I have a meme account on Instagram where I shame tops. Yes, it sounds silly (even to me) but would it still sound silly if I told you my memes are a tool to confront sexual power dynamics, and stereotypes in the queer community? Maybe even that also sounds funny, but bear with me. You may like what you read.
Before I get into it I want to set up the two cultural pillars that drove me to shame tops. First, it is undeniable that each of our lives are dictated by our proximity to power. We are given things and things are taken away from us depending on our relative access to power. Secondly, queer men categorize their sexual desires. The classic image of queer male sexuality is a triptych comprised of:Â
- Tops, people who prefer being the insertive partner during anal sex.
- Bottoms, people who prefer being the receptive partner.
- Verses (short for versatile), people who prefer both.
Why I shame tops.
Here’s what I’ve noticed…  tops’ identities are wrapped up in conceits of power, masculinity, and desirability. Topping is conflated with dominance, which is rooted in heteronormativity and sexism. When someone tops or is the insertive partner, on the surface, they are the more dominant partner and thereby have more power. Inversely, bottoming can be viewed as a submission. Someone who bottoms relinquishes power, so they say.Â
And, yes, power bottoms (dominant-behaving bottoms) and sub tops are out here thriving, but the aforementioned more simplistic ideas about topping and bottoming are deeply embedded in gay culture. They exist in the things we tell each other every day through the apps and in the clubs. We uphold tops’ power through upholding their desirability (“Tops are scarce”) and their masculinity (“I only have sex with masculine tops”). We say verses are just ashamed bottoms. We propagate stigmas associated with bottoming. We don’t question total tops who’ve never tried bottoming. It is my belief that these attitudes so saturated in our community create power structures that value certain sexual positions and desires over others.
To turn the power structure on its head, I shame tops. There’s a concept called “punching up” that I use in my account. The idea is that when a group with less power shames or, in my case, makes fun of a group with more power—the group with less power gains more than the group with more power loses. Tops don’t lose much when I shame them for their behaviors because “gay culture” supports them.
Now, things can get tricky when shaming desire. I am aware of this. It should be said that desire can be deeply personal, and that shouldn’t be questioned; but desire can also be social, which should always be questioned.
It probably doesn’t come as a surprise that tops, mostly total tops (tops who never, under any circumstances, bottom), have left me worse off than when they found me. I mean, I created an entire Instagram account which  primary function is to shame tops. It’s not just me though. I made @versfirst to not only lift myself up, but for others in my community who have been devalued by tops. I was actually surprised when I connected with people who felt the same way as I did. Other queer people really were experiencing the same things as I was. I get messages all the time from people commiserating with me, laughing with me, and being a part of a community within a community that validates their experiences with tops.
Beyond top shame.
When I made my Instagram account, I was so sick of tops’ reductive attitudes about sex. My account was an outlet to vent my anger at the tops who sexually coerced me, who pressured me into compromising my own desires, who viewed me as powerless and took power from me. My reaction was to use memes to critique their harmful behaviors and the culture that promoted those behaviors. Using this light-hearted, yet direct medium to channel my frustration has helped me cope without emotionally wearing myself out. Without having to confront every top I met in person, I could address my top-based traumas. At first, my anger was directed solely at tops, but in the process of dissecting my anger through memes, I realized that tops were just the surface of my frustration. Power inequalities within sexual position identities is only one symptom of a larger problem.
The bigger picture.
Queer sexuality is stifled. We are so bogged down by stereotypes, categories, and misaligned associations. Through the stories my account’s followers have shared, I’ve learned so much about how the LGBTQ+ community exists within similar frameworks, and that this discussion extends to and affects us all. Queer women use similar language for topping and bottoming. Some queer women use the term “switch” instead of “vers.” I loved hearing that. Transgender men are pigeonholed as bottoms by cis gay guys. I hated hearing that.
I’ve also begun to write about race. As a mestizo Latino, I know a bit about racial stereotyping in the bedroom. Black and brown people are expected to top, and Asians are often expected to bottom. In American politics, these stereotypes have an origin way before gay people were allowed to come out and define their sexuality. In our current political environment, where it is entirely impossible to separate power from race and almost impossible to separate power from sex, it makes total sense that racial power dynamics would seep into our sex lives.
Going back to my original grievance, gay men have never really viewed sexual positioning as a spectrum. We view it like the triptych above: tops, bottoms, and verses. We don’t allow desires to shift, expand, or contract. We say people with big dicks are wasting their assets if they don’t top. We say masculine people always top. We say younger guys should bottom for older partners, and we say—get ready for this one—every gay man wants to have anal sex.
What I hope to do with top shaming is encourage people to question the motivations at play. In questioning our sexual desires we figure out where our desires come from and what factors influence them. As queer people, we are more free today than ever before, but we have more work to do. We must stop simplifying our sex and start de-socializing our sex.
To that end, I shame tops.
*You can join Miles Oliva’s movement on Instagram at @versfirst.Â