The Material of Lust

Abstract

Born in secrecy and mystery, the leather gay scene played an essential role in the American gay community after WWII and the Stonewall uprising. In this paper, I will explore leather’s obscurity in the context of its underground gay culture, material/object fetishization, and hyper-masculine symbolism and its power structures influence.

My interest in leather grew through collecting old fetish magazines depicting leather garments in an erotic context. I was primarily interested in the aesthetic values of the garments and tools/toys, pictures, and forms of a niche publication. Nevertheless, there is more than just visual appeal—I’m positioning leather as a protagonist in this paper.

I will delve into the lore of the underground leather subculture, its scene, and its history in the States to explore its power, symbolism, and radical depiction. My exploration kicks off with the vibrant Golden Age of Gay Liberation in the 1970s—when hot gay life was on fire before viruses, politics, and religion repackaged homosexuality¹—and then plunged into the grim reality of the HIV/AIDS epidemic in the 80s, a time when gay life went underground, and its spark faded away. Organizations like ACT Up emerged trying to raise awareness for the precise discrimination of the queer community. Furthermore, I will address the erotization of fascist aesthetics, and I will reflect on that, as well as the paradox in itself as this ideology is currently prominent. Masculinities cannot be discussed without mentioning systemic discrimination, the heteronormative matrix, patriarchy, and how these belief and normative systems exclude those who do not necessarily fit into the boxes and categories that are desired by society. I will finish with The ‘Leather Fraternity’ chapter, which is dedicated to the history of the subculture derived from bikers and the visibility of fetishes in the dating field.

Introduction

As a person with technical knowledge behind garment making, leather as a material was never approachable to me for some reason. Leather was always present in the background of my childhood, maybe yours as well. My grandfather (Kazimierz) was a tailor; he was often sewing heavy, shearling coats and jackets for his clients. My other grandfather (Tadeusz) owns a leather coat older than my mother. In one of the rare pictures of me together with both of my parents (Beata and Roman), they are both wearing leather jackets. In the past, there was no space for fragile materials. We have the luxury of changing our closets whenever we want. Primitive humans recognized the durability of the leather in prehistoric times, so it’s been around for some time.² We can list countless things made from it, so it’s hard to deny its presence in our lives.

Leather is an easy material to eroticize—it has strong sensory qualities. The scent is sometimes very intense, but other times, not so much. It depends on the leather treatment and tannery method.³ Touch—can be rough, soft, hard, thin, or polished. It all depends on textures and finish treatments.⁴ The most obvious is the look of the leather—blackness reflecting light and visible high contrast. Sexy.

My interest and curiosity about leather expanded when I started collecting old erotic/fetish magazines. As a visually driven person, I was browsing through them from an aesthetic point of view. The old layouts, staged photoshoots, and articles are handled with great care. It’s fascinating how people were so creative and engaged for such a niche audience. It only tells how valuable presentation is when it comes to depicting tasteful erotics.

This thesis explores the theme above the attractive facade of the images. I want to dive into the history of desires and their materialization in the homosexual community. Behind leather as an erotic tool stands the term leather sex, which is a broader understanding of sexual activities in the fetish lifestyle. In 1970s America, you could tell the sexual preferences in a gay bar just by someone’s appearance. The codes were easy to read by those who were informed; if you know, you know. The nightlife was crucial for the leather community in the late ‘60s/70s. Bars, dungeons, and cruising spots were spaces to explore your desires. And it’s a forbidden lifestyle. Hidden in the sense that leatherman, like the fabled and mysterious vampires, only come alive at night.⁵

Leather appeared in the American gay circles as an appropriation of hyper-masculine biker culture. An attitude of embracing, accentuating, and even exaggerating one’s femininity was replaced by an attitude of fleeing femininity and accentuating, even exaggerating, one’s masculinity.⁶ My question is how the history of appropriating the image of a powerful, strong heterosexual man in the gay community impacted the current state of homosexual desires.

The darkest place is under the candle

1969-1981

The history of homosexuality is traceable to ancient times. My area of exploration focuses on the USA and oscillates mainly in the time frame of the Stonewall uprising (1969) and the HIV/AIDS epidemic (1980).  During this time frame, the visibility of gay people varied depending on events happening in America. 

Homosexuality was listed by the American Psychiatric Association (APA) in the bible of Psychiatrists titled The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM). In DSM-I from 1951, it is recorded as a sociopathic personality disturbance. Homosexuality as a disorder is getting off the DSM in 1974; however, it was replaced with the category of sexual orientation disturbance in DSM-II. In 1980, DSM-III is introducing gender identity disorder to later become a sexual disorder not otherwise specified in the year 1987 (DSM-III-R). Finally, DSM-V includes a non-mental disorder diagnoses of gender dysphoria to describe people who experience significant distress with the sex and gender they were assigned at birth.⁷ A real LGBTQ+ medical oppression history in a prescribed pill. 

Nearly every state had a law on sodomy (man-to-man sexual acts), making homosexual behavior illegal until the 1970s. However, it wasn’t decriminalized on the federal level until 2004 with the Lawrence v. Texas by the decision of the U.S. Supreme Court in which the Court ruled that U.S. state laws criminalizing sodomy between consenting adults are unconstitutional.⁸

Considering the paragraphs above, it’s hard to talk about LGBTQ+ visibility in the daylight before the 1970s. Of course, society wasn’t following the current state of psychiatric research and updates of the state laws. The social acceptance of queer community was influenced by politics and media rather than legal papers. There were also authors bringing fire and light to illuminate the caverns of ignorance on the question of sexuality—Freud, the observer and theoretician; Ellis, the synthesizer and collector; and Kinsey, the hands-on investigator and statistician.⁹ In 1961, Illinois became the first state to decriminalize sodomy between consenting adults in private. Private is the crucial word here. Being openly gay was still not socially accepted; it just got off the sex crime status.  

Gays and S&M enthusiasts were finding themselves in random magazine-coded ads even in their 30s and 40s. Samuel M. Steward is bringing up his story of replying to the anonymous advertisement posted in Saturday’s Review of Literature. The ad said: ‘Should flogging* be allowed? Ex-sailor welcomes opinions and replies’. I can assume these kinds of posts were not common and were bringing a lot of controversy. Nonetheless, they were attracting who they meant to attract.  As discussed in a Reddit thread on LGBTQ+ history, one user recalls that “before the internet, gay men met through underground bars, coded newspaper ads, and word of mouth,” highlighting the necessity of secretive networking for queer communities in the past.¹⁰ After the events of Stonewall, homosexuality became more normalized, aka decriminalized, and a golden age of gay liberation came alive. It meant that gay life was popping (in some places), still in the dark, of course. I must highlight the fact that it wasn’t the case throughout all the States of America. In 1989, Larry Townsend wrote in his introduction to the second edition of The Leatherman’s handbook: (about the 70s) For the first time in living memory, we were able to enjoy our own business establishments without fear of the police harassment (...) at least we had achieved this in the cities where our numbers forced the local politicians to hear us, due to our power on election day.¹¹

The beginning of the gay secret language system started with a fabric bandana; it expanded into a full-on book of recognition. The origins of the handkerchief code are up for debate. One theory traces it back to San Francisco during the mid-19th century Gold Rush when there weren’t enough women around. Men were dancing together, and the usage of colored handkerchiefs enabled them to signal who would lead and who would follow a binary and patriarchal model. Later on, gays would appropriate this piece of recognition system and wear it around their arms, tucked into belts, or stuffed in back pockets-all of those had their own designated meaning. The Leatherman’s Handbook, written by Larry Townsend, was decoding and spreading awareness over the men craving knowledge.  Imagine remembering this system; it might seem crazy. Frankly, the fact that it existed doesn’t mean it was widely used. Townsend stresses that it wasn’t common knowledge; codes were simplified in other matters. Keys are attached to the pants: left side-top, right side-bottom (if ever-bottom guys were reluctant to admit their preference). Ear stud, worn in a pierced ear—again, left for the top, right for the bottom; same goes with nipple piercing. Even with given visual language, there remains the question of exactly what sort of specialized activities the guy wants (we can choose, but not limited to: bondage, discipline, roleplay, fistfucking, watersports—these are all very different actions).¹²

The reality is that gay communities were just like nowadays, and everyone knew everyone else anyway, so the codes listed above applied to specific communities visited out of your usual bubble.  Codes and gay appearances changed after the HIV epidemic outburst in 1981. First of all, ostracism toward homosexuals was reignited as they were labeled as carriers of a disease, along with heroin users (two in one). Despite the first reported AIDS cases in 1981, President Ronald Reagan did not publicly mention the disease until a press conference in September 1985, four years into the epidemic. The Reagan administration was slow to respond to the AIDS crisis, delaying funding and public acknowledgment on purpose.¹³ Nancy Reagan, despite her influential position, also failed to advocate for AIDS awareness or support during the critical early years of the epidemic.¹⁴ This political inaction enabled open discrimination and homophobia to thrive in American society once again. As a result, the LGBTQ+ community was forced back into the shadows. If the 1970s allowed queer people to be more visibly themselves, the 1980s demanded they put their guard up once again—even within their own community.  However, the AIDS crisis also galvanized radical queer activism, leading to the formation of ACT UP (AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power) in 1987.¹⁵ This grassroots movement emerged in response to government negligence and medical inaction, organizing highly visible protests, die-ins and direct action campaigns to demand treatment access and public recognition of the crisis.¹⁶ ACT UP activists disrupted Wall Street, the FDA, and even interrupted live television broadcasts to force conversations about AIDS.¹⁷ Their infamous “Silence = Death” slogan encapsulated the urgent need for visibility, rejecting the societal expectation that queer people should remain silent or hidden.¹⁸

In Gay Masculinities, Perry N. Halkitis brings up a sero-positive 55-year-old New Yorker, Steven, who follows his “12 steps to beauty.” Each Friday, Steven works out vigorously at a gym during his lunch hour, ensuring that his “pecs” and “abs” are as tight as can be for a night of sexual conquests. Dutifully, he arrives at the club sometime before midnight, pays his entrance fee, and prepares his dimly lit room to be inviting to both friends and strangers. On occasion, Steven uses condoms to “fuck” men who disclose their negative status. With his HIV-positive partners, he enjoys endless “bareback” (condom-free, anal) sex, often exchanging ejaculatory fluid orally or anally.¹⁹ This passage vividly presents how badly men wanted to mask their illness, even at the cost of others’ lives. The AIDS crisis created a paradoxical dynamic—while some engaged in radical activism to demand treatment and visibility, others, like Steven, navigated a world of internalized stigma and risk. 

Tom of F...

The connection between gay fetish culture and fascist aesthetics is messy, controversial, and full of contradictions. Artists like Tom of Finland, critiques by Susan Sontag, and the general fascination with military gear and power symbols all play a role in this story. While some see these influences as empowering or subversive, others argue they glorify oppressive systems.

Tom of Finland (Touko Laaksonen) is one of the most well-known artists in gay history. His illustrations of hyper-masculine men; bikers, sailors, cops, and soldiers helped shape gay aesthetics, especially in the leather scene. But his work also sparks controversy. Some of his drawings include men in Nazi uniforms or other fascist-style military gear. While these images make up only a small part of his work, they raise important questions. Did Tom of Finland use these symbols just for the aesthetics, or was he making a statement? Was he reclaiming these uniforms, or unknowingly feeding into their dark history? His personal history adds another layer of complexity. During World War II, Laaksonen served in the Finnish military, which was at the time allied with Nazi Germany against the Soviet Union. His memories of the war included not just battle experiences, but moments of erotic fantasy tied to dehumanized and depraved soldiers in uniform he had encounters with.²⁰

Susan Sontag, a cultural critic, wrote an essay called “Fascinating Fascism”, where she explored why people-especially in fashion, film, and fetish culture are drawn to the look and feel of fascism while ignoring its violent history. She argued that fascist symbols are so dramatic and visually striking that they often get romanticized. The sharp uniforms, leather boots, and strict discipline can make them seem powerful or sexy, while their actual history of violence gets pushed to the background.²¹

This is exactly what happens in some parts of gay fetish culture, where people adopt military gear, boots, and uniforms as symbols of dominance and submission. Sontag warns that when people admire this aesthetics without questioning where they come from, they risk accidentally glorifying oppressive systems.

Boots and military uniforms hold a special place in fetish culture. They represent authority, control, and discipline-things that can be intimidating, but also erotic. The act of boot worship (polishing, kissing, or licking boots) is one way these power dynamics play out. At the same time, it’s impossible to ignore where these uniforms come from. Many of the styles that became part of leather culture were first worn in the military, police, and fascist groups. Some people argue that by adopting these looks, fetish culture is taking power away from those institutions. Others say it’s playing too close to a dangerous line-one where people forget the real violence behind the aesthetics. During the war, the German clothing factory that eventually became the international menswear powerhouse-Hugo Boss produced thousands of SS and other uniforms.²²

The debate over fascist imagery in fetish culture isn’t just historical, it still happens today. In 2023, Durk Dehner, co-founder of the Tom of Finland Foundation, was removed as a judge from the International Mr. Leather competition after photos surfaced of him wearing Nazi symbols. This caused an uproar, showing that these issues are far from settled.²³ This news is raising a question on where is the line in erotic fantasies and desires? Eroticizing and praising annihilation symbolism is a pathology.

Gay fetish culture has a complicated relationship with power and oppression. Symbols like military gear and boots can feel sexy and powerful, but they also carry dark histories. What’s the difference between taking back a symbol and glorifying it? Can gay men reclaim the hyper-masculinity that was used to oppress them, or are they sometimes reinforcing the same power structures? Fetish culture and gay communities needs to acknowledge the history behind the aesthetics it embraces.

Homonormality

Gay culture has long been obsessed with hyper-masculinity-the worship of muscles, dominance, and traditional “manliness.” The perfect gay man, according to mainstream representation, is ripped, confident, in control, and definitely not weak. He’s not just masculine; he out-masculines straight men. The more “straight-acting” you are, the higher your status. The more feminine, the lower.

This isn’t just about looks. It’s about power. It’s about reinforcing the same patriarchal structures that dictate who gets to be in control and who has to submit. Bell Hooks makes it clear that men, from a young age, are taught that sex is about domination—that masculinity isn’t just about having a penis; it’s about proving that you can take power, hold it, and never let it go. This applies to all men, straight or gay.²⁴ Gay men don’t escape the system—they just rearrange the roles.

This is where homonormality comes in. Instead of breaking free from heteronormative structures, homonormativity forces queerness into a “respectable” version of masculinity. It tells gay men that they can have rights, get married, and be accepted—but only if they fit the mold. They need to be “real men.” They need to prove that they can have monogamous relationships, masculine mannerisms, and traditional gender roles. Society has decided that the most acceptable gays are the ones who act like straight men.

The issue here isn’t just about respectability—it’s about power dynamics. If traditional masculinity is about who dominates whom, then gay men who embrace homonormativity are not rejecting patriarchy—they’re just fighting for a seat at its table. Instead of dismantling the system, they’re asking, “Can we be the ones on top instead?” And that’s the core of the problem: the hierarchy never disappears. It just reshapes itself. Bell hooks describes how men—whether straight or gay—are conditioned to believe that sex is about performance, not pleasure. Which means that it is about constantly reaffirming masculinity. That if you’re not fucking, dominating, or proving your power, you risk falling into the category of the weak. Gay men who buy into homonormativity take this lesson and turn it into their own ranking system. The “top” isn’t just a sexual position—it’s a status symbol. The more dominant you are, the more of a man you are. The more passive you are, the closer you are to being feminized—and, therefore, disposable. All of this means, that the system that is highly problematic and reaffirms binary gender and roles of power are left being unquestioned. This is where the contradiction of homonormativity becomes obvious. On the surface, it presents itself as progress—proof that gay men can integrate into society. But in reality, it reinforces the exact same power structures that have oppressed queer people for centuries. It ensures that the wrong kind of queerness—too feminine, too sexually free, too radical—gets pushed to the margins. Bell hooks points out that gay male sexuality, far from being some liberated alternative, often mirrors the most extreme forms of patriarchal masculinity. Straight men prove their masculinity by dominating women. Gay men who follow patriarchal logic prove their masculinity by dominating each other. This isn’t freedom. It’s just a different way of playing the same game.

The irony is that homophobia and hyper-masculinity fuel each other. Straight men hate gay men not just because they’re attracted to other men but because some gay men expose how fake the whole masculinity performance is. And yet, some of those same gay men cling to patriarchal masculinity just as much as their straight counterparts—desperately trying to prove that they aren’t weak, aren’t soft, aren’t feminine, that they belong on the “man’s” side of power. Homonormality is not a solution—it’s a trap. It gives gay men an illusion of acceptance while making sure they never actually challenge patriarchy. It teaches them to fit in, to be palatable, to be “one of the good ones.” But if your inclusion depends on your ability to imitate the same oppressive systems that forced you into the closet in the first place, what exactly are you being included in?

True queer liberation isn’t about proving that gay men can be just as patriarchal as straight men. It isn’t about copying the same systems of power and pretending we’re free. It’s about burning those systems down completely. I think gay people nowadays lose their connection to their feminine selves by being ignorant about all those things. Being ultimately sexy is holding the dualism of soft and hard, not keeping the big muscles only.

The Leather Fraternity

Bikers bar

The image of the leather-clad biker emerged from motorcycle groups formed after World War II in 1945-for some returning veterans, motorcycling provided camaraderie, adventure, and a taste of danger, serving as a substitute for the intensity of wartime experiences. Members of motorcycle clubs forged strong brotherhoods rooted in military traditions and the warrior ethos, though these early clubs were not associated with gay culture. The use of leather apparel, essential for military motorcycling during the war, became a defining feature of post-war biker culture.  

Given the stereotypes of homosexuals as sissy effeminate and deviant pedophiles, the hyper-masculine leather appearance became a safe choice as a public undercover. Gay bars gathering leather clientele emerged in the 1950s and 1960s and became the easiest places for leathermen to meet and find camaraderie. Because of potential police raids, early gay motorcycle groups, just like other gay groups, were typically secretive as openness could result in members’ loss of jobs and criminal prosecution.²⁵ 

Despite this secrecy, gay motorcycle clubs became an underground network of connection and solidarity. One of the first and most significant groups, the Satyrs Motorcycle Club, was founded in 1954 in Los Angeles. Unlike mainstream motorcycle clubs, the Satyrs were explicitly gay, formed by ex-military men who sought both the brotherhood of biker culture and a space to express their sexual identities away from society’s scrutiny. Their annual Badger Flat Run, a camping and riding event, became a rite of passage, known for both its camaraderie and sexual freedom.²⁶  The Empire City Motorcycle Club (ECMC), founded in 1964 in New York City, remains one of the longest-running gay motorcycle clubs in the U.S. Unlike earlier groups that operated in secrecy, ECMC has managed to survive and thrive, evolving into a structured organization with membership rules: members must be gay men over 21, own and be licensed to ride a motorcycle, and live within 50 miles of Columbus Circle.²⁷ Though its early years were marked by discretion, the club today stands as a testament to how leather biker culture has shifted from an underground movement to an open symbol of gay identity. 

Gay motorcycle culture, once concealed within darkened bars and coded clothing, has morphed into a proud, visible subculture. Once a rebellious act of defiance against the stereotypes imposed on queer men, the leather-clad biker has become an enduring emblem of strength, pride, and brotherhood in the LGBTQ+ community.²⁸

Dear Sir vs Grindr

The Leather Fraternity was a 1970s California-based contact and correspondence organization for gay men established by John Embry, who also co-founded the leather magazine Drummer.²⁹ 

Dear Sir was a column in Drummer allowing sex-positive men to connect with each other via letters. The acts of meeting other men weren’t necessarily physical. Published ads were from different states, often rural places where men with the same specific needs were located miles from each other. Their relations were suspended in the fantasy realm. The lack of information on SM sex and fetishes provoked the creation of a tight community where men were sharing their experiences and educating each other.  

It’s fascinating how people crave attention and validation; it’s especially visible in queer communities. Rejected and facing violence, wrong assumptions (homosexuals=pedophiles, deviants, infected), and disrespect are highly in need of acceptance and recognition. That’s what I want to believe Dear Sir mail correspondence was doing. Finding your safe bubble to gain approval and along with that-confidence. 

Our times are not much different—homophobia is still doing okay, except homosexuals gained more rights (in some parts of the world) and general social acceptance (again, not everywhere). Writing letters to your potential hookup’s P.O. box in the past transformed into digital DMs. Leaderboard cravings published in Drummer turned into tiles of torsos with oversexualized nicknames and bios on your little screen. Most people would say Grindr is a hookup app-I’m saying it’s an app for gaining attention from other men. How else would you explain little heads trapped in a square grid being online most of the day? You cannot have 8387 hookups a day... then why are you online? Gays love attention. 

Written representations of advertising man’s needs, fantasies, and looks in the 70s made people dive into their imaginations. Now you have everything on the plate-picture, bio, tags, measurements, needs as well as connected social media and no room for imagination. What you get is usually disappointment, as guys love to bend the reality when it comes to taking pictures. I believe sex was more interesting in the past—more room to fantasize and explore.  I believe everyone is deviated in some way-vanilla26 is a myth. Dear Sir column was published in the leather gay community realm-but I imagine not all the readers were committed chaps and whips collectors. Most of the ads are fetish oriented-true, but not all of them. My impression is that the guy who wanted to gain replies had to write interesting and imaginative descriptions of themselves, making them reflect on their needs, which, in the end, led to exploring their kinky selves. I also want to highlight the fact that men were paying in an ad per word-advertisers had to be creative and persuasive in a limited number of words.  The leather community was influential and supportive of re-creating yourself in the erotic context. Homonormality in current times made self-exploration fade. It is evident on Grindr that a few profiles visibly show interest in kinks. Also, the image of the leatherman lost its quality and sexiness. It’s flattened to the stereotypical guy with a mustache and chaps. Or maybe they are the OGs of the Leathermen Times? Maybe that’s why this stereotype exists in our times-leatherman is dead, the modern one. 

Conclusion

Leather culture started as something raw, rebellious, and underground—a way for queer men to take back power in a world that saw them as weak. It was more than just an aesthetic; it was a language, a way to recognize each other, to claim space, to create a world outside of the one that rejected them. But, like everything, it changed. What was once dangerous and thrilling has been watered down, turned into a costume, or frozen in time as a stereotype.

Queerness is more visible than ever, but that visibility comes with conditions. Homonormativity has smoothed out the edges, making space only for versions of gay identity that fit within mainstream expectations. The leatherman, once a figure of defiance and subversion, has been reduced to an aesthetic—something archival, something performative. And with the rise of Grindr and digital spaces, even desire itself feels different—faster, more accessible, but also more surface-level. The thrill of coded messages and secret glances has been replaced with curated profiles and instant validation.

So what remains? The past doesn’t need to be recreated, but its essence—freedom, community, and resistance—shouldn’t be lost. Queerness was never about fitting into rigid categories, whether masculine, dominant, or otherwise. Leather culture wasn’t just about an aesthetic; it was about carving out a space where identity and desire could exist without justification. That spirit of defiance, of refusing to conform, is what’s worth carrying forward.