Every time I had a feeling in 2020, I baked a three-layer cake or watched Teen Wolf. Sure, I did other things to soothe the ever-mounting anxiety of pandemic life—abruptly running back and forth between rooms like a house cat was a personal favorite—but these two were the constants, the MVPs who never left my side. And if NYC is a secondary character in every cinematic Bildungsroman set within its chaotic borders, the cis male chest is a secondary character in MTV’s supernatural drama Teen Wolf. In this essay I will—no seriously, in this essay I will explore this undeniable truth because, let me tell you, friends, series creator Jeff Davis didn’t make Tyler Hoechlin do gratuitous shirtless pull-ups for us to ignore his tireless efforts.

You didn’t think I’d leave you without a pic of this, did you? I have sworn my allegiance to the thirst club, and it is my duty to provide.

Like many other people in the past year, my shift from public space to indoor life came with a few gender-related side-effects. Since I was inside all the time, controlling my environment and everything I did within it, there was an alleviation of the pressure to perform gender in a socially acceptable way. When I thought about what being non-binary means for me, what it physically looks like, I didn’t have to factor in the judgment of the outside world. There was no worrying about snide, conservative coworkers or angry, combative strangers on public transit. It was just me and my partner and my cats and a closet (aaayyeee) full of possibilities in this new, insular, personal world where the only one who determines my presentation is me. And then there was Teen Wolf.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the show, Teen Wolf revolves around the misadventures of Scott McCall (Tyler Posey), a teenage boy who is bitten by a werewolf while out in the woods with his best friend Stiles Stilinski (Dylan O’Brien). It’s six seasons of an ever-expanding cast of characters, both supernatural and human, trying to survive in the veritable death trap of their hometown of Beacon Hills, California. But I’d describe the show a bit differently. In fact, I once had a dream that I was ranting to a friend about how Teen Wolf was the “gayest straight show ever.” Intent on demonstrating my point, I put on a scene that involved a scantily-clad Stiles going “undercover” in a gay club with Peter Hale (Ian Bohen) while gesticulating wildly and shouting “see?! There’s no heterosexual explanation for any of this!” Honestly, even though that scene only happened in my dream world, it’s… not that much of a stretch from canon material; there is indeed no heterosexual explanation for this show.

Not since booty-popping Nightwing first burst on the scene has there been a franchise so full of male versions of the “strong female character” pose.

Despite it’s infamous reputation for queerbaiting (that’s an essay for another time, but just know, dear readers, I too am furious), this show is one of the most blatantly gay/female gazey things I’ve ever seen on TV. I mean, the season 1-4 DVDs have shirtless montages as special features (with cheeky little names like “the shirtless montage strikes back!”); the show makes no secret of the fact that it was partly created as an entry to the Ultimate Thirst Olympics. It’s so gay that when a female character is supposed to be the object of lust for straight guys, they shoot the scene like a queer alien trying to figure out what the hets like. In season three, every time Jennifer Blake (Haley Webb) would enter a room, the camera lingered on her heels clicking across the tile, and I just kept imagining Jeff Davis sitting there like “uh… straight men like ankles, right? Edith Wharton books are my frame of reference. I don’t know, man, who cares? This show isn’t for them.”

Between Daddy Chris Argent (JR Bourne) and Wonder Twink Stiles, there is no shortage of men looking beautiful in t-shirts too, and it’s impossible not to experience intense chest envy. The ability to look the way I want in a t-shirt has been a particularly acute source of gender yearning for as long as I can remember. You see, the thing about my breasts is that I’m always aware of them. The way they shift and inform my movements. The way they gap all the buttons on any shirt I buy regardless of size. They’re too large to really bind properly, and they ensure that all strangers who see me will immediately clock me as female no matter what I do. Passable androgyny isn’t really an achievable goal for me. Now, I don’t know if I want top surgery someday. I don’t know if I just want a reduction that makes it easier to bind. I don’t know if I want to try HRT and see if the process shakes loose any revelation about my next step. But I do know I’ve been uncomfortable with that part of my body for most of my life, and it’s weirdly soothing to watch Stiles look the way I wish I did in plaid button-downs or Peter rocking a plunging v-neck.

Add this to the list of gay evidence. Here’s how my friend assumes this decision went down. Teen Wolf Costuming Dept: How low should we cut this v-neck? Jeff Davis: Yes.

Now let’s talk a little more about fan favorite Stiles Stilinski, the whip-smart, lovable Sassotron 5000 without whom Himbo Scott McCall would be dead. Stiles questioning his identity and worrying about whether or not he’s attractive/desirable is a running theme for his character. Sure, it’s typical teenage insecurity, but it’s more than that too, and while he piles on the snarky swagger to mask his struggle to feel comfortable in his own skin, it’s always there. Okay, I said I wouldn’t delve into the queerbaiting, buuuttt it’s important here. There are several pivotal scenes where Stiles questions his own queerness.

Stiles asks gay classmate Danny whether or not he finds him attractive several times. Danny only ever seems to respond with exasperated eyerolls that leave Stiles visibly frustrated, sighing and calling after Danny as he walks away, desperate for someone who ostensibly knows more about queerness to tell him what he is. Caitlin, a bisexual character who sadly poofs into nonexistence the way many queer Teen Wolf characters do (I’m trying not to derail this essay with a rant, but… if you know, you know), point blank asks Stiles if he likes boys.

His response?

To stare into the distance in open-mouthed confusion before widening his eyes in a lightbulb “oh fuck… do I??” moment. Stiles doesn’t know what he is, he just knows he’s something, and if that doesn’t describe my gender journey in a nutshell, I don’t know what does. To quote a close friend, “sometimes I hate that the only thing I know for sure is that I’m not cis. Beyond that, I don’t really know what I am.” I can’t count the number of times I felt that way as a kid and as an adult. It’s an ongoing process of discovery that may never be over, but I’m starting to be okay with that.

Stiles is also neurodivergent (canon diagnosed with ADHD although the show sadly drops the ball on that) and a victim of trauma who regularly experiences panic attacks. It’s no wonder a lot of us project onto him, and, considering the aforementioned moments and his perpetual misfit status, the eccentric “normal” among a sea of supernatural friends and enemies, it makes sense that trans Stiles and gender-swapped Stiles is really common in Teen Wolf fanfic. It’s easy for us to see ourselves in him (especially because O’Brien lends a lot of relatability and authenticity to the role, giving a performance full of nuance and tenderness), and exploration of gender identity and dysphoria through fictional characters has a long-standing tradition in fandom. Fiction is a safe arena to explore these things, a way to discover ourselves without having to make scary declarations in real life before we’re ready. And even after we have made those declarations, it remains a valuable tool for coping with dysphoria and gaining a more complex understanding of ourselves. You better believe I had those AO3 tabs open the second I finished the show.

I’ve been obsessed with the concept of “ease of movement” for a long time. It’s a theme that crops up in my writing a lot, and it wasn’t until relatively recently that I realized it stems from dysphoria and a general sense of not always fitting inside the space I was given. Maybe it sounds a bit absurd, but with so much focus in Teen Wolf on bodies, transformation, and motion, I sometimes find it easier to imagine possibilities for my body, no longer viewing my meat suit through the lens of limitation but rather considering its potential. Stiles is a jumpy, anxious character who jitters through movement; he nervously taps on desks, falls into things, and the fact that he’s on the lacrosse team but so terrible at it that he remains on the bench is a recurrent joke.

Meanwhile, as Stiles is fumbling with his lacrosse net and navigating identity, Scott is changing into a new person. A person who moves with speed and agility, someone who can transform into an entirely different creature; he starts to move through the world with newfound confidence and ease. Peter Hale blatantly says as much to Stiles: “It could’ve easily been you. You’d be every bit as powerful as him. No more standing by his side, watching him become stronger and quicker, more popular, watching him get the girl. You’d be equals.” By the way, Peter says this right before he offers to turn Stiles into a werewolf, sensually purring and caressing Stiles’s arm like Lestat about to bite Louis because again, this shit is always gay as fuck.

Stiles refuses the bite, telling Peter he doesn’t want to be like him or Scott. And is that not a relatable sentiment? I’ve envied so many bodies for forming shapes mine can’t, but it’s never that I exactly want to be them. I don’t want to trade places. I want to be my own version of it, to come into my body as myself and not someone else. To find out what that means for me. Peter mentions that Stiles’s heartbeat wavers when he says he doesn’t want this (in the show, werewolves can tell when you’re lying), and to me, this shows Stiles does want to change, he does want the things Peter lists, but he wants to do it on his own terms, not through a transformation that’s foisted upon him. Solidarity, Stiles!

In the Teen Wolf universe, any kind of shapeshifting is possible. You can become a wolf or a wendigo or a kitsune. Even in the Nogitsune plot line, the solution to defeating a thousand-year-old entity hinges on body modification. Werewolf mythology as metaphor for puberty is super common in horror, and when used with primarily male characters as it is here, it’s also a device for talking about toxic masculinity and how one can choose to take control over bad impulses and learn new behavior patterns. There’s plenty of that here, namely Stiles guiding Scott through his first full moon when he acts like an impulsive asshole; Stiles assures him that he knows this isn’t who Scott really is as he chains him up to protect him from himself. But I don’t know why I never thought of interpreting it as a metaphor for my own gender identity, particularly since werewolves live as two bodies: human and wolf form.

I suppose I overlooked it for the same reasons I didn’t come out as non-binary until I was pushing thirty: I never allowed myself to entertain it out of fear, I didn’t understand myself as well as I thought I did, life is an endless well of oscillating discovery, and I simply didn’t have the language for it until now. I think sometimes the upcoming generations take for granted that gender identity terms are experiencing more mainstream prevalence now. When I was growing up, they were more reserved for academic texts I didn’t meet until college (thank you for existing, Judith Butler).

No one was going to say the word non-binary to me in my Bible Belt rural town with a church on every corner. I had a little bit of internet access, but not much. I never knew what to do with the weird ache and sense of belonging I felt reading descriptions of male bodies in Alan Hollinghurst books, the way Eddie Izzard and her comments about feeling like a “lesbian trapped in a man’s body” resonated so hard. I just knew it wasn’t the same ache as sexual attraction; it was something more like kinship and a profound sense of something you know is missing but can’t quite name.

The way watching Teen Wolf soothes those aches might seem incongruous to cis readers. Why look at something that has been upsetting to you before, something you envy and aren’t sure you’ll ever get? Why is it a comfort now? First off, I want to make it clear that I can only speak to my own experience. I hate it when anyone, whether they be in the community or outside of it, tries to assert that any group under the LGBT+ umbrella is a monolith. There is no right or wrong way to experience your identity and to relay those experiences to your comfort level. For me, there are a couple of reasons for the divide. The metaphorical buffer of this fantastical universe helps to kind of ease me into it. It feels less scary and insurmountable than having to think about these things in a setting that’s more grounded in reality. In Teen Wolf, I can take a step back and embrace fiction’s time-honored tradition of using figurative devices to allude to real life problems.

The other thing that’s changed for me is that I have a much better grasp of what these feelings are now. When I was younger and didn’t know how to articulate any of this, it did sometimes hurt to view things that reminded me, although I continued to seek them out as a proverbial itch I couldn’t scratch. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I just knew that I was looking and couldn’t stop. But now? Naming something has always had power for me.

Whether it be figuring out the precise source of an anxiety and breaking it down or even just the simplicity of learning a beautiful word that names a feeling you never knew how to describe before (the German language excels at this). It feels like taking control and coming that much closer to grasping the truth of something. So now, when I watch Teen Wolf and feel a twinge at those scenes, I know what I’m feeling. Even if I’m not quite there yet with figuring out what I want to do about it, I know I’m on the way. And that feels good. An incomplete puzzle isn’t so frustrating if you know that all the pieces do exist somewhere. You just have to find them.

And honestly… who can have a bad time when they’re looking at Stiles “chaotic bisexual goals” Stilinski in plaid?