Commentary
Log off, touch grass, and self care
Social media companies are in business to keep us logged on
Among the “Terminally Online,” someone who is so involved with internet culture that they have something of an obsession with it, is a phrase known as “touching grass.” To touch grass means to log off, engage with the real world, and prioritize one’s offline relationships. While this conjures up all kinds of images of young adults playing video games in a room full of dirty laundry, piled up pizza boxes, and crusty socks hanging everywhere—the truth of the matter is that all of us could do well to “touch grass.”
Since COVID-19 use of the internet and social media has skyrocketed. In fact, what COVID did was merely accelerate our ongoing migration into the digital world. The LGBTQ community has always been at the forefront of this migration due to the marginalized status we occupy in society. Despite what some may argue, only recently have public displays of affection become acceptable, and even today some of those exchanges are met with hostility and discrimination.
With the rise of social media has come increased use of social media apps, and one of the number one social networking sites—outside of big three (Facebook, X formerly known as Twitter, and Instagram)—are dating apps. Grindr specifically has ranked as one of the most downloaded apps in iTunes (#25 at time of writing) and in the Google play store. It is particularly interesting to consider how much of our lives we have entrusted to apps of all varieties—ranging from our favorite moments with our families, to our most intimate details. Sharing these kinds of moments might have seemed unfathomable to us in earlier decades, but today this has become second nature to most.
What many fail to realize, or chose not to acknowledge, is that social media companies are well aware of the destructive tendencies that their products tap into. Nearly every aspect of these platforms has been intentionally designed to increase user engagement, and tap into our unconscious fears and desires. We fear missing an important event, we desire romance and intimacy, and worry about missing an important email that could change the trajectory of our careers.
For decades, companies from Grindr to Facebook have employed social science researchers to harness the addictive qualities of apps. Think about it, that all too familiar “Brrrrup” notification from Grindr. It’s almost Pavlovian in the way it causes us to immediately reach for our phones wondering who has contacted us, or what pic we’ve just been sent. This sound has intentionally been designed to be distinct from other apps, and thus to attach itself to a specific part of our brain. Researchers have shown we get a dopamine hit from getting a like, retweet, share, or other response—imagine what happens to our brains when we think a romantic encounter looms around the corner.
This strategy is highly effective. Grindr has one of the largest daily returning user bases of any social media company, and its users rank among the highest for time spent on the app. That downward motion to refresh the grid of profiles in proximity to you, that’s also been engineered to increase engagement. It’s like the pull of a Las Vegas slot machine with each swipe down offering the possibility that the next grid will be the one with your soul mate. While I’ve met several gay friends who met their partners on apps, and I’ve used the app to connect with a member of parliament who gave me a private tour while in London, I’ve also met many other men with an unhealthy, if not anti-social, relationship to the app.
My own reliance on these apps was reflected back to me recently, after becoming the victim of an internet scam artist. He had used several fake social media profiles to find out my interests, learn about me, and find out how I could be best manipulated. Gay romance scams are an understudied topic, one in which only a few researchers like Carlo Charles has studied. In speaking with him I have come to understand my story is not unique, and follows an all-too-familiar pattern. I was left wondering after engaging with his work how this happened, and why it happened to me.
While in Montreal this past summer for a conference I was given an answer, and had a mirror put up in front of my face. A very attractive young man messaged me, and he was also a fellow academic. He thought he recognized me from elsewhere, but looks can be deceiving—especially amid a grid of pixelated images. I had already decided after nearly becoming the victim of a scam I wasn’t interested in hooking up, dating, or anything other than being friends—plus I was there to work and had early morning appointments. Despite my encouragement to get out there and that he’d have no problems finding someone to make out with he decided to stay on the apps, “Everyone will just pass me by, so I’ll stay here on the apps, and maybe I’ll go to the gay sauna later.”
While I’m no prude, or a stranger to the apps or the saunas, it made me realize the addictive hold apps have had on our community. Apps like Grindr have created the illusion of an endless supply of men, and that the perfect lover lies just around the corner with the next swipe. These apps also leverage social-psychological aspects of human behavior against us to increase engagement. Like Facebook, apps like Grindr have made us dopamine addicts seeking instant gratification. When you pair that with other substances these encounters can quickly become dark experiences.
The next day was the Pride parade, and it must have lasted more than an hour. I saw him on the app and encouraged him to come down. He refused thinking he would be rejected. I told him he ought to, and that I’m sorry I couldn’t meet up with him as I had to get to the airport.
My career has been spent living in rural areas—areas known to be hostile toward LGBTQ people, but also areas in which even the community can be difficult to become involved in—and apps became a way to find some semblance of community. However, like many aspects of online life, these spaces are poor alternatives to real human interaction. Despite advertising otherwise, social media companies are businesses, and their business is keeping us logged on and engaged. Perhaps the solution is for us all to touch grass, and find the beauty that exists in all things—even if it’s not the ideal.
Christopher T. Conner is Assistant Professor of Sociology at the University of Missouri. His latest book, ‘Conspiracy Theories and Extremist Movements in New Times’ is available from Bloomsbury Press/Lexington.
Today, on World AIDS Day, we honor the resilience, courage, and dignity of people living with HIV everywhere especially refugees, asylum seekers, and queer displaced communities across East Africa and the world.
For many, living with HIV is not just a health journey it is a journey of navigating stigma, borders, laws, discrimination, and survival.
Yet even in the face of displacement, uncertainty, and exclusion, queer people living with HIV continue to rise, thrive, advocate, and build community against all odds.
To every displaced person living with HIV:
• Your strength inspires us.
• Your story matters.
• You are worthy of safety, compassion, and the full right to health.
• You deserve a world where borders do not determine access to treatment, where identity does not determine dignity, and where your existence is celebrated not criminalized.
Let today be a reminder that:
• HIV is not a crime.
• Queer identity is not a crime.
• Seeking safety is not a crime.
• Stigma has no place in our communities.
• Access to treatment, care, and protection is a human right.
As we reflect, we must recommit ourselves to building systems that protect not punish displaced queer people living with HIV. We must amplify their voices, invest in inclusive healthcare, and fight the inequalities that fuel vulnerability.
Hope is stronger when we build it together.
Let’s continue to uplift, empower, and walk alongside those whose journeys are too often unheard.
Today we remember.
Today we stand together.
Today we renew hope.
Abraham Junior lives in the Gorom Refugee Settlement in South Sudan.
Commentary
Perfection is a lie and vulnerability is the new strength
Rebuilding life and business after profound struggles
I grew up an overweight, gay Black boy in West Baltimore, so I know what it feels like not to fit into a world that was not really made for you. When I was 18, my mother passed from congestive heart failure, and fitness became a sanctuary for my mental health rather than just a place to build my body. That is the line I open most speeches with when people ask who I am and why I started SWEAT DC.
The truth is that little boy never really left me.
Even now, at 42 years old, standing 6 feet 3 inches and 225 pounds as a fitness business owner, I still carry the fears, judgments, and insecurities of that broken kid. Many of us do. We grow into new seasons of life, but the messages we absorbed when we were young linger and shape the stories we tell ourselves. My lack of confidence growing up pushed me to chase perfection as I aged. So, of course, I ended up in Washington, D.C., which I lovingly call the most perfection obsessed city in the world.
Chances are that if you are reading this, you feel some of that too.
D.C. is a place where your resume walks through the door before you do, where degrees, salaries, and the perfect body feel like unspoken expectations. In the age of social media, the pressure is even louder. We are all scrolling through each other’s highlight reels, comparing our behind the scenes to someone else’s curated moment. And I am not above it. I have posted the perfect photo with the inspirational “God did it again” caption when I am feeling great and then gone completely quiet when life feels heavy. I am guilty of loving being the strong friend while hating to admit that sometimes I am the friend who needs support.
We are all caught in a system that teaches us perfection or nothing at all. But what I know for sure now is this: Perfection is a lie and vulnerability is the new strength.
When I first stepped into leadership, trying to be the perfect CEO, I found Brené Brown’s book, “Daring Greatly” and immediately grabbed onto the idea that vulnerability is strength. I wanted to create a community at SWEAT where people felt safe enough to be real. Staff, members, partners, everyone. “Welcome Home” became our motto for a reason. Our mission is to create a world where everyone feels confident in their skin.
But in my effort to build that world for others, I forgot to build it for myself.
Since launching SWEAT as a pop up fundraiser in 2015, opening our first brick and mortar in 2017, surviving COVID, reemerging and scaling, and now preparing to open our fifth location in Shaw in February 2026, life has been full. Along the way, I went from having a tight trainer six pack to gaining nearly 50 pounds as a stressed out entrepreneur. I lost my father. I underwent hip replacement surgery. I left a relationship that looked fine on paper but was not right. I took on extra jobs to keep the business alive. I battled alcoholism. I faced depression and loneliness. There are more stories than I can fit in one piece.
But the hardest battle was the one in my head. I judged myself for not having the body I once had. I asked myself how I could lead a fitness company if I was not in perfect shape. I asked myself how I could be a gay man in this city and not look the way I used to.
Then came the healing.
A fraternity brother said to me on the phone, “G, you have to forgive yourself.” It stopped me in my tracks. I had never considered forgiving myself. I only knew how to push harder, chase more, and hide the cracks. When we hung up, I cried. That moment opened something in me. I realized I had not neglected my body. I had held my life and my business together the best way I knew how through unimaginable seasons.
I stopped shaming myself for not looking like my past. I started honoring the new ways I had proven I was strong.
So here is what I want to offer anyone who is in that dark space now. Give yourself the same grace you give everyone else. Love yourself through every phase, not just the shiny ones. Recognize growth even when growth simply means you are still here.
When I created SWEAT, I hoped to build a home where people felt worthy just as they are, mostly because I needed that home too. My mission now is to carry that message beyond our walls and into the city I love. To build a STRONGER DC.
Because strength is not perfection. Strength is learning to love an imperfect you.
With love and gratitude, Coach G.
Gerard Burley, also known as Coach G, is a D.C.-based fitness entrepreneur.
Commentary
Elusive safety: what new global data reveals about gender, violence, and erasure
Movements against gender equality, lack of human rights data contributing factors.
“My identity could be revealed, people can say whatever they want [online] without consequences. [Hormone replacement therapy] is illegal here so I’m just waiting to find a way to get out of here.”
-Anonymous respondent to the 2024 F&M Global Barometers LGBTQI+ Perception Index from Iraq, self-identified as a transgender woman and lesbian
As the campaign for 16 Days Against Gender-Based Violence begins, it is a reminder that gender-based violence (GBV) — both on– and offline — not only impacts women and girls but everyone who has been harmed or abused because of their gender or perceived gender. New research from the Franklin & Marshall (F&M) Global Barometers and its report A Growing Backlash: Quantifying the Experiences of LGBTQI+ People, 2022-2024 starkly show trends of declining safety among LGBTQI+ persons around the world.
This erosion of safety is accelerated by movements against gender equality and the disappearance of credible human rights data and reporting. The fight against GBV means understanding all people’s lived realities, including those of LGBTQI+ people, alongside the rights we continue to fight for.
We partnered together while at USAID and Franklin & Marshall College to expand the research and evidence base to better understand GBV against LGBTQI+ persons through the F&M Global Barometers. The collection of barometers tracks the legal rights and lived experiences of LGBTQI+ persons from 204 countries and territories from 2011 to the present. With more than a decade of data, it allows us to see how rights have progressed and receded as well as the gaps between legal protections and lived experiences of discrimination and violence.
This year’s data reveals alarming trends that highlight how fear and violence are, at its root, gendered phenomena that affect anyone who transgresses traditional gender norms.
LGBTQI+ people feel less safe
Nearly two-thirds of countries experienced a decline in their score on the F&M Global Barometers LGBTQI+ Perception Index (GBPI) from 2022-2024. This represents a five percent drop in global safety scores in just two years. With almost 70 percent of countries receiving an “F” grade on the GBPI, this suggests a global crisis in actual human rights protections for LGBTQI+ people.
Backsliding on LGBTQI+ human rights is happening everywhere, even in politically stable, established democracies with human rights protections for LGBTQI+ people. Countries in Western Europe and the Americas experienced the greatest negative GBPI score changes globally, 74 and 67 percent, respectively. Transgender people globally reported the highest likelihood of violence, while trans women and intersex people reported the highest levels of feeling very unsafe or unsafe simply because of who they are.
Taboo of gender equality
Before this current administration dismantled USAID, I helped create an LGBTQI+ inclusive whole-of-government strategy to prevent and respond to GBV that highlighted the unique forms of GBV against LGBTQI+ persons. This included so-called ‘corrective’ rape related to actual or perceived sexual orientation, gender identity, or expression” and so-called ‘conversion’ therapy practices that seek to change or suppress a person’s gender identity or expression, sexual orientation, or sex characteristics. These efforts helped connect the dots in understanding that LGBTQI+ violence is rooted in the same systems of inequality and power imbalances as the broader spectrum of GBV against women and girls.
Losing data and accountability
Data that helps better understand GBV against LGBTQI+ persons is also disappearing. Again, the dismantling of USAID meant a treasure trove of research and reports on LGBTQI+ rights have been lost. Earlier this year, the US Department of State removed LGBTQI+ reporting from its annual Human Rights Reports. These played a critical role in providing credible sources for civil society, researchers, and policymakers to track abuses and advocate for change.
If violence isn’t documented, it’s easier for governments to deny it even exists and harder for us to hold governments accountable. Yet when systems of accountability work, governments and civil society can utilize data in international forums like the UN Universal Periodic Review, the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women, and the Sustainable Development Goals to assess progress and compliance and call for governments to improve protections.
All may not be lost if other countries and donors fill the void by supporting independent data collection and reporting efforts like the F&M Global Barometers and other academic and civil society monitoring. Such efforts are essential to the fight against GBV: The data helps show that the path toward safety, equality, and justice is within our reach if we’re unafraid of truth and visibility of those most marginalized and impacted.
Jay Gilliam (he/him/his) was the Senior LGBTQI+ Coordinator at USAID and is a member of the Global Outreach Advisory Council of the F&M Global Barometers.
Susan Dicklitch-Nelson (she/her/hers) is the founder of the F&M Global Barometers and Professor of Government at Franklin & Marshall College.
