# Barriers to belonging: race and class in the spatial socialisation of gay men residing in French working-class neighbourhoods

Axel Ravier

► To cite this version:

Axel Ravier. Barriers to belonging: race and class in the spatial socialisation of gay men residing in French working-class neighbourhoods. French Politics, 2025, 10.1057/s41253-025-00283-6. hal-05041532

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# Barriers to belonging: race and class in the spatial socialisation of gay men residing in French working-class neighbourhoods

Axel Ravier<fnref n="1" />,<fnref n="2" />,<fnref n="3" />

Accepted: 5 February 2025
© The Author(s) 2025

## Abstract

Drawing on a study of men who engage in sexual and romantic relationships with other men and who currently live or have lived in large housing estates in the Île-de-France region, this article examines their occasional movements and interactions within commercial gay spaces in Paris. In a context where the injunction to be visible is often considered a hallmark of what is generally termed homonormativity (Duggan in: Castronovo, Nelson (eds) Materializing democracy, Duke University Press, Durham, 2002), this study adopts a “situated intersectionality” approach (Yuval-Davis in Raisons Politiques 58(2):91–100, 2015), which considers various power dynamics and is attentive to the specific geographical, social, and temporal contexts of individuals. This framework is used to interrogate the notion of “fleeing to the city”. The aim is to illustrate the social, economic, racial, and spatial factors that contribute to the mobility of sexual minorities in the French context. Additionally, we demonstrate that the “gay spaces” of major urban centres, often frequented at the beginning of one’s “gay career” (Becker in Outsiders: studies in the sociology of deviance, Free Press, Glencoe, 1963), are swiftly rejected due to both the racism within these minority spaces and their over-sexualisation.

**Keywords** Working class · Suburbs · Situated intersectionality · Mobility · Homosexuality · Racism

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<footnote>Axel Ravier
axel.ravier@unil.ch</footnote>

<footnote n="1">¹ Laboratoire des dynamiques sociales (DySoLab), University of Rouen-Normandy, Pl. Emile Blondel - Bâtiment Freinet, 76130 Mont-Saint-Aignan, France</footnote>

<footnote n="2">² Centre for Gender Studies (CEG), University of Lausanne, Lausanne, Switzerland</footnote>

<footnote n="3">³ French Collaborative Institute on Migration, Aubervilliers, France</footnote>
Introduction

For several years, urban sociologists and geographers have been interested in the question of homosexual mobility and its underlying causes and/or consequences in gay biographies (Blidon 2008; Leroy 2009; Giraud 2010). The concept of “fleeing to the city” (Weston 1995; Eribon 1999) has played a crucial role in conceptualising these movements. This departure is often understood as a significant form of residential mobility, involving the transition (and subsequent uprooting) from an environment perceived as homophobic to one considered more accepting of homosexuality (Rosenfeld and Kim 2005).

Thus, these trajectories are directed towards the homosexual spaces of major cities, both public and commercial, commonly referred to as “gay neighbourhoods”. Within the sociology of homosexuality, these neighbourhoods have long been defined using the notion of “ghetto”, often detached from the political, social, and scientific debates surrounding the term in urban sociology and the conceptual frameworks that have been proposed (Wacquant 2005; De Rudder 2019 [1983]). This is particularly the case with Michael Pollak, who, in the 1980s, defined this term as a space where marginalised populations gather, developing their own culture (Pollak 1982: 49). According to Pollak, what characterises the lifestyles of French homosexuals is their frequent presence in such spaces. Years later, Colin Giraud demonstrated that the choice of residence in these areas (and the associated lifestyle) largely depends on past and future socialisations (Giraud 2010).

Undeniably, studies exploring the relationship between space, sexualities, and marginalised gender identities predominantly focus on major European and North American cities (Blidon 2008; Leroy 2009; Cattan and Leroy 2010; Giraud 2014; Bonté 2022). This trend extends to research on LGBTQI+ collective mobilisations, which typically emphasise pride parades and queer festivals in these urban centres (Blidon 2009; Markwell & Waitt 2009; Johnston and Waitt 2015; Eleftheriadis 2018; McCartan 2022).

As part of this trend, the norm of gay-friendliness notably delineates the boundary separating the interior and exterior of urban centres (Tissot 2018). This concept, denoting an attitude of acceptance towards LGBTQI+ individuals, serves as a social marker distinguishing between areas perceived as tolerant towards this community and those that are not. This dichotomy opposes central urban zones, often associated with gay-friendliness, to surrounding suburbs and working-class neighbourhoods, reputed to be hostile towards sexual and gender minorities. Homonationalist discourses (Puar 2007; Jaunait et al. 2013), exploiting this opposition, seek to marginalise individuals from immigrant backgrounds by associating them with housing estates portrayed as obscurantist and hostile towards LGBTQI+ individuals (Fassin 2010; Clair 2012a; Mack 2017). Thus, homosexual populations residing in the peripheral neighbourhoods of major metropolitan areas consequently experience significant invisibility, both scientifically and socially, attributed to an assumed heightened homophobia within working-class communities (Rault 2016) and peripheral territories,

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particularly in the French suburbs (Avdija 2012). Nonetheless, despite these assumptions, notably perpetuated by journalistic reports, the daily experiences and mobilities of homosexuals living in peripheral spaces remain largely unknown. Indeed, in the French context, few studies since the emergence of the sociology of homosexuality have explored topics such as race (Trawalé 2018) or so-called peri-urban, working-class, and/or rural spaces (Annes and Redlin 2012; Giraud 2016; Gaissad 2020).

Hence, this article seeks to move away from the traditional approach of studying peripheral areas solely through the lens of gay-friendliness. How do gay men, who either currently live or have lived social housing estates in Île-de-France (excluding central Paris), navigate occasional mobilities within a context shaped by social marginalisation and presumed homophobia?

In line with the scholarly tradition that promotes investigations into populations outside major urban centres (Brown 2008, 2012; Stone 2018), and focusing on the experiences and socialisation of gay men situated at the intersection of class, race, sexuality, and gender, this article will demonstrate that fleeing to the city is not always perceived as emancipatory, or only temporarily so, and that gay spaces in urban centres may, in fact, be seen as reinforcing existing social hierarchies. To this end, this article is framed within the context of intersectionality theory, which posits that ascribed identities depend on contexts, and that “a person is always perceived through these principles of hierarchy, [but] the importance of one relative to the other varies depending on the situation”<fnref n="1" /> (Mazouz 2015: 78–79).

Initially, this article aims to highlight how gay men from housing estates often frequent major urban centres, particularly at the beginning of their “careers”. It will then explore the withdrawal of gay men from these urban spaces, first due to the perceived “excessive” sexualisation, which does not align with their familial and religious socialisation (Ravier 2022), and second, due to the racism present within these environments.

## Gay careers: spatial and intersectional perspectives

Studies concentrating on the spatial practices of homosexual men have predominantly focused on urban centres and the significance of these environments for this population. For white, masculine, and affluent men, the metropolis and its community areas represent a safe space. According to George Chauncey, from the late nineteenth century to the mid-twentieth century, an extensive “gay world” emerged in New York, specifically rooted in urban environments (Chauncey 1994). At that time, maintaining social ties with individuals sharing the same sexual orientation appears to have been a significant moment in the construction of “gay careers” for many homosexuals. This concept is understood here in line with the works of Hughes (1937) and Becker (1963), which allow for the conceptualisation

<footnote n="1">¹ « [...] une personne est toujours perçue à l'aune de ces principes de hiérarchisation, l'importance de l'un en regard de l'autre [varie] selon la situation». My translation.</footnote>
of social phenomena as processes (Darmon 2008). Thus, the notion of “gay careers” serves to denaturalise homosexuality. It is no longer perceived as singular but as multiple, shaped by the social relations that organise individuals’ lives. The focus is on understanding how homosexuals perceive their “deviance” and how, through deviant behaviours, they engage in a deviant career. In this context, to become homosexual, it seems necessary to flee to the city and enjoy the “key institutions of homosexual life” (Giraud 2010: 60), such as bars (De Busscher 2000), recreational spaces (De Busscher et al. 1999), and Pride (Blidon 2009).

However, since these studies, more research has questioned the enduring importance of secondary homosexual socialisation, often involving frequenting gay spaces (Nash 2013; Mattson 2015). Indeed, according to Philippe Adam, the need for “community retreat” diminished at the beginning of the century, partly due to the normalisation of homosexuality (Adam 1999). Nevertheless, it appears that frequenting physical gay spaces still contributes to forms of politicisation and, more broadly, to a “transformational socialisation”, marked by issues of age, class, and race (Durand 2020).

Moreover, although frequenting central gay spaces remains an important aspect of gay careers, studies on these mobilities also reveal the distance that homosexuals sometimes maintain from these spaces (Weston 1995). In his work, Mickaël Durand shows that distancing from the gay scene occurs across the entire social spectrum, among both middle-class individuals and those from working-class backgrounds and/or racialised communities. For racialised individuals, prudishness and the need to respect family culture lead not to a complete avoidance of the gay scene but to a distancing from it and a self-effacement of their homosexuality. Furthermore, he argues that living in villages or small towns far from major urban centres is a significant factor in the process of hiding one’s homosexuality (Durand 2020).

However, there is a lack of in-depth research on how gender and sexual minorities appropriate these spaces when they come from peripheral territories (Brekhus 2003; Brown-Saracino 2015). Studies focusing on life in the suburbs have highlighted the interconnections of social relationships, emphasising the importance of spatiality, particularly rurality, in shaping homosexual trajectories. Similar to homosexuals in urban centres, the ways in which individuals engage with homosexual social spaces vary: some adopt a “controlled participation”, while others practise “controlled distancing” (Bourgier 2019: 58), or even complete detachment (Brekhus 2003: 74–94). In other words, some gay individuals from the suburbs do not flee to the city to live their homosexuality (Weston 1995).

Nonetheless, despite these studies in the American context, where suburbs are more closely linked to rurality rather than to housing estates and their racialisation, it remains uncommon in the French context to simultaneously examine sexuality, race, and space in order to analyse this kind of mobility, which forms part of the gay career. Indeed, we argue that space can be understood here as a social dynamic, interacting with other dimensions such as class and race, which shape the ways of dating, the meeting places, and the construction of minority identity. It is both a lived space and a perceived space, with these two visions of space mutually informing each other. In light of this, drawing on the perspective of situated intersectionality (Yuval-Davis 2015), which considers the spatial and temporal nature of intersecting

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power relations, this study aims to explore the importance of community sociability in the trajectories of homosexuals, with particular attention to the spatial dimensions of the intersections between minority sexuality, race, and class.

To do so, I propose to examine the experiences of individuals residing in housing estate areas who frequent mainstream gay community spaces in Paris, such as commercial establishments. The spatial conceptualisation of gay spaces tends to presuppose a homogeneity that does not necessarily exist, considering these spaces as havens of freedom for everyone, thereby obscuring practices of hierarchy based on other power relations such as race and social class (Oswin 2008; Prieur 2015; Held 2017; Gordien 2018; Chossière 2020). I utilise the narrative of fleeing to the city and the dissonance with the socialisation experiences of my interviewees to demonstrate that this dominant narrative reflects the experiences of white middle-class gay men. I also show why this career path is neither accessible nor desirable for gay individuals from racial, social, and spatial peripheries.

In this context, it is essential to adopt a perspective on socialisation, whether primary or secondary, to explain individuals’ relationships with central spaces and the identification of the men studied as “outsider gays”. Indeed, the primary socialisation related to the social class and race of the interviewed men leads to the definition of a respectable masculinity that distances itself from femininity and renders certain spaces less attractive or accessible to individuals from working-class neighbourhoods.

More broadly, as demonstrated by Salima Amari in the case of lesbians from North African immigrant backgrounds, the impact of religious and familial expectations on the coming-out process can be observed (Amari 2018). These pressures not only make access to these spaces difficult but also, at times, undesirable. From a Goffmanian perspective, one could argue that the stigmatised individual undergoes several phases of learning about their stigma: “one where he learns to know the normal person’s point of view, and one where he learns that he does not fit it” (Goffman 1975 [1963]: 99). This echoes the contributions of sociology regarding careers, particularly those of Muriel Darmon, who confirms that the stigmatised cannot help but see themselves from the “point of view of the normal” (Darmon 2008: 229), thus explaining, at times, the distance between these individuals and the gay scene.

Finally, an intersectional analysis of racialised homosexuality allows us to understand why this form of homosexuality is often excluded from these spaces. This exclusion is not only a result of socialisation, which distances itself from femininity as seen in other social spaces but also stems from discrimination arising from the interplay of class, race, and space. Indeed, although other studies have highlighted the distance of racialised gay individuals from mainstream gay spaces, or their presence being desired due to fetishisation (Cervulle and Rees-Roberts 2010; Trawalé 2011; Gordien 2018), it is interesting to examine here, through the figure of the “racaille”—which can be translated into English as “thug”—how territorial stigma diminishes their chances of gaining access to gay neighbourhoods. In this final point, the focus on the French context is heuristic in that the figure of the “racaille” derives from French colonial characterisations and the history of the construction of these peripheral territories, where the immigrant, relegated to the
margins, represents both a source of fascination and a perceived threat, particularly for women (Calderaro 2023) and homosexuals.

Methodology

This article relies on thirty semi-structured interviews with homosexual individuals living in or having lived in housing estates in the Parisian suburbs. As numerous studies attest, social housing estates are not homogeneous in terms of infrastructure, population origin, and available rental housing stock, depending on the geographical area in which they are located (Avenel 2005). While diversity is inherent in these spaces, I have chosen to group them under the term “housing estates”. This term encompasses both social housing buildings and private condominiums within rental housing stocks. Furthermore, this terminology allows us to emphasise the spatial aspect, in the urbanistic sense, and to partially move away from political debates about the use of categories (Tissot 2007). Moreover, this terminology helps to distance itself from the notion of “ghetto” (Gilbert 2011), which “fails to define the population other than through an invalidating language that exacerbates the collective stigmatisation of neighbourhoods and masks a multifaceted reality” (Avenel 2016).

All individuals interviewed engage in sexual relationships with men; however, not all identify as gay. Indeed, while the term “gay” is the most commonly used by respondents, alongside “fag” (which translates to “pédé” in French), some define themselves as bisexual. Furthermore, among those identifying as gay, several have had past heterosexual experiences, including living with or sleeping with women. As for those who identify as bisexual, they have had relationships with women before exclusively pursuing relationships with men.

Contacts were established through online research on location-based gay dating applications. I registered on dating applications such as *Grindr* and *BeurOnline*, as well as occasionally on *Smax*. The use of dating applications to connect with potential respondents seemed highly appropriate due to the significant diversity in the attitudes of individuals involved in this research regarding discretion or confidentiality constraints. Additionally, this choice was influenced by the (perceived and actual) invisibility of the men being researched within Parisian gay spaces, as well as within social housing estates (Clair 2008).

For the aims of this research, I used a “researcher profile” indicating the purpose of the research and including a personal photograph (Ravier and Zanotti 2024). Through this profile, participants who considered themselves relevant to the research would contact me directly. At the beginning of the conversation, I informed them of their rights regarding participation in the study, the context, and the universities involved, as well as the anonymisation procedures for the data collected. If the participant agreed to the terms, I would then proceed with recording our exchanges. At the participant’s request, I could also respond to questions regarding my sexual orientation and social background. Positioning myself as a racialised gay man, born and raised in social housing, often contributed to fostering trust and facilitating engagement in the exchanges.

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Thus, I find myself “entangled in stories that are considered ‘my own’, those of immigration and the suburbs” in France (Boukir 2016: 151). Although this does not manifest as either stigmatisation or essentialisation, an alterity, and consequently a complicity, is presumed, implying an understanding of the lived experience.

It is important to emphasise that the method used leads to several biases, particularly regarding the isolation of the people contacted, but above all their great heterogeneity. Interviews were conducted with people who had grown up in the housing estates but no longer lived there; with individuals who had not grown up in these spaces but had lived there; with individuals who lived in these areas without being from working-class backgrounds, such as students from middle-class backgrounds and private sector executives; and with people still living there. More broadly, it is possible that this method led me to meet individuals outside the gay community, who are tired of the ephemeral encounters fostered by dating apps; and thus, individuals who have developed a negative perception of the homosexual community. This method also excludes individuals who are currently in relationships and do not frequent, or no longer frequent, central gay spaces, even though it would be relevant to investigate the impact of conjugal status on the experiences of gay individuals in housing estates. The results presented are therefore dependent on this method, as the distance from the community is both the subject of the research and the outcome of the method itself.

The interviews were conducted via telephone, in a café, or, less frequently, at the respondents' residences. In general, this research engendered numerous discussions (sometimes spanning several days) within the applications with both involved and uninvolved individuals. Some of these discussions are used here in a manner akin to interviews.

The interviews were transcribed and then coded using the free and open-source software *Taguette*. My approach to coding followed established practices (Miles and Huberman 1994; Charmaz 2006) and involved developing thematic codes to capture various aspects of the primary and secondary socialisation experiences of gay individuals from housing estates. Particular attention was given to the lexicon and language of the interviewees, as well as to silence and the unsaid (Beaud 1996). This process involved using both deductive codes based on the existing research into homosexual lifestyles and the experiences of youth from housing estates, as well as inductive codes that emerged from the interview material. Consequently, my approach to coding can be characterised as abductive (Tavory and Timmermans 2014).

Furthermore, this article adopts a theoretical stance that may, at first glance, resemble an intra-categorical perspective on intersectionality by focusing on the differences within the defined group of French gay men. Indeed, as McCall notes, it is possible to distinguish between two epistemological and methodological positions on intersectionality (McCall 2005). The first, the intercategorical approach, concerns differences between social groups, while the second examines differences within social groups. Thus, within an intra-categorical approach, “the point is not to deny the importance—both material and discursive—of categories but to focus on
the process by which they are produced, experienced, reproduced, and resisted in
everyday life” (McCall 2005: 1783).

However, as Yuval-Davis highlights, I do not believe these approaches are mutually exclusive, and “I consider as crucial the analytical differentiation between different facets of social analysis—that of people’s positionings along socio-economic grids of power; that of people’s experiential, emotional and identificatory perspectives of where they belong; and that of their normative value systems” (Yuval-Davis 2013). This theoretical positioning thus enables a comprehensive understanding of the origins (and histories) of the categories mobilised and explains the discriminations experienced by gay men due to these assignations—offering a heuristic perspective for considering the effects of colonisation on sexual and racial categories, notably in the French context—while also highlighting the identity choices made by these individuals and the variability of norms and assignations within social structures.

This positioning, bridging both intercategorical and intra-categorical approaches,
allows for a thorough grasp of the daily processes and interactions that produce and
sustain these categories (Cole 2008). It enables a focus on the ordinary and mundane
aspects of French gay lives (Pollak 1981), while also questioning the narrative of
fleeing to the city.

New careers, new spaces: gay experiences

Within our study, the respondents perceive the discovery of their homosexuality as a form of self-evidence. Indeed, for most of them, their earliest memories related to their homosexuality date back to childhood, as if it had always been present. Overall, this discovery is followed by an engagement in a “homosexual career”, which invariably involves the use of websites and dating applications and is enriched by discussions and affective and/or sexual encounters with other men met through these means. However, this discovery of homosexuality is not confined to the internet; it continues spatially, with “this movement towards urban areas [constituting] conditions for the continuation of the career” (Giraud 2014: 241). These discoveries of central gay spaces are echoed numerous times by respondents, particularly in the case of Thibault. He is a man I consider to be white<fnref n="2" />; a 35-year-old salesperson, who lived in a housing estate in the northern Parisian suburbs (Seine-Saint-Denis – 93³) throughout his childhood and discovered the “gay world” (Chauncey 1994) with his first boyfriend when he moved into social housing in Paris:

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<footnote n="2">² When Thibault discusses his relationships, particularly with his partner, he frequently employs the “them-us” opposition to differentiate between the French and Arabs. He thus positions himself on the side of the French. It is important to note that white individuals generally do not spontaneously self-identify racially. To clarify, when such identifications are noted, they are based on my perception as well as on literature that explores the link between being white and French compared to others, aiming to highlight the constructed and fluid nature of these categorisations.</footnote>

<footnote n="3">³ When this district is mentioned, it will be referred to as the SSD Department.</footnote>
At first, it's like a party in your head! [laughter] At first, you're like, this can't be real, like, crazy stuff is happening, it's liberating, when you go to saunas for the first time, it's something else, guys are just naked, you can do whatever you want with whoever you want, so for you, it's like another country, you're in Disneyland basically, that's my first memory. So yeah, you go a bit too much at first, I remember, you go a lot. Then, it calms down [...].<fnref n="4" /> (Thibault, 35 years old, salesperson, Île-de-France, grew up on a housing estate and left after meeting a partner)

These initial positive experiences are shared by numerous individuals. They perceive the suburbs and its adjacent areas, such as sports associations outside the school environment, as virile and straight masculine atmospheres. This is notably the case for Thibault, who practised athletics in a club in a town in SSD department, a territorial aggravating factor according to him. Indeed, this department, which has a large immigrant population, is frequently subject to political and media criticism, characterising it as a dangerous area for women and LGBT individuals (Avdija 2012; Ravier 2022). These racist characterisations stem notably from the hegemonic masculinity present in this territory, which is particularly expressed through sports, emphasising strong virility (Oualhaci 2022). Thibault describes this sport (and the place where he practices it) as being “very macho, with teams of guys talking about girls”. For him and for some other individuals, frequenting gay spaces in Paris represents a form of liberation.

These mobility experiences, which “bring relief”, are also evident in Yannick’s case. He is a 40-year-old gay white hairdresser from a working-class family who describes his life in a housing estate as confining. For him, his arrival in Paris for his day release course at the age of 16 opens the doors to freedom:

> Ah, yes, yes, I didn't have a choice. I felt alive, actually! I felt free, especially. Actually, from, well, that's why I imagine, I say I had a second birth at 16-years-old, it's because, from the moment I started working in Paris and going out in Paris, actually, I was free, I could say, do whatever I wanted, nobody judged me. Even at work, at work, they didn't judge me, they teased me. They mocked me and all that, but you know, they didn't judge me, and that was cool. I did what I wanted (Yannick, 40 years old, hairdresser, grew up in a large housing estate in Île-de-France until the age of 18).

Other individuals enter the “gay world” through initiation, discovering this universe through encounters made online or in the school setting. This dynamic is illustrated by Soufiane, a 48-year-old gay man of Moroccan and Algerian origins, working as an accountant. He stayed in the housing estate until adulthood, before moving to Paris. Later, he returned to live in the suburbs with a female partner and

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<footnote n="4">⁴ The interviews have been translated from French. Therefore, they may not fully represent the original language used and have been slightly modified to facilitate understanding by English-speaking readers. Additionally, information was altered to maintain the anonymity of respondents.</footnote>
now resides in a non-social housing apartment in the SSD area. I ask him about his
initial experiences at events where he socialises with other men:

Well, you know, it's simple. After my high school diploma, I went to study accounting in a BTS [a French technical diploma], and there was this girl from Aulnay-Sous-Bois, super open-minded, had her boyfriend, her car, pretty well-off, and she threw a party at her place, [...] a spoiled girl, loaded, parents who had their own businesses so it was no problem for her, and among her acquaintances, there was this girl, and we got to know each other, and she was a lesbian, and then, boom, I told her, well, actually, I think I'm gay, or at least, I'm attracted to guys, you know, I think, and what I'd like is to explore some guy stuff, you know, and bam, it clicked for her, and then she took me, she took me, we went to Privilège, to Scorp, to Queen [Parisian gay clubs], because she was a party girl [...] Honestly, what can I say, all my guys, I met them in Paris, mostly in Paris, going out clubbing, you know (Soufiane, 48 years old, accountant, lived in a housing estate in Île-de-France until the age of 18, left for a few years, and later returned to the suburbs).

Soufiane's position within his family during his childhood in a housing estate in the Seine-Saint-Denis department hinders his discovery of this world. Indeed, Soufiane is one of the respondents who indicates experiencing significant familial pressure, particularly regarding marriage. Life within these territories represents for him a space of control and constraints on his practices from a young age. He wishes to pursue volleyball, but his father repeatedly refuses. Through his choices of sporting activities and his departure from the family home, the rumour of homosexuality is thus endured by Soufiane, who ultimately acquiesces to familial injunctions. Due to social pressures and because he feels that his family suspected his homosexuality, Soufiane marries a woman chosen by his family. They separate a few years later.

When he first begins meeting other gay individuals, dating sites are either non-existent or in their early stages, necessitating that Soufiane go out to clubs to meet people. Nonetheless, despite this generational aspect, it should be noted that for him, visiting gay spaces has been possible only during moments in his life when he distanced himself from his family. When he enters higher education at an institution further away from his family home, he meets others at parties who allow him to express his questions and confirm them by visiting gay spaces, which he continues to do, particularly when living with a male partner in Paris. During his marriage, Soufiane does not frequent gay venues much due to his child and wife but eventually returns to Paris when his wife is abroad for several months. In a way, at that moment, he exhibits signs of heterosexuality while continuing, albeit less frequently, to live his gay life.

Overall, as with other previously studied gay trajectories, the discovery of gay spaces in Paris appears to be a common rite of passage at the beginning of one's gay career. For some, attending parties in Paris, particularly in the Marais (the gay neighbourhood of Paris), and socialising with other gay individuals (and lesbians) serves as a way to rediscover themselves after a predominantly heterosexual life. More broadly, for some, the discovery of the “gay world” is initially accompanied

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by a form of gorging (Giraud 2014) on homosexual spaces. These expressions of
liberation are commonly voiced by individuals in the sample, predominantly from
a specific generation—those born around 1980. This trend can also be attributed to
strong family ties, which are perceived as stifling.

It is observed that younger individuals tend to visit the historic gay venues of Paris, particularly the Marais, less frequently. Those who do frequent LGBTQ-friendly spaces often prefer attending “queer” events outside of central Paris (Prieur 2015), which some perceive as more inclusive and/or less mainstream. More broadly, most individuals view commercial gay spaces, particularly bars, parties, and the Marais, as being too “loud and proud”. Consequently, some individuals prefer to frequent other gay spaces, such as associations or LGBT sports clubs, which offer more freedom than their primary socialisation while keeping a distance from the perceived “dangers” of festive gay spaces.

For those who have frequented the historic gay venues, their experiences quickly lead them to form a negative opinion about these places. Whether through occasional or continuous attendance over a relatively short and intense period, some of these individuals, particularly those who have grown up on housing estates and come from working-class backgrounds, come to realise that this world is not for them.

**Distant relationships: rejection of hypersexualised femininity**

The men encountered in the context of this study generally frequent commercial gay spaces in Paris at the beginning of their careers. For some, attendance subsequently becomes occasional, while for others, it becomes non-existent. These withdrawals and absences from commercial gay spaces appear to stem from complex reasons intertwining gender, social class, and race. These reasons are notably expressed by Younes, a 35-year-old teacher who has lived in the suburbs of Paris since childhood and identifies as Arab (he uses the colloquial term “rebeu” in French). He indicates that he goes out in Paris and passes through the Marais but does not stop there or frequent commercial gay bars:

> I've never really been involved in that scene, so I can't really say. Up to now, I'm 35 [...] I've met people who were gay, we talked and all, but I always feel quite uncomfortable actually when I see it's too much. Because those who are out and proud, it's your choice, you know, [...] but when it's too much, it, well, I struggle with that. But again, everyone does what they want, I'm not here to judge, I'm not here to judge people, everyone has their own journey, that's it (Younes, 35 years old, teacher, Île-de-France, grew up on a housing estate, moved abroad and then returned to live in a working-class neighbourhood).

Younes's reluctance to “overdo it” is likely linked to his perception of the supposed femininity and exaggerated sexuality of homosexual individuals in Parisian commercial gay spaces, which he primarily associates with the gay neighbourhood. However, without direct experience in this environment, it is pertinent to question

<figure><img src="image_11.png" /></figure>
whether his refusal stems from representations, particularly those propagated by heterosexuals and gay communities, which significantly promote visibility and coming out (Amari 2018: 305). To explore this perspective, I interviewed Hugo, a 26-year-old white gay man who has lived in a housing estate since childhood, whom I met on a dating application. He reports having frequented both gay and heterosexual nightclubs but does not enjoy either of these environments. During our discussions, Hugo emphasises that “being gay does not necessarily mean enjoying this environment”. For him, homosexuals “overdo it”, an observation he made during his nightclub visits in his youth. He prefers to avoid such events and instead prioritises quieter outings, particularly in Paris, to have coffee.

The femininity associated with the “gay world” and its excessive sexuality are frequently cited as reasons for non-attendance at social venues with gay individuals. In his work, Jean-Yves Le Talec questions the figure of the *queen* within male homosexuality (Le Talec 2008), viewing it as a complex narrative that intertwines the popular, the medical, and the political. According to him, it is through this figure that homosexuality seeks to be subversive across different eras. However, as he specifies, in common parlance:

> "If it's a man, it's primarily the idea of effeminacy that's implied, and the suspicion of homosexuality is never far behind. But what perhaps distinguishes the *queen* is its very particular social visibility, which puts on a show, in the form of an exhibition that goes beyond social conventions<fnref n="5" />" (Le Talec 2008: 20).

It is precisely this representation—both feminine and visible—that underlies the reluctance of homosexual individuals from housing estates to frequent gay spaces in Paris. Most respondents reference their childhood experiences and the confrontation with gender stereotypes within these estates, norms that have led to behavioural and sartorial adaptations for some. Consequently, many express a rejection of the performance of femininity by individuals who identify as men. Although they may not explicitly define themselves as “masculine”, the presence of effeminate figures is perceived as otherness by the participants in this study. In this context, identifying as gay and/or engaging in same-sex practices does not necessarily entail a questioning of the gender order (Clair 2013).

While the term “queen” is mentioned, few individuals directly address this figure; instead, they focus on the broader cultural codes associated with homosexuals in Paris. The respondents perceive homosexual bodies and associated practices negatively, particularly the strong emphasis on appearance, which they believe undermines their masculinity and their own homosexuality. They feel that their sexuality should be less visible, more grounded, and less aligned with middle-class norms. Yannick, who acknowledges the liberating aspect of arriving in Paris

<figure><img src="image_12.png" /></figure>

<footnote n="5">⁵ « S’il s’agit d’un homme, c’est avant tout l’idée d’efféminement qui est sous-entendue, et le soupçon d’homosexualité n’est jamais bien loin. Mais ce qui distingue la folle, peut-être, c’est sa visibilité sociale tout à fait particulière, qui se donne en spectacle, sous forme d’une exhibition qui déborde les conventions sociales» (Ibid., p. 20). My translation.</footnote>
as an adolescent, nonetheless remains critical of the gay culture of the Marais. He recounts his experience working as a hairdresser in a salon in the neighbourhood:

> I worked at [a store] on Rue des Lombards, you know, where I was so happy, I was like, I’m going to style gay guys and all that. But after a week, I was like, give me back the straight guys, I couldn’t take it anymore, I couldn’t take it anymore. In the end, I almost became homophobic [...] It was horrible, it was horrible. About their hairstyle, they were really irritating, so, I just did the cut, gave them the gel, and said, figure it out yourself, bye. They styled their hair on their own otherwise they were too irritating (Yannick, 40 years old, hairdresser, grew up in a housing estate in Île-de-France until the age of 18).

In Yannick’s words, it is not about privileging a “life elsewhere” outside the gay world—although he seldom frequents that world today—but rather about critiquing the behaviours he encounters at work, which he associates with the homosexual community due to the geographical location of the salon where he works. Initially, he was very happy to “style hair for queers”, but he later regrets this choice due to the demands of the clients.

> Where I started to distance myself from the scene, is because after work, I used to go for drinks at the Adonis café; back then, it was even called Bazooka café [...] And one day, I’m at the bar, and there’s this client from the salon that I can’t stand, really, the big queen guy, who goes “oh, the hairdresser” and then he puts his hand on my ass. I turned around, I told him to remove his hand immediately or I’ll knock his face off. He goes “don’t take it like that, we’re gay”. I tell him we’re gay, we’re just gay, it’s a sexual choice. That doesn’t mean I have to touch everyone’s ass. So, I don’t like you, you don’t like me, that’s fine. So, from today, since you’ve disrespected me, I won’t even say hello to you when you come into the salon, and you sort yourself out (Yannick, 40 years old, hairdresser, grew up in a housing estate in Île-de-France until the age of 18).

Indeed, Yannick’s encounter with a specific gay culture associated with the gay neighbourhood has led him, in his own words, to almost “become homophobic”. He wishes to return to styling “straight” clients and, during the interview, repeatedly criticises interactions he had with clients at the Marais salon who, according to him, engaged in inappropriate behaviour, such as groping, both in the salon and outside during encounters in nearby bars, under the pretext of shared homosexuality. Yannick’s social and spatial origins, stemming from a working-class family and a housing estate neighbourhood, seem to explain his rejection of the bodily demands of the clients at the salon where he works. These demands do not align with his primary socialisation, which typically emphasises a working-class masculinity attentive to the body but from a virilising perspective, favouring male camaraderie (Oualhaci 2015) and the performance of the “racaille” figure. This figure operates both as a stigma and as an imposed identity in the everyday lives of youth in social housing estates. Through its lack of gender ambiguity (Clair 2023: 330), the “racaille” implies a distancing from an assumed homosexuality. Having grown up

<figure><img src="image_13.png" /></figure>
as an effeminate gay man (in his own terms) in an environment where hegemonic masculinity strongly and explicitly rejects any bodily signs of femininity (Clair 2023: 330), Yannick aligns more with the figure of the “very straight gay” (Connell 2022 [1995]). Initially, he perceived gay neighbourhoods as areas of freedom before being confronted with norms of masculinity that he does not regard as respectable.

As Connell reminds us, “the choice of a man as a sexual object is not simply a choice of a body with a penis; it is a choice of embodied masculinity” (Connell 2022: 168). This notion is also reflected in Yannick’s romantic and sexual relationships. He tends to engage with men reminiscent of those he associated with in his youth, particularly men of colour. His preference for men who exhibit a form of masculinity typical of the housing estates and who distance themselves from femininity provides insight into his conception of respectable masculinity and his aversion to the gay district of Le Marais. It is no longer merely about avoiding Parisian gay spaces, particularly the gay neighbourhood, to distance oneself from Parisian homosexuality; rather, it involves orienting all of one’s romantic and sexual relationships in this direction. In this context, it appears that Yannick’s experiences in the Marais, combined with his primary socialisation, lead him towards what he considers to be a respectable form of homosexuality (Tissot 2022). Furthermore, although a minority in terms of sexuality, Yannick was socialised as a white person and claims to have only a few “rebeu” friends, whom he only interacts with at school. While acknowledging the existence of racism, he adopts certain positions, particularly regarding the police, partly influenced by the fact that one of his closest friends is a police officer. As such, Yannick occupies a position of majority, and his rejection of certain forms of publicising his homosexuality might be explained by a desire for invisibility linked to his status as a white person. Displaying his homosexuality could mean no longer going unnoticed and stepping outside the norm he seeks to maintain.

As we have seen, for some participants, Parisian gay spaces are often closely associated with the gay neighbourhood, which seems to embody Parisian homosexuality for them. The correlation between the Marais district and a perceived representation of homosexuality that is deemed excessive in terms of sexualisation, and feminisation is particularly well illustrated by the testimony of Martin, a white gay man who is now 40 years old. He comes from a working-class family, with a truck driver father and an accounting assistant mother. Currently employed in a hardware store, he has always lived in a social housing estate in Val-de-Marne and recalls a year when he felt he was “becoming the Marais”:

Axel: What does it mean to become the Marais? [laughter]

Martin: Well, sorry for the words, I know you're recording, but you know, you can become a prostitute, you can become, I don't know, you can get paid for, for, you know what I mean [...] if you fall too much into traps, in the Marais too, it's the same. Well, you'll become the biggest queen, you see, be careful, if that's what someone wants, it's the best way to achieve it actually, there you go, [but] if you want to stay true to yourself, I advise you to stay in your everyday environment, even if it's a housing estate, because it won't be

<figure><img src="image_14.png" /></figure>
negative for you (Martin, 40 years old, building materials seller, Île-de-France, grew up in a housing estate, left and later returned).

After that year, Martin stopped going to the Marais. According to him, although he initially perceived the Marais as an escape, it did not meet his aspirations. He regarded it as a place rife with pitfalls, significant circulation of hard drugs, and the looming possibility of becoming a “whore” (a stigma for him). Furthermore, the omnipresence of mutual acquaintances among individuals resembled the tightly knit community of the social housing estate from which he came. In this environment, sexual relationships were common and subject to rapid information dissemination, often leading to the labelling of those engaging in multiple liaisons. He lamented this form of hypocrisy. Visiting the Marais, even occasionally and without residing there, exposes one not only to the risk of being perceived as a “queen”, but also of actually becoming one. In contrast, remaining in the housing estate preserves one’s authenticity, respecting one’s body and maintaining a notion of true masculinity and sexuality, oriented towards love rather than casual encounters.

After moving to a more rural area, less than an hour from the Marais, Martin “naturally forgets it” and swaps his platform shoes for trainers: “[...] then I went back to my trainers, I went back to my jogging, and everything just naturally returned”. In a certain way, Martin finds himself when he adopts the emblematic and stereotypical attire of young men from working-class neighbourhoods—an attire rejected by the middle and upper classes, who perceive it as symbolically dangerous and highly discreditable (Clair 2023). Conversely, for Martin, constructing a respectable form of homosexuality involves adhering to the masculinity of his class and spatial environment of origin, a masculinity that is also accepted in his professional context, particularly within the construction industry.

For both Yannick and Martin, visiting the Marais is associated with feelings of disorientation or even regret in the face of unfulfilled expectations. This rejection of femininity—and, more broadly, of visible sexuality, which is deemed not respectable enough—is rooted in two main factors: firstly, the gendered socialisation of their working-class neighbourhood, which explicitly rejects femininity; and secondly, the perception of sexuality as a private aspect of life, a view shared by several interviewees. In these instances, the intersecting dynamics of class and gender in the lives of the respondents fundamentally reshape their relationship to sexuality.

## The visibility of homosexuality: a lack of privacy

For many participants in the study, sexuality is viewed as a private aspect of life that is not openly discussed, particularly in the presence of family. Some respondents, especially those raised in social housing estates, indicate that sexual and romantic relationships are often topics of conversation among peers (Clair 2008). However, when it comes to homosexuality, there is a general tendency to avoid discussion, whether with family or peers. This is particularly true for Younes, who views sexuality as a private aspect of his life, largely shaped by the familial socialisation he experienced and the enduring ties he maintains with his family:

<figure><img src="image_15.png" /></figure>
Younes: You were asking me what made me come back to the housing estate, and I was telling you that it was family proximity. Really, just that proximity. It's where I used to live, so it contributes to the same demand.

Axel: And do you maintain ties with your family?

Younes: Strong ties, because culturally, in the Muslim and Arab culture, family is really significant, imposing, but also part of it, it's like the Italian culture where you have the mama, well, we also have that, you know, like the Caribbean culture too (Younes, 35 years old, teacher, Île-de-France, grew up on a housing estate, moved abroad and then returned to live in a working-class neighbourhood).

Thus, regarding discussions about coming out, Younes states:

Axel: And you were saying, it was like “live happily, live hidden”; are any members of your family aware of your sexuality?

Younes: We don't talk about it, it's not something that, you know. Well, if someone doubts, then they doubt, but concretely, nothing is, you know. It's not a subject that we discuss. We know what we shouldn't do, but what, you know, what we should do, we don't know; what we shouldn't do, we're sure about that, anyway.

Axel: Would it have been a wish on your part?

Younes: But why would I impose on my family things that are personal, that will cause suffering afterward, it will create conflicts, I don't see the point. Whoever wants to do that, well, let them do it if they are comfortable with themselves and want to destroy a family. When it comes to something personal and intimate, why impose it directly, why impose it directly?

Given this perception of homosexuality as something unspeakable, the refusal to frequent gay spaces underscores the “discredited” nature of male homosexuality in these trajectories. According to Goffman, for the discreditable individual, “the issue is not that of managing tension generated during social contacts, but rather that of managing information about his failing” (Goffman 1975 [1963]).

More broadly, the stigmatised individual undergoes several phases of learning about their stigma: “one where he learns to know the normal person’s point of view, and one where he learns that he does not fit it” (Goffman 1975 [1963]: 99). The perception that others may have of homosexuality is significant for some participants. More broadly, it is an “outrageous” form of homosexuality that disturbs many, as they perceive the “gay world” as exaggerated, with sex being too visible. Recognising themselves (and/or being perceived by others) as homo-bisexual, several participants do not wish to conform to this image, including those who have never frequented gay spaces.

This is particularly true for Amir (23 years old, identifies as Arab [he uses the colloquial term “rebeu” in French] and still living in a housing estate) and Younes (35 years old). Their criticisms can be understood in the context of the necessity for homosexuality to remain invisible and its “normalisation”, which allows it to align more closely with heterosexual sexuality. Consequently, Younes critiques the “gay world” from this perspective:

<figure><img src="image_16.png" /></figure>
For me, I'm outside of that scene, I'm not part of it, I don't need to go to a gay bar, it's not representative, actually, it doesn't matter to me, sexuality is something intimate and personal already. It doesn't need to be displayed; you know. Everything happens with respect and privacy. You have the right to love whoever you want, it's human decency, you know. I wasn't raised to say, well, listen, you have to have sex with your girlfriend in the street in front of everyone, you have to kiss her in the street in front of everyone, it's not in my values. You know, I think there's still respect to be had for others and that's it (Younes, 35 years old, teacher, Île-de-France, grew up on a housing estate, moved abroad and then returned to live in a working-class neighbourhood).

For Younes and other participants in the study, it is not so much the feminisation of gay spaces that is critiqued, but rather the mere visibility of homosexuality. Among some individuals, there is a prevailing sentiment that any display of homosexual affection is automatically interpreted as exhibitionist. Furthermore, it is possible to argue that the experience of a stigmatising racial categorisation leads participants, at least initially, to want to remain unnoticed. Indeed, Younes specifies that he feels comfortable in the housing estate, where he has no problems and feels a sense of solidarity, whereas in Paris, "because you're Arab, because you're Black. People will look at you strangely, you know what I mean". This dynamic would also extend to his affective life in general. The stigmatising category of homosexuality, which marginalises him overall but specifically within his neighbourhood among those who share his class and racial background, adds to the racial marginalisation he experiences in Paris. Consequently, whether in his neighbourhood or in Paris, discretion appears to be a logical concomitant response to these processes of marginalisation.

This refusal of visibility is also evident in Amir's perspective. For him, the fact that he does not "visually appear to be gay"—meaning that he presents himself in a masculine manner—allows him to render the stigma invisible (Goffman 1975 [1963]: 99). Attending Pride or visiting the Marais would amount to exposing himself (ibid.: 104), given the external circumstances, including the presence of effeminate men who exhibit "too much mannerism". Furthermore, as Goffman (1974) suggests, "the safest way to avoid danger is to avoid encounters where it may manifest itself". In this context, it is understood that a gay man who does not appear effeminate can avoid visibly associating with another individual labelled as such. However, Amir's lack of visibility does not prevent him from imagining himself in a couple, encountering men within the context of more sporadic relationships (Ravier 2022).

In the case of Younes and Amir, their distancing themselves from homosexuality and its "exuberance" appears to stem from their family and neighbourhood socialisation, which they understand as an essentialised cultural dimension. Younes notes that discussions about (homosexual) romantic relationships are not common in his culture, which he perceives as an intertwining of his family's Muslim faith and the codes of his neighbourhood. However, within Younes's discourse, one can discern the effects of a family loyalty echoed by several other participants.

<figure><img src="image_17.png" /></figure>
Thus, the fieldwork confirms findings already demonstrated by Salima Amari regarding lesbians from immigrant backgrounds. As shown by Amari, lesbians whose parents are of North African descent prefer to avoid coming out to their family and maintain a facade of heterosexuality, while being burdened with numerous responsibilities towards their parents, as some do not become mothers themselves with their own family to take care of (Amari 2018). This loyalty aligns with the findings of Attias-Dondut and Wolff, who have shown that filial piety is very prevalent among children of Maghrebin immigrants. In this vein, Younes has maintained significant ties with his mother, as well as with some of his siblings, highlighting the importance of this filiation: “everyone lives their own life, while maintaining this connection, calling each other regularly, keeping updated on each other, so yes, the bonds are upheld, they are maintained, it’s like the bonds of marriage, it’s the bonds of family, it’s sacred”. To publicly display oneself as homosexual, especially by frequenting gay spaces, would entail the risk of jeopardising these ties. For some, taking such potential risks is impossible as access to gay spaces is denied to them or available only under certain conditions.

## Sexual racism and territorial stigma in gay spaces

For several years, research has demonstrated the role of LGBT spaces in reproducing power dynamics (Donnen 2024), particularly concerning issues of racism and, more broadly, the exoticisation and objectification of racialised individuals within gay communities (Jahjah 2024; Prieur 2015; Trawalé, 2011). These forms of discrimination within the LGBT community may help explain why homosexual and bisexual individuals from housing estates maintain a distance from the “gay world”, thereby complicating the notion of “fleeing to the city”.

In France, the figure of the *racaille* (often translated as “thug” in English)—a stereotypically straight working-class youth from the suburbs—serves as a cornerstone of sexual racism and discrimination within gay communities. For white gay men, being Arab or Black and from the suburbs embodies both a dangerous and an alluring persona (Vörös 2020). Indeed, the archetype of the young man from housing estates, characterised by lower-class status and racialisation as Arab or Black (or as non-white), is often associated in gay spaces with hypersexualisation (Cervulle and Rees-Roberts 2010). This figure of the *racaille*, influenced by *hexis* (Bourdieu 1980)—which refers to the embodiment of class dispositions at the bodily level—plays a significant role in deterring some individuals from frequenting gay spaces in Paris.

<figure><img src="image_18.png" /></figure>
During my fieldwork, some respondents reported experiencing exclusion specifically due to their place of residence. Indeed, on several occasions during the investigation, disclosing one's area, especially in the context of casual sexual encounters, could lead to potential partners cancelling the meeting. The perceived danger of the area, frequented by *racailles* hostile towards homosexuality, contributes to the fears some individuals have about meeting homo-bisexuals from working-class neighbourhoods. This fear of inviting people is sometimes expressed by the respondents themselves. However, it is important to note that such instances of cancelled meetings are not prevalent in the study. Nonetheless, most participants convey their disapproval of the stereotypical portrayal of suburban areas, particularly highlighting, for some, the perceived absence of white individuals. Some consider themselves as evidence to the contrary. However, few explicitly address the difficulties arising from this territorial affiliation in the sexual and/or romantic sphere. When recounting experiences, issues of class and race are most often raised by racialised respondents, as well as by white respondents who adopt the dress codes of social housing estates. In the vast majority of cases, the instances of fetishisation described occur on dating apps.<fnref n="6" /> Thus, the pervasiveness of the *racaille* figure means that racialised gay men from lower classes may be fetishised as such during sexual encounters.

This is notably the case for Nassim, who was 23 years old at the time of the interview and has lived in a social housing estate in Seine-Saint-Denis since childhood. He recounts instances of fetishisation that he has experienced on dating apps:

> For me, there's a question that really gets me, like crazy, "Are you a real Arab from the estate?" Like, how do you even know if you're a real Arab from the estate? What are you going to do? Are you going to come and check? I never answer them! And then, they follow up with, if you're coming, wear your [Nike] TN shoes. Like, you can tell they're not even turned on by the person, they're turned on by the cliché of the Arab from the estate. This question, it cracks me up. Your shark shoes there. They get so pissed off at me (Nassim, 23 years old, student, Île-de-France, has lived on a housing estate in Seine-Saint-Denis since childhood).

The fetishisation of Nassim by others thus involves an intersection of class, race, Nassim's place of residence, and the collective representations attached to it. If he is "a real guy from the estate", then he embodies the associated "costume" of the *racaille*. This phenomenon extends beyond mere racialisation; it constitutes a fetishising act rooted in multiple social relations, including gender, sexuality, nation and colonial history (Mazouz 2022). As Isabelle Clair points out, "the figure of the

<footnote n="6">⁶ These findings regarding fetishisation spaces may be influenced by recruitment biases in the field. Indeed, although dating apps are now a common way for gay men to find partners, recruiting participants through these platforms likely reinforces their tendency to report experiences of racism primarily on these sites, and less so elsewhere. This may also be explained by the fact that these men frequent physical gay and/or LGBT spaces relatively infrequently.</footnote>
*racaille* evokes an imaginary that is located not only on the margins of the city and of legality but also on the margins of the nation” (Clair 2021: 17). Thus, to be a *racaille* is not merely a label but also a style and an attitude with which some young people identify, even as they are assigned to it.

Adem, a 26-year-old gay man of Turkish origin, grew up in social housing in Seine-et-Marne until he turned 18, at which point he moved with his parents to a house they built in the same area. He holds a technician certificate (BTS) in computer science and is a big fan of techno parties. Adem recounts an experience at a Parisian party where he found himself associated with this figure:

> It's a bar where there was a big techno party, hardcore techno a bit, and I didn't necessarily want to go there for the party itself, it's just that I wanted to go catch up with, you know, the guy I told you about, the party organizer who always sends me invites [...] And then, I get to the place, in front of the bar at 3 am, I have my invite, I pull out the QR code, I start pulling out my phone, and the guy says to me, "it's a techno party!". I say to him, "So what?" He says, "No, but it's a techno party, you're not techno!" Like, you see, I laughed, I said, "I'm not techno according to you? On what grounds? Is it because I'm wearing a jacket, it was cold, that's all, it's 3 am! You see, you're closing in two hours, I'll go in, have three drinks, and leave". He says to me, "No listen!" I say to him, "I'm not going to argue with you, no problem, buddy, good luck to you". I stood aside, smoked a cigarette, called, and said, "your buddy said I'm not very techno". Right away, he came out to the door, he said, "come on!" The bouncers, he tells him, "no, no! he can't come in". He tells him, he's with me, the bouncers tells him, "No!" Then they go inside, they talk, like behind the door inside, and then I see that they're talking loudly, I can't hear, but I see that they're talking loudly. And three, four minutes later, he says, "oh sir, have a good evening". I say to him, "Don't worry! I'll dance to the techno, boss! Don't worry!" (Adem, 26 years old, employed in IT, Region, grew up in the housing estate, moved out with his parents at 18).

In gay spaces, discrimination against racialised individuals has been observed for decades (Manalansan IV 2005). In France, this was already the case in the 1970s and 1990s, when some club owners openly refused entry to Black or Arab people (Martel 1996). Here, we see that the bouncers at the party attempts to remind Adem of the theme of the event, or rather the type of music, which seems not to match his style of dress, which he himself justifies by the cold at that late hour. As we know, there are roles depending on the decor (Goffman 1973 [1956]), and thus here, for the bouncers, the role typically played by techno music enthusiasts is not fulfilled by Adem, who is then denied entry. More broadly, Adem's attire at this event—a tracksuit and trainers—probably appears heterosexual, although the organiser knows Adem because of his sexuality; at the same time, his outfit does not conform to the expectations for either homosexuals or heterosexuals at this type of party, which, combined with his supposed Arab identity and his choice of clothing, positions him as a potential threat. This dynamic highlight the intersection of class, race, and gender (and sexuality) in access to spaces.

<figure><img src="image_19.png" /></figure>
For others, racism is not perceived as an issue within the community, or at least it does not prevent them from living their sexuality peacefully. Firmin is a 50-year-old Black gay man and an executive in a large company. He did not grow up in a social housing estate but lived in one for eight years with his ex-partner, primarily due to real estate prices. It is important to note that during his time in the social housing estate, particularly due to his age, Firmin was not identified with the stereotypes of a *thug*. Moreover, his stay in the Seine-Saint-Denis department came much later in his gay career, when he was in a relationship and no longer regularly attending parties. In this sense, Firmin's social and spatial origins—having not grown up in a housing estate—have likely protected him from the discriminations inherent to these spaces and the figures associated with them, discriminations that could have hindered his access to gay spaces, as was the case for Adem. In this way, for him, “being Black” has enabled him to form relationships when he was younger:

> Well, actually, I don't know, I've always had issues with the perception of racism. You see, I'm from Réunion Island, I grew up there, and racism was almost a concept that we didn't have, and I've always found that being Black is an advantage, actually. And I've always lived like that, you know [...]. I'm Black, but it's something, I'm not saying I flaunt it, but I don't hide it, I mean, [...] in gay circles, Black people are very appreciated, generally, I haven't had too many issues with that (Firmin, 50 years old, executive in a large company, Region, didn't grow up in the housing estate, but came to live there for 8 years with his partner).

At the beginning of his “gay career”, Firmin frequented gay clubs in Paris that were predominantly made up of Afro-Caribbean individuals. He also mentioned that this environment helped protect him from racism, stating, “there weren’t really many white people; there were some, well, the whites who came, they were kind of into Black people (laughs), and so, yeah, it was a little privileged space, it was nice back then”. Firmin is aware of the position of Black individuals in the French gay world but, according to him, he has not experienced racism (or only very slightly at work), especially within his social circle, which is predominantly composed of Black gay men. Firmin’s position regarding racism can also be explained by his connection to Réunion Island, his department of origin. He views Réunion as a space in which he was protected from racism, as he was surrounded solely by people like himself, *réunionnaises*, thus not being aware of the existing racial dynamics on the island. This sentiment is reflected when he arrives in Paris, and later in the evening, when he socialises with many Antillean and Réunionese men.

More broadly, Firmin believes that no single facet can define his identity. He therefore does not see colour or sexuality, a stance that is empirically demonstrated by his success in becoming an executive in a major company. This colour-blind perspective highlights only the advantages of being Black, particularly in a sexual context, while distancing itself from the discriminations faced (Fassin 2006; Mazouz 2020, 2022). Firmin thus conceives racism solely in terms of exclusion and not as an essentialisation. However, in a sense, by overlooking racism within the community, Firmin inadvertently endorses non-mixed spaces.

<figure><img src="image_20.png" /></figure>
The exceptional sexuality often associated with Black men (and more broadly, racialised men) positions them as inherently heterosexual, distancing them from white gay circles, as previously illustrated in the case of Nassim. This phenomenon can also be valorised, both by Black individuals themselves and by white individuals seeking exoticism. This was already evident in the homosexual classified adverts of the 1970s, particularly in the French magazine *Gai Pied*. For some individuals expressing their desires through these ads, the exoticisation of racialised individuals is directly linked to the legacies of the former French colonies (Shepard 2017). Indeed, for the men featured in the adverts, there are "lands where mixed race and the warmth of the tropics [...] produce heightened virility and uninhibited sexualities" (Vörös 2020: 137). Once he left the housing estate in the Paris region to move to another part of France, Firmin received numerous surprised yet enthusiastic messages from individuals pleased to see "Blacks" in a rural area. In Firmin's case, as with others, Blackness is mobilised as a resource to facilitate multiple sexual encounters (Trawalé 2018: 124). It is crucial to recognise the issues related to fetishisation within the community, as this practice is perceived as harmful by some and as an opportunity by others, facilitating access to sexual relationships, but perhaps not to more serious ones. Firmin reports having primarily been in relationships with racialised individuals, particularly during his youth as a club-goer. In a sense, the evenings for racialised gay men in the heart of Paris seem to have enabled him to frequent these spaces without experiencing racial discrimination.

Conclusion

In research on homosexuality in France, and particularly since Didier Eribon’s book (Eribon 1999), it has long been assumed that the trajectories of gay men have been oriented towards urban spaces, particularly city centres, and that moving to these areas was considered essential. However, recent French studies have begun to challenge this idea, questioning “where to be gay today” (Giraud 2019) and examining, in particular, the trajectories of rural gay men (Annes 2012; Giraud 2016). These studies critique the imaginary of escape through the lived experiences of individuals in peripheral territories. This article is situated within this perspective, not by focusing exclusively on everyday life in these peripheral spaces, but by examining how living in these areas shapes occasional mobilities towards urban centres. In our study, gay spaces, particularly in Paris, are often abandoned after short periods or regarded as unappealing, primarily due to an overly visible homosexuality, which is sometimes perceived as excessively feminine and overly focused on sexual activity. For all participants, living out their sexuality, particularly their homosexuality, is considered a private matter and should not lead to visible displays of their practices. “Fleeing to the city” and frequenting Parisian gay spaces implies, for many individuals, encountering a specific portrayal of homosexuality: one that is white, focused on sex, and associated with the bourgeoisie. However, this temporary escape experienced by most ultimately shapes a relationship with the world characterised by a distance from homosexuality and its spaces.

<figure><img src="image_21.png" /></figure>
This finding aligns with research examining the distance some gay men maintain
from femininity and LGBT spaces. Indeed, this approach to living out one's
homosexuality is not a new approach within the community. The masculinity
emphasised by these men, which combines conformity to traditional masculine
expectations with the acceptance of their homosexuality, echoes similar findings
among gay men who grew up in rural areas, both in France and the USA (Annes
2012). More broadly, research has shown that the politicisation of right-wing gays
also leads them to view the Marais and other gay spaces as a repellent centre,
prompting them to become politically active in defence of an alternative form of
homosexuality (Durand 2017). Here, the public politicisation of the rejection of the
gay scene appears unthinkable, as homosexuality is not always hidden but rather
regarded as private. Indeed, even if some families are aware of or suspect their sons'
practices and/or attractions, sexuality is rarely a topic of discussion, as it does not
constitute a predominant aspect of the identity of the men surveyed. Moreover,
some individuals support LGBT associations and movements (some have even
collaborated with them), but distance themselves from a form of homosexuality
deemed unacceptable within the context of their personal history, marked by
territorial, racial, and class affiliations that are quite distinct from those of Christian
right-wing gays. Therefore, homosexual men from housing estates define themselves
as gay, but as "outsider gays". Thus, the trajectories of homosexuals from housing
estates remain marked by a constant back and forth between dispositions stemming
from their primary socialisation and others, acquired or rejected, arising from their
secondary homosexual socialisation.

More broadly, this article contributes to the literature on discrimination within
Francophone LGBT communities, highlighting how the articulation of social
relations excludes LGBT populations from working-class and/or racialised
backgrounds. In French-language research, discrimination is rarely analysed through
an intersectional lens, particularly incorporating class and space into the analysis
of racism. When such analyses are carried out, studies often focus on digital social
networks and the media (Cervulle and Rees-Robert 2010; Jahjah 2024). The
contribution of this article, therefore, is to highlight how these discriminations
manifest in everyday practices, particularly through the barriers they create in
accessing spaces. Our study thus demonstrates that the figure of the Arab man from
working-class areas is not only a fetishised figure within LGBT spaces (Vörös 2020)
but also constitutes a barrier to access to certain spaces.

While this research helps to complicate the binaries of periphery/centre and gay-
friendliness/homophobia by highlighting the connections between gay individuals
from housing estates and central homosexual spaces, as well as the challenges
encountered during these visits, it ultimately provides limited insight into how
homosexuality is managed within the peripheral spaces themselves.

In this context, to address these gaps, future research should focus on two aspects
of the place of gender and sexuality minorities in France and in housing estates.
Firstly, it is important to study the conditions enabling the expression of sexuality,
and more broadly, the expression of gender and sexuality minorities at the local
level. This includes examining familial and social connections, as well as the role
of institutions present in housing estates in the socialisation of men. Secondly, it
would be pertinent to pay particular attention to the formation of lifestyles, that is, to the role of sexuality and its intertwining with other social relations in the daily lives of individuals. In other words, the focus should be on the concrete effects of identifying as “outsider gay” on individuals’ modes of relationships.

**Acknowledgements** The author wishes to thank the special issue editors, Sarah Mazouz and Éléonore Lépinard, for their thoughtful guidance and feedback on several drafts of this work. Thanks also to Romain Philit, Nathan Lévêque, the BruLau 2023 team, and the French Politics reviewers for their helpful comments.

**Funding** Open access funding provided by University of Lausanne.

**Open Access** This article is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License, which permits use, sharing, adaptation, distribution and reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons licence, and indicate if changes were made. The images or other third party material in this article are included in the article's Creative Commons licence, unless indicated otherwise in a credit line to the material. If material is not included in the article's Creative Commons licence and your intended use is not permitted by statutory regulation or exceeds the permitted use, you will need to obtain permission directly from the copyright holder. To view a copy of this licence, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/.

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