ss Justice Smith threatens to sue anyone who calls him gay, despite his somewhat unconventional dressing style — read his candid remarks on the matter

In the ever-evolving landscape of celebrity discourse on identity, few moments capture the nuance of queer autonomy quite like Justice Smith’s recent appearance on the viral TikTok series Gaydar.

The 29-year-old actor, celebrated for his transformative roles in films like I Saw the TV Glow and blockbusters such as Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom, delivered a candid takedown of rigid labels during the November 2025 episode.

When host Anania— the drag queen and actor behind the show’s signature “gaydar” guesses—probed Smith’s sexuality with the classic closer: “If I had to guess if you were gay, straight, or a homophobe…”, Smith didn’t just sidestep. He redefined the conversation.

“I don’t allow straight people to call me gay,” he stated flatly, his tone a perfect blend of wit and weariness. It’s a declaration that’s since exploded across social media, amassing millions of views and sparking debates from queer TikTok to Reddit threads.

But beneath the memeable quip lies a deeper critique: the limitations of how outsiders—particularly straight ones—police and simplify queer lives.

Smith’s remark wasn’t born in a vacuum. The Gaydar episode, which dropped on November 13, 2025, comes at a pivotal time for the actor.

He’s fresh off promoting Now You See Me: Now You Don’t, the latest installment in the illusionist franchise where he flexes his charisma alongside stars like Jesse Eisenberg.

Yet, it’s his indie darling I Saw the TV Glow—Jane Schoenbrun’s haunting exploration of gender dysphoria and repressed identity—that cements his status as a queer icon. In it, Smith embodies Owen/Isabel, a character whose fluid existence mirrors the actor’s own.

“Everything was gay” on that set, Smith laughed during the interview, crediting a crew brimming with trans, nonbinary, and queer talent. It’s no coincidence; Smith’s choices reflect a deliberate embrace of stories that challenge norms, much like his off-screen evolution.

To understand the weight of his words, rewind to 2020. Amid the fury of Black Lives Matter protests, Smith publicly identified as queer in an Instagram post that doubled as a rallying cry for intersectional justice.

Sharing photos with then-boyfriend Nicholas Ashe— the Queen Sugar star—he wrote: “As a black queer man myself, I was disappointed to see certain people eager to say Black Lives Matter, but hold their tongue when Trans/Queer was added.” The post, which included tender snapshots of the couple brushing teeth and kissing in a photo booth, wasn’t just a coming-out; it was a manifesto.

Smith rejected the term “coming out” outright in later interviews, calling it a heteronormative ritual that implies secrecy. “I knew what I was doing,” he told Men’s Health in 2021.

“It took me 0.05 seconds to think, ‘What if this affects my career?’ And just as quickly, I was like, ‘I wouldn’t want a career in which I couldn’t be myself.’”

This fluidity has always been key to Smith’s identity.

He’s dated women in the past— a fact he casually drops in the Gaydar clip—yet straight acquaintances often react with confusion: “But I thought you were gay?” His retort? “Okay, you don’t—you’re boring and you’re basic.” It’s a zinger that underscores his point: straight perspectives, shaped by binary thinking, reduce queerness to checkboxes.

Even within the community, Smith notes, misconceptions persist. “Gay people also sometimes seem incapable of grasping concepts like ‘people being attracted to more than one gender,’” he elaborated, pushing back against monosexual assumptions.

By reserving “gay” for those who truly get it, Smith isn’t gatekeeping; he’s reclaiming agency in a world quick to label.

His unconventional style amplifies this narrative. Smith’s red-carpet looks—think flowing skirts, bold prints, and unapologetic flair—have long invited speculation. In Genera+ion, his 2021 HBO Max series, he played Chester, a high schooler rocking a rainbow crop top to class, defying dress codes with sassy defiance.

Off-screen, Smith’s fashion echoes this: a 2022 Calvin Klein campaign with Ashe showcased them in intimate, androgynous poses that blurred lines between masculine and feminine. Critics have praised how these choices subvert Hollywood’s cookie-cutter masculinity, but they’ve also fueled armchair analysts.

“People see a skirt and assume,” Smith implied in the interview, tying his aesthetic to the very misunderstandings he combats.

The backlash to his Gaydar comments has been predictably polarized. On Reddit’s r/Fauxmoi, fans gushed: “I will always love him so much for I Saw the TV Glow.

His portrayal of a repressed, closeted trans woman was so perfect and devastating.” Queer outlets like Them and Queerty hailed it as “highly relatable,” framing Smith’s stance as a masterclass in boundaries.

Yet, conservative corners of X (formerly Twitter) twisted it into accusations of “divisiveness,” with one user lamenting “two-tier justice” in unrelated rants. Broader cultural tensions simmer beneath: In a post-Obergefell era, where LGBTQ+ rights face rollback threats, Smith’s words highlight how language remains a battleground.

As EDGE Media put it, “When Smith says, ‘I don’t allow straight people to call me gay,’ he’s not gatekeeping; he’s demanding respect for the complexity, nuance, and autonomy that queer people have always embodied.”

At its core, this isn’t about threats or lawsuits—despite the query’s dramatic spin, no legal saber-rattling has surfaced. Smith’s approach is conversational, not combative, rooted in exhaustion with erasure. He envisions a world where queer stories, like those in I Saw the TV Glow, thrive without explanation.

“If this prevents me from getting opportunities, then I never wanted those opportunities,” he reaffirmed in 2021. Today, with Now You See Me topping box offices and his queer roles earning acclaim, it’s clear: authenticity pays off.

As 2025 closes, Smith’s moment feels timely. With trans visibility under siege and intersectional activism louder than ever, his refusal to be boxed in inspires.

He ends the Gaydar episode guessing which co-star has attended a gay wedding (Eisenberg, thanks to his drag-loving kid), a light nod to the everyday queerness he champions. For fans, it’s a reminder: Let queer folks name themselves. The rest? Stay in your lane—or risk being called basic.