All American: A Queer Analysis

Highlighting Queer Erasure and Character Tropes in Black Media

In film, media, and literature, tropes are recurring archetypes, clichés, or patterns. They often involve common traits, behaviors, or situations that audiences immediately recognize. Some examples include (but are not limited to) the brainiac, the popular girl, the scaredy-cat, the hero, the villain, the sidekick, the jock, etc. Oftentimes, when a Queer character is written in mainstream media, their storyline is limited; they usually appear as a background or supporting character, and their Queerness is heavily toned down to keep the general public—also known as straight, cisgender people—from feeling offended.

While this does show progress from the past, where Black Queer characters were portrayed as sassy, flamboyant caricatures to serve as jokes for straight audiences, the progress is still not enough.

I decided to start this series because I wanted to provide a necessary critique on the representation of Queer people in Black media. It is 2025, and we still have not made the appropriate progress in recognizing and affirming the identities of Queer people in Black-led media—and not enough people are talking about this. Anti-Queer rhetoric remains normalized within the Black community, and the media plays a huge role in maintaining that. In this series, I will be breaking down the Queer tropes that show up in modern Black television, one show at a time.

This week, I will be discussing the TV show All American and highlighting some Black lesbian tropes and Queer erasure in the series.

When you watch a Black male-led series and there is a Queer character, that character is usually a lesbian—primarily because patriarchy views lesbian identity as more “acceptable” than depicting gay male sexuality on screen. This isn’t just common in TV and film, but also in Hip-Hop lyrics and videos, which often demean gay men and praise Queer women all within the same bar. In contrast, in a Black female-led series, the Queer character is typically a gay man.

The character we’re focusing on today is Coop from the television series All American. She was born in 2002 (making her Gen-Z) and plays the best friend/sidekick to the main character, Spencer James. It’s extremely common for Queer characters to be sidekicks or supporting roles because the media rarely wants to portray Queer people as protagonists. Instead, they depict us as the best friend whose sole purpose is to uplift and advance the straight, cisgender lead. This is highlighted in the series because, in the end, Coop eventually becomes Spencer’s manager.

It’s also important to note that she is the gay child of a religious, single Black mother who kicks her out once she discloses her sexual orientation. I’ll be honest—that is something that happens both in the media and in real life across all races and genders. It’s also important to recognize that Coop is dark-skinned and masculine-presenting, while the romantic partner she’s given is light-skinned and feminine. Media is often intentional in pairing “dark equals masculine” and “light equals feminine” in their stories which is nonsensical because the color of a person’s skin does not determine their personality, attitude, or expression. 

While I do appreciate the existence of an openly and unapologetically Queer character, I have to admit that the overall Queer representation in this show is poor. It lacks the nuance, depth, and diversity needed to make the series believable.

I have to emphasize that the primary setting of this show is California—split evenly between Beverly Hills and Crenshaw. The characters are supposed to be Gen-Z, but the writing makes them feel more like teenagers in the late 90s or early 2000s, which exposes a flaw in the writers’ understanding of the generation they’re portraying.

It feels completely unrealistic that a show set in California—specifically Beverly Hills and Crenshaw—manages to portray an entire generation of Gen-Z students without a single gay boy, transgender student, or any other openly Queer kid anywhere in sight. We’re talking about one of the most diverse, progressive, and culturally influential regions in the country, and a generation that is statistically the most openly Queer in U.S. history. For the writers to imagine that no Queer students exist in these schools is not just an oversight—it’s blatant disrespect.

Erasing Queer youth, especially in a narrative rooted in realism, sends a harmful message: that Queer teens aren’t worth writing about, that their stories aren’t normal, and that they can only exist in small doses to make straight, cisgender viewers comfortable. This is the textbook definition of Queer erasure.

Representation isn’t about “checking boxes”—it’s about truth. And the truth is that California schools are full of Queer youth who deserve to see themselves reflected, not erased.

Since the show revolves around sports—specifically high school and college athletics—they completely missed the opportunity to discuss safe spaces for Black Queer athletes, which is a major issue right now. As of today, there are no openly gay Black athletes in major sports. This is a show about high school sports, specifically Black-dominated high school sports.

Transgender people in athletics have also been one of the biggest public conversations of the past few years, and the fact that All American completely ignores this only highlights the writers’ inability to depict reality. There is not a single person I know who hasn’t heard the discourse about trans girls and women in sports.

For a series that claims to be educational—and spends significant time exploring race, politics, mental health, and adversity—they only do so from a strictly heteronormative lens. It would have been groundbreaking to see a Black gay male teen navigating his identity while joining a sports team, interacting with teammates, or dealing with community reactions. The show had endless opportunities to address toxic masculinity and homophobia in sports culture. They could’ve even highlighted the challenges trans girls face in athletics—from media scrutiny to hostile competitors to parents who fear their children sharing locker rooms with trans people.

There were so many meaningful conversations that could have been included—but weren’t.

But aside from the show's failure to depict reality due to their refusal to acknowledge the existence of Queer people, I want to return to the Queer character they do have. The elephant in the room regarding Coop is the complete lack of conversation surrounding her gender identity. Part of this is due to the writers' inability to handle nuance when it comes to Queer topics. They fixate on her sexual orientation, but the characters are Gen-Z—they have access to more language than just “gay.” They grew up online. Their vocabulary around identity is broader. Coop is clearly gender-queer, and the fact that she is never given a safe space to explore like a Queer after-school club, a Pride event, or even Queer friends/adult Queer role models is disappointing.

It’s even more devastating that we never see her go to a Pride parade, but we do see her joining a street gang. The series is more comfortable showing this teenager holding a gun than a rainbow flag. And that is disgusting to me.

All American later created a spin-off, All American: Homecoming, where they continue to misrepresent Queer experiences—this time in the setting of a Historically Black College. If you want to see my review of that, please follow my page @princexaimis; I’ll be posting these weekly.

Author’s Note: This op-ed was written and developed by Princex Aimis. All ideas, interpretations, and original arguments presented here are the intellectual property of the author. © 2025. Reproduction or redistribution without permission is prohibited.