Bi visibility day review: Heartstopper

It’s been a while since I last blogged. 18 months, in fact. But then studying for a masters while working full-time and putting a minimum of 8-10 hours per week into your voluntary roles does tend to limit time for writing. But now my exams and my dissertation are behind me, I’ve started to find much-needed time for myself again. And I’ve spent it wisely (*ahem*) by obsessing over Heartstopper. Given today is bi visibility day, and Heartstopper features one of the best examples of bisexual representation I have ever seen, I thought it was time to finally review this iconic series. Of course, there will be spoilers!

When it was first released in April, I had a love-hate relationship with Netflix’s Heartstopper. I (just about) made it to the end of episode 2 before initially turning my back on it. Sure, I was invested in the characters. But it felt like a personal attack. Falling for a straight friend or companion of the same sex must be a rite of passage for every queer person, but at the time I was not emotionally prepared to witness the familiar story play out on screen, whatever fate Alice Oseman had in store for Charlie and Nick.

If I’m being brutally honest, after four years of being single I don’t care much for happy endings on screen; whilst I generally spend an entire film or series rooting for the leads, I find happy ever afters depress me almost as much as tragedies. On the first run-through (I finally brought myself round to finishing it at the end of May), that was equally true of Heartstopper. I cried, got bitter and depressed, and vowed never to watch it again.

Three months later, impatiently skipping through queer content for inspiration for my dissertation, I found Heartstopper again. This time, I fell in love.

It’s not just that Oseman is local (I see you slyly drawing the Corn Exchange and the Guildhall chamber and passing them off as a hotel 😉). Her ability to craft characters and storylines you are invested in in such a short period of time is incredible. I can’t remember the last time I felt so connected to any fictional characters – and that is testament to Oseman’s ability to make them feel so real and alive.

Joe Locke and Kit Connor gel immediately as leads Charlie Spring and Nick Nelson, respectively. Their onscreen chemistry is evident in every scene, their queer energy infectious. You get the impression they are meant to be together and are rooting for them from the moment the animated leaves swish across the screen for the first time. Their first kiss scene is so wonderfully well-written, -acted and -directed that you cannot help but feel every emotion these characters are experiencing, although it comes so unexpectedly early in the series that you begin to panic about what drama could come between them for the rest of the series.

For a queer man in his 30s, the show’s meaning goes deeper still. Authentic queer characters in the media have historically been few and far between (often rooted in tragic storylines rather than happy ones) – and authentic bisexual characters a young person struggling to identify and come to terms with their own sexuality could relate to were non-existent.

I have written and spoken about my coming out story many times before. I was Nick’s age by the time I realised I was bisexual, having spent years questioning and trying to figure out my sexuality. But I didn’t come out fully, properly, until I was 30.

Nick takes his time to figure out who he is, too, although the production team do an incredible job in wrapping him in bisexual lighting at key points throughout the series – and even enlisted the help of a real bisexual YouTuber to help him in his self-discovery. When he finally comes out to his mum in the series’ closing scenes (major spoilers in video below), you can be forgiven for thinking your viewing room of choice has developed a very dusty atmosphere. It is, I think, my favourite coming out scene in any media to date – and will take some effort to beat!

For me, Year 11 was half my lifetime ago. When I was Nick’s age, Netflix was not the streaming giant it is today. Instead, it provided rental DVDs (remember them?) by post. Streaming was limited by technology; the idea of a streaming website offering access to thousands of films and TV shows (let alone producing over 1,500 of its own) would have seemed ludicrous. Yet queer titles are now just a couple of button presses away (and I should know – I’ve watched enough of them!).

If I’d have had Heartstopper when I was Nick’s age, maybe I wouldn’t have felt so afraid of other people’s reactions to wait another 14 years before coming out.

For me, that is Heartstopper’s biggest achievement. Beyond simply the writing, the amazing graphic novels (seriously, I know they’re aimed at young adults, but go buy them!) and the first-class acting, its portrayal of love and happiness for queer characters and its message that it’s okay to be who you are (and that it’s okay to take as much time as you need to figure out who you are) is something that wasn’t only wanted by the queer community, it was needed.

It’s impact on me, a 32 year-old bisexual, was more than I ever thought possible from a show aimed at people half my age. Its impact on the current generation of young queer people cannot be underestimated.