In its early-2010s infancy, Geordie Shore was synonymous with boozing, banging, toxic-masculinity and tashing-on. Newcastle’s answer to Jersey Shore thrust eight, riotous twenty-somethings into a shared house, where they juggled nights on the toon, “work” and rendezvous’ in the infamous “shag-pad”.
The controversial MTV series birthed several breakout stars, especially female cast members like Vicky Pattinson, Charlotte Crosby and Holly Hagan. But it also attracted many critics. Geordie Shore “exhibits traditional sexist values” according to Professor Sharon Hayes’ book Sex Love and Abuse, which argued that male housemates’ behaviour often “reflected a deep contempt of women.” In the debut episode, Jay Gardner describes a then 18-year old Holly as “the minger”, while James Tindal says “you’d have to be mad to go there.”
Videos by VICE
Fast-forward to 2020, though, and the latest series ends with “Geordie-licious” – a club night celebrating diversity hosted in Newcastle gay club Powerhouse. So, how did a show once regarded by many as TV’s moral cesspit become a relative beacon of acceptance and inclusivity?
Largely, thanks to Nathan Henry. Joining in Series 10, cast in 2015, Nathan was the first openly gay housemate on any of the international ‘Shore franchises. In the years since, he has placed the contours of male queer life at the heart of the MTV behemoth. Suddenly, TV’s ultimate heteronormative spectacle was shouting: gay rights!
In a new series, Geordie Shore: Their Story, Nathan reflects on his experience. But with today’s reality TV phenomena like Love Island or Too Hot To Handle insisting on heteronormativity, maybe it’s the industry that would benefit more from considering Nathan’s story.
“When I look back, I’m like ‘Wow, we’ve come a long way on that show’”, Nathan tells me over the phone. “The whole narrative has changed. It’s not about boys going out and shagging girls anymore. It’s about family and community.”
One emblem of the show’s reputation back in the day are the discussions Nathan had with casting producers: “I told them I was bi – I didn’t know if I would get on the show otherwise.”
Despite coming out as gay to close friends and family four years prior, in his first series he tells viewers: “At the moment, I’m 70 percent [into] guys and 30 percent girls, but after I’ve had a drink – anything could happen.” Things did happen, and Nathan became the first ever gay reality TV star to engage in sexual activity on screen.
In series 11, Nathan decided he wanted to come-out fully to both castmates and viewers with the caveat that he had full agency over how the situation unfolded. “Obviously, I know it is a show that is produced, but I was like: ‘if I’m gonna do it, I’ve got to be in complete control.’ And the producers were like, ‘fine’.” Five years later, Nathan still receives messages from young queer viewers thanking him.
“Nathan’s story was relatable for lots of reasons”, says Jamie*, 19, who grew up watching Geordie Shore. “Especially as he started the show unsure of his sexuality but gradually found himself. He really showed me the journey of coming out, which is something that would normally be behind closed doors.”
Coming-out narratives had been a fixture elsewhere on TV since the ‘90s, from a litany of “tortured” or “confused” soap opera characters to the likes of Ellen DeGeneres on her eponymous ABC sitcom. Unlike Nathan’s experience, many of these portrayals were through one-dimensional lenses. “A heterosexual character in a soap might be a murderer, or a liar, or a thief, but a homosexual character is simply that: homosexual,” said Andrew McMillan in The Guardian. For many queer characters, sensationalist coming-out scenes were the only airtime they received.
Thankfully, after Nathan was open about his sexuality, the producers didn’t hand him his P45. But that wouldn’t have been unprecedented even for reality TV. Representations rooted in othering, generalising, or erasure mean the genre can also find out-queer characters hard to place. On The X Factor, openly gay contestants (Rylan, Diva Fever, Johnny Robinson) were presented as novelty acts who existed on the periphery of the serious competition. On The Real Housewives, they’re more often in the stars’ “glam squads” than the shows’ storylines. And, apart from one same-sex relationship in its six seasons, Love Island has made no concerted effort to include queer castmembers.
But when shows like Geordie Shore get it right, LGBTQ+ figures have a unique opportunity to thrive. In Reality TV and Queer Identities, Michael Lovelock quotes activist Christine Burns, MBE, who argued that when Nadia Almada won Big Brother in 2004 it was the intimate platform the genre affords its stars. For example, it was Nadia’s candid diary room sessions that helped her accounts of daily life as a transgender woman cut through.
“The positive response to Nadia is a sign of growing public understanding of transgenderism” Burns said at the time. “But it has only happened because viewers had an unprecedented opportunity to get to know her as a person rather than a label.”
Like Big Brother, Geordie Shore’s blend of private confessionals and close housemate interaction provides an optimum vehicle for Nathan to explore the under-reported, sinuous path queer men often endure after coming-out.
In series 13, when Nathan decides he would rather sleep in the “girls room”, he tells viewers privately: “It’s not that I don’t like the lads, but I’ve become more close to the girls and I can be myself around them.” Upon nervously announcing his decision to the boys, some are defensive, but castmate Gary Beadle sensitively grasps Nathan’s rationale: “Is it because we’re sitting talking about pulling and banging birds, and you can fit in more with their conversations than ours?”
A relatable dilemma for many young queer viewers who exist between gendered friendship groups plays out on screen, it resolves as Nathan tells the audience, “I’ve managed to explain things to the boys, and they’ve got my back.”
Beyond the dynamics between cast members though, there’s the challenge faced by out-queer men on reality TV to avoid society’s heteronormative visions of what they should be. Nathan has become the epicentre of the Geordie Shore house – in the series 20 poster, he’s seen sitting on a throne – and he’s done this without fulfilling the 24/7 entertainer stereotype previously required from gay men in exchange for representation.
At the same time, that doesn’t mean Nathan has had to mute his queerness. He dressed in drag on multiple occasions on the show, the first of which was on his birthday night out in the Australian outback (“There was a horse in the middle of the fucking bar” he tells me). After walking inside in a red wig and a dress, the locals’ stares almost made Nathan back-out.
“But all the lads were dressed in drag that night too, so they took over and were like ‘if you feel uncomfortable, we’ll make everyone else feel uncomfortable’. They kind of flaunted the queerness in these other people’s faces, but they were straight doing it.”
Seeing the heterosexual boys embrace Nathan so openly is invaluable for audiences. As Professor Shelley L. Craig, Canada Research Chair in Sexual and Gender Minority Youth, explains: “People still learn most about LGBTQ+ folks through TV. That Nathan can be accepted by the ‘lads’ without any issue counters tired ideas of how masculinity manifested equals homophobia. This gives permission to viewers to reject toxic masculinity and be accepting of the LGBTQ+ people in their lives, which in turn allows everyone to be their authentic selves.”
Cristian, 24, a gay viewer, recalls: “When Nathan came out, I remember thinking how supportive all of the lads were about it, and then they continued to embrace him as one of the boys. Especially considering these were the most stereo-typical lads you could get; it was really nice for me to see that acceptance from them.”
The intersection of queerness with hyper-straight culture on Geordie Shore is what gives Nathan’s portrayal its edge. The show isn’t exactly an avant-garde queer text to rival Paris is Burning, but it does reflect the rigid, heteronormative friendship groups familiar particularly to queer school-kids, or those who remain in small towns into adulthood.
Whilst Geordie Shore_’s representation of queer identity has been flawed – female bisexuality was at times positioned as frivolous in early series, and the first lesbian housemate only joined in 2019 – Nathan’s storyline proves that queer figures can break into straight TV spaces. And when they do, the benefits for all viewers outweigh the logistical challenges that producers on shows like to _Love Island and Too Hot To Handle over-emphasise.
If such shows were to ever take the plunge, finding queer participants at least wouldn’t be an issue. “I’d love it if they put me on Love Island!” Nathan laughs.
*Names have been changed for confidentiality.
