Elsie Blu

One of my core problems with Rocky Horror is the way it is frequently discussed as trans representation despite containing themes and portrayals that many trans women would recognize as deeply familiar forms of transmisogyny.

Dr. Frank-N-Furter is often celebrated as a queer icon. Depending on who is interpreting the film, Frank is described as a drag queen, a transvestite, a transgender figure, a nonbinary character, or simply someone beyond modern categories altogether. Yet regardless of which label is applied, Frank embodies many of the same stereotypes that have historically been weaponized against transfeminine people.

Frank is deceptive. Frank is sexually aggressive. Frank disregards consent. Frank manipulates others for personal gratification. Frank infiltrates spaces where they are not expected to be and uses disguise and deception to obtain sexual access to others. These are character traits central to the plot.

The film's treatment of consent further intensifies these concerns. Frank deceives both Brad and Janet into sexual encounters by disguising themselves as the other partner. These encounters are framed as comedic, liberating, and transformative. Contemporary audiences are often encouraged to interpret them as expressions of sexual freedom.

Consent requires knowledge and agency. The fact that these encounters are presented humorously does not erase the deception at their core. When audiences excuse these actions because Frank is charismatic, transgressive, or queer, they create a troubling double standard. Behaviors that would be condemned in most other contexts become acceptable because they are wrapped in camp aesthetics and cultural nostalgia.

As a trans woman living in a society that routinely accuses trans people of deception, predation, and sexual threat, I find it difficult to view this portrayal as harmless. For decades, anti-trans rhetoric has centered on the claim that transfeminine people and trans women are men disguising themselves as women in order to gain access to others. It is the logic behind bathroom panic campaigns, anti-trans legislation, and countless acts of discrimination and violence. Watching a character coded through gender nonconformity embody those exact fears does not feel subversive. It feels disturbingly familiar.

Defenders of the film often argue that Frank is not meant to represent trans women. In a strictly technical sense, they ~may~ be correct. The film emerged from a cultural context in which drag, cross-dressing, gender nonconformity, and transgender identity were frequently conflated. Frank is not a straightforward depiction of a trans woman.

The problem is that culture rarely operates according to technical distinctions. Audiences do not always separate drag performers, cross-dressers, transfeminine people, and trans women as neatly as academics do. Historically, society has often lumped all gender-nonconforming people together and projected the same fears onto all of them. Whether intended or not, Frank now colloquially exists within that history.

This becomes especially troubling when the film is promoted to modern trans audiences as empowering representation. I do not see empowerment in a character whose gender nonconformity is intertwined with predatory behavior. I do not see liberation in a portrayal that echoes stereotypes still used against my community today.

What frustrates me more is the tendency to treat criticism of Rocky Horror as a rejection of queer history. It isn't. Understanding the role a work played in the past does not require celebrating every aspect of it in the present. Queer communities have spent decades asking mainstream society to engage critically with its cultural icons. We should be willing to do the same with our own.