Friends trampled its competitors in the Neilson ratings throughout the 1990s and 2000s and ushered in a new era of non-family-oriented sitcoms. Centered on six pals in their late 20s to early 30s, the NBC phenomenon hugged audiences tight with relatable storylines about living young and having fun in New York City. 30 years after its premiere, the story still gains new fans and welcomes old ones back for repeat viewing after repeat viewing.
Let’s talk about that one buzzword used in the intro though: relatable. Friends was genuine, but did it actually speak for everyone? There’s been so much written through the years about the show’s overrated stature as an example of American young adulthood that it’s now fashionable to criticize it and even ostracize it from a well-deserved legacy as a stalwart of the small screen.
Friends has been called racist. Others have talked about its faulty perspective on masculinity. The repeated proclamations that it’s homophobic are accompanied by articles on its transphobia, too. Talking about the show’s place in the pantheon of greats has painted it as an opponent of diversity in hindsight, especially amongst LGBTQ+ fans. Is Friends really as anti-queer as the internet wants you to believe?
The main reason Friends is even embroiled in these discussions is due to its engagement in the queer community during a time when many other shows didn’t even mention non-straightness. But representation and discourse don’t necessarily equate to fairness. What’s the point of showing queer people if those characters perpetuate stereotypes that contribute to negative connotations decades after the fact?
Two plot lines go under the microscope consistently when analyzing Friends’ queerness. The first would be Ross’s ex-wife Carol and her marriage to Susan in the episode “The One with the Lesbian Wedding”. Showing a same-sex union on network television in the 1990s should be perceived as historic. The episode was treated as the major event that it was, and retrospective analysis still respects that the show gave so much screen time to a subject that was firmly foreign during the last part of the 20th century.
A more in-depth look at the substance of the lesbian union shows it didn’t exactly shoot further than par, though. Carol and Susan are tokenized by others in the show, and the plot of the episode turns more into a character-growth moment for Ross (a straight, cisgender, white man) rather than an inspirational ode to progress. Queerness transforms Ross into a victim, even if the jokes are meant as off-hand remarks trying to elicit laughs.
Other shows from decades before Friends not only represented queer people, but they tried to uplift them and provide a different point of view for the audience while also providing humor. Maude (which ran from 1972 through 1978 starring the beloved Bea Arthur) is a great example of allyship during a time period that possessed nearly none in mainstream media. The title character is always forcing bigots to think about anti-queer opinions in a different light. The Golden Girls took the baton from Maude and wrote LGBTQ+ storylines into several episodes, often in an educational way and without feeling preachy.
You can see in these highlights that Maude’s and The Golden Girls’ theses on LGBTQ+ people are humanizing, especially for their time period; Friends’ takeaway is often trivializing. Nobody normalizes queerness in Friends. The protagonists’ jokes and remarks de-center LGBTQ+ struggles and place them firmly on the outside orbit of heteronormativity. This almost always makes the queerness in Friends a side act in the straight characters’ existences.
Sometimes network TV shows are not in complete control of their writing. We have no idea whether NBC would have allowed the series to dive deeper into the queer characters and make them a bigger part of the thematic layout on hand. The show gives a solid attempt to appease all sides of the viewing populace. Ross even manages to kindle a solid friendship with his lesbian ex-wife as the series goes forward, but it once again felt like the show was dipping its toes in the shallow end of the pool. Diving into the deepest part of the water, even one time, would have cemented Friends as a symbol of allyship instead of a question mark.
The second major LGBTQ+ storyline that recurs in Friends centers on Chandler’s transgender parent. The lack of respect for trans identities anytime Charles Bing appears on the screen is cringe-worthy and downright disrespectful. Even creator Marta Kauffman admitted the writers did a poor job of characterizing Mr. Bing, instead leading audiences to think the character might have still identified as a cisgender man in drag rather than a transgender woman. Once again, representation doesn’t help diverse minority populations if it contributes to historical misunderstanding and ignorance.
The show’s inability to commit to positive, educated depictions of the transgender community may be even more damaging today than it was in the 1990s and 2000s. Politicians, social media keyboard warriors, and celebrities push narratives that transgender people are persecuting the cisgender folks around them like they are a danger to others. Friends often did something similar by victimizing Chandler, as if he was the one we needed to feel sorry for because he had a transgender parent. This storyline was always an amalgamation of cheap stereotyping and continued Friends’ trend of obsessing over what makes someone masculine versus feminine.
“The One With the Metaphorical Tunnel” focused on Ross’s irritation at his son playing with dolls instead of “boy” toys. “The One With the Nap Partners” centers an entire plot around Joey and Ross feeling emasculated or feminized because they fell asleep on the couch next to each other. “The One With the Male Nanny” revolves around Ross’s insecurities directed towards Rachel’s nanny played by a young, attractive Freddie Prinze Jr. We don’t have all day here, but any casual viewer of Friends will remember the variety of episodes beyond just these that targeted untraditional masculinity as a sign of weakness. This indirectly invalidates queer people who must use so much of their time fighting against generalizations surrounding gender ideation and manifestation.
Friends is such an uplifting experience for so many that it often feels sacrilegious to suggest it’s ever trying to be malicious. Time is the great equalizer, though. What may have been pro-LGBTQ in 1994 certainly doesn’t have to be sugar-coated in 2024. Friends is undeniably outdated in its queerness no matter what positive contributions it may have possessed three decades ago. Kids should look to other beacons of positivity such as Heartstopper, Young Royals, Stranger Things and Never Have I Ever for modern queerness represented on television.