The Weaponization of Otherism in the LGBTQ+ Community

Before we get to specifics, let’s start with a working definition of otherism. Going beyond the clinical, sanitized, ethereal versions, let’s agree that otherism entails seeing a person, group, or community as being different from ourselves and undeserving of the status, privilege, relevance, or recognition that our group has. Cognizant that the LGBTQ+ community is a microcosm of society, it is not a stretch of the imagination that members of our collective community are, knowingly or unknowingly, increasingly weaponizing otherism.

Throughout our lives, it is more than likely we will experience otherism as initiators as well as recipients. In the LGBTQ+ community, this process has become a perpetual rite of passage from youth throughout our twilight years. Otherism, ironically, does not discriminate in who it impacts across the board, but depending on how you experience it, the outcomes range from confusion and resentment to xenophobia.

Peer pressure, assimilation, trying to fit in, and just wanting to be like everybody else are significant factors at any point in our lives. Conflicts and ostracization can result when we are categorized as different, too [fill in the blank], or refusing to just comply with the social order… whatever that means! Whether you initiate the behavior of otherizing a person or a group, or remain silent as it’s occurring, the recipient is not preoccupied with parsing the nuances of your intent or accountability. To the recipient, they are left wondering why this is happening to them.

Is social media to blame for the weaponization of otherism in our community, or is it just a reflection or representation of what is happening? In 2026, polarization has reached an apex: youth vs. maturity, frivolous vs. cerebral, omega vs. beta, natural vs. maxxed, cisgender vs. transgender, purists vs. eclectics. Identity is a core part of our existence, but when did it morph into one identity or representation having greater significance or relevance than the other? More importantly, is there ever a reason to isolate, minimize, or attempt to erase members of one’s community because they don’t conveniently or strategically align with the status quo or soup du moment?

The more I explore this topic, the more questions emerge. Who gets to decide, and why, what is mainstream, popular, desirable, preferable, or noteworthy? Has subjectivity commandeered objectivity to the point that establishing and maintaining relevancy eclipses any pause or accountability for how we are treating each other? Yes, I think way too much about everything, but then again, I don’t begrudge those who don’t; I just seek out those who share my proclivity for pontification. Is this the point where I attempt to justify my thought process by noting that I began watching talk shows at five, reading Psychology Today at seven, and subjecting my loving parents to hours of me polling them on esoteric data? Ah, maybe not today, but that could be a future blog post.

Returning to the topic at hand, I sadly see otherism emerging across multiple groups throughout the LGBTQ+ community. Having a large gathering can bring diverse groups together physically, but it does not guarantee that those present will interact. Granted, venturing outside one’s comfort zone can be challenging or intimidating, but the benefits could easily outweigh any apprehension. If a genre of music resonates with you, why would you not explore that genre of music or share it with others? Would you refrain from sharing your interest in that form of music because others might challenge your taste, or speculate that the form of music is not readily associated with the person they view you as?

Have you noticed that socializing in adulthood is reminiscent of the high school cafeteria experience: one dining hall but multiple groups (sports, theater, popular, academics, etc.)? Each group had its hierarchy and vibe, and rarely interacted outside their group; if they did, it was heavily speculated about by everyone—inside and outside each group. For the overwhelming majority of us, high school is a memory, yet we still maintain some of those behaviors, notably staying in our designated lanes and being suspicious of infiltrators, wannabes, or anyone perceived as a threat to our comfortable rhythm.

At social events, do you attend with a group of friends to ensure you have others to interact with, or to make sure that most people in attendance will reflect your life experience? Being partnered for nearly 14 years, I understandably attend most events with my husband, but we remain open to meeting a variety of people. As an interracial couple, our aesthetics visually connote diversity, so others may feel more open (in most cases) to approaching us. Beyond social constructs, my preferences are conversation and charm. If you engage me in effervescent and interesting conversation, you’ve made a friend for life, regardless of how you identify in the LGBTQ+ community or the world at large.

Hmm, I’m on the cusp of approaching the 1,000-word mark, so I guess I should begin wrapping this post up. Regardless of your perceived or desired identity in the LGBTQ+ community, try to at least authentically coexist with other LGBTQ+ communities, remain open to getting to know various people, and refrain from stereotyping, marginalizing, othering, and ostracizing each other. Our respective existences are not exclusive and do not have to usurp, compete with, or diminish others out of fear or misinformation. There is room for everyone. You are not obligated to embrace everyone, but refrain from judging others who enjoy experiencing the larger mosaic that comprises the LGBTQ+ community. We are experiencing enough othering from outside our community, so it behooves us to limit internal othering to a minimum. Let’s continue to be the example we wish to see in the world.