival is its own kind of protest. Ken’s tale isn’t just a walk down memory lane; it’s a call to honor those who came before us—and those who made us feel seen, even if only for a few steamy scenes.
And yes—he’s still got it.