From the Office of Fun History Prevention and Control: Stop Calling Abraham Lincoln Gay

Can't a man who enjoyed a tall, fancy hat also appreciate a deep, meaningful companionship with his roommate?!

Some of those same scholars also argue against it—by our definition.

Lover of Men: The Untold History of Abraham Lincoln, hit theaters on Friday, igniting a slew of articles speculating whether or not the Great Emancipator was gay. Despite the sensational use of untold in the title, scholars have been dancing with the shadows of Lincoln's male friendships, most notably longtime friend Joshua Speed, with whom the future U.S. president shared lodgings — and a bed — for some time.

Ironically, it seems that the same academics who spent years telling the story are the ones providing the commentary. They no doubt cringed at the title, and more so at the poster, with Lincoln channeling David Bowie, but in the end, historians are thrilled to find a new audience for their tireless research.

That’s great. Tell the story with fervor and flair—but don’t pretend it’s new. In a strange turn of events, however, that not what needles me.

It’s that headlines asking if he was gay. Historians are gifted in fashioning terribly unappealing labels such as “anachronistic,” but the meaning matters: We must be cautious when projecting modern identities onto past intimacies. How do we balance personal anecdotes with the accuracy of past identities? Lincoln lived during a time when such arrangements could be driven desire, but more often, it was by necessity rather than desire—logistical and economic reasons dictated much of one's domestic arrangements.

Peeking into Lincoln’s personal life is akin to looking through a keyhole—a tantalizing glimpse, no doubt, but a narrow one. We can’t see the full room. His relationship with Speed, brimming with heartfelt support—particularly during Lincoln's darker days—was a snapshot of the intense male friendships of his time: It may have been sexual. It may not have been sexual. It was, however, viewed by contemporaries as entirely common and socially cool.

As historians, we are duty bound to be transparent about the boundaries of our evidence. Lincoln’s papers demonstrate just how layered and complex he was—cracking jokes in one letter, wrestling with melancholy in another, swaying nations with his speeches, all while staying an inscrutable figure that historians love to debate. In truth, Lincoln doesn’t fit neatly into any box I’ve seen built for him—and it shouldn’t be so hard to acknowledge that.

You might be wondering, what the hell do I know about this? When it comes to presidential history and queer stories, there’s significant overlap.

Let’s time travel to 2014, when I was the debut author of Alice+Freda Forever, the story of a same-sex love murder in 1890s Memphis. I lit out for my first book tour with adorable assumptions—like I could guide people’s language. I always used the term of “same-sex love” to refer to them, and in response, the world threw all shades of labels—gay, queer, lesbian.

What’s the big deal? Alice Mitchell, who murdered Freda Ward, never lived to see or comprehend those words. It still pains me to think of how she must have envisioned herself in the world: A unicorn in the already limited landscape of 19th century Memphis who had found her half-unicorn. I wish she’d known those words because she could have imagined a world with plenty of romantic options. Or maybe not. And that’s the point—we’ll never know.

See you soonish! In the meantime, you can find me on Twitter and Instagram and my books on Bookshop, Amazon, and your local bookstore or library. If you’d like me to sign or personalize my books, purchase copies from Oblong.