From the sands of ancient Egypt through the marble halls of classical Greece, across the Renaissance and into the Age of Exploration, non‑heteronormative identities have been woven into the fabric of human history. Only in recent centuries has the dominant culture begun to police sexual and gender expression, while early societies moved far more fluidly. As irritating as the term “woken” may sound, it is simply undoing the ancient Hebrews’ legacy of imposing strict binaries, a legacy that began in the seventh‑century BC and was reinforced by later Roman and Holy Roman doctrines. Long before those edicts, the world looked very different.
Exploring 10 Historical Mythical Queer Icons
10 Hercules
Plutarch tells us that the mighty demigod Hercules shared his bed with a veritable roll‑call of male lovers—Jason, the handsome Adonis, and even Abderus, the son of Hermes. He also spent nights with Eurystheus, the king who commissioned his famous Twelve Labors, while another paramour, Iolaos, watched on. These accounts paint a picture of a hero whose romantic life was far from the straight‑male archetype we often imagine.
Of course, Hercules also had his share of female companions. His first wife, Megara—known to many from the Disney adaptation—met a tragic fate that varies by story: sometimes she is slain by him in a fit of madness, other times she is handed over to Iolaos. He later served as a slave‑husband to Omphale, queen of Lydia, even donning women’s clothing during his three‑year stay. Legend even has him deflowering all fifty of King Thespios’s daughters (with thirty‑nine in a single night), a feat allegedly performed at the king’s own request.
That the strongest of the Greek pantheon could be bisexual is hardly a revelation; it simply clashes with modern stereotypes. For millennia the gay demigod frolicked with satyrs, wrestled serpents, and—as a famous statue shows—had his genitals seized by the warrior Diomedes. Today, he is poised to appear as Marvel’s first openly gay superhero in the film The Eternals, proving that ancient queer narratives still have a place in contemporary pop culture.
9 Hatshepsut
By the time Hatshepsut ascended to the throne, humanity had largely abandoned its early communal, matrilineal structures in favor of centralized, patriarchal systems built on surplus production, trade, and patrilineal inheritance. When her father, Thutmose I, died, a two‑year‑old nephew technically inherited the crown. Hatshepsut spent seven years acting as his regent before proving herself worthy of the royal diadem—a process that forced her to adopt traditionally masculine behaviors.
Throughout her two‑decade reign, she was consistently referred to as “His Majesty,” a title reserved for male rulers. Statues, reliefs, and other depictions purposefully downplayed her breasts, gave her a more androgynous torso, and even added a ceremonial beard—an unmistakable pharaonic symbol of masculinity.
Nevertheless, her gender was never fully erased. The very name Hatshepsut translates to “foremost of noblewomen,” and contemporary inscriptions label her as “the King herself.” Early 20th‑century physician Magnus Hirschfeld identified her as a prime example of what he called “sexual intermediacy,” suggesting a non‑binary identity that pre‑dated modern terminology.
8 Achilles
Madeline Miller’s bestseller The Song of Achilles dramatizes the hero’s love for Patroclus, but the notion isn’t new. Classical scholars have long debated Achilles’s sexuality; Plato, for instance, described him as the eromenos—the younger lover—in a socially accepted pederastic relationship. The Roman poet Statius echoed this in his Achilleid, and Homer’s own Iliad offers subtle clues.
Achilles and Patroculus are practically inseparable: they share a tent, sing together, and when Patroclus falls in battle, Achilles erupts in vengeful fury, lamenting that “he has slain him whom I loved so dearly.” He even keeps Patroclus’s washed corpse in his tent, later placing a lock of his own hair in the hands of the dead. Homer’s Odyssey further hints at their bond by noting that Achilles’s ashes were mixed with Patroclus’s.
While Achilles does have occasional female lovers, he never marries. There is also a tantalizing hint of gender fluidity: as a youth, he lived at the court of Lycomedes on Scyros, disguising himself as a woman—a classic example of ancient transvestitism.
7 Joan of Arc
Joan of Arc, who preferred the pronouns he/him, joins a small roster of transgender saints canonized by the Catholic Church, alongside figures like Hilarion, Marinos, Smaragdos, and Athanasios—all of whom were assigned female at birth. In life, Joan cut his hair short and never wore women’s clothing, yet most artistic depictions emphasize feminine features, often portraying him in flowing skirts or feminized armor with long, strawberry‑blonde hair and makeup.
The Suffragettes co‑opted Joan’s image as a “womanly warrior,” using his visage to champion the right to vote, even though Joan himself was a staunch monarchist. After leading a 10,000‑strong army to end the Hundred Years’ War at just seventeen, he was betrayed by the very French king he had placed on the throne.
Captured by the English, Joan was denied ransom and handed over to the Inquisition. He initially relented under the threat of burning at the stake, but when offered a “merciful” alternative—imprisonment in women’s garments subsisting on bread and water—he quickly reverted to male dress. The university‑led trial accused him of repeatedly “relapsing, like a dog returning to its vomit,” before he was ultimately executed. Ironically, his sainthood was only granted in the twentieth century, and even then the Church portrayed him as a woman.
6 Shakespeare
In 2020, a team of scholars examined Shakespeare’s sonnets and concluded that the Bard was bisexual. By arranging the sonnets chronologically, they observed that many of the love poems were addressed to a male “Fair Youth,” replete with erotic language—e.g., Sonnet 52’s reference to “imprison’d pride,” an Elizabethan euphemism for erection. The poet also uses phrases like “master‑mistress of my passion” (Sonnet 20) and “Lord of my love” (Sonnet 26), indicating a fluid romantic life.
Critics such as Brian Vickers argue that one cannot infer an author’s sexuality from artistic output, insisting on separating art from artist. Yet scholars like Stanley Wells counter that Shakespeare left unmistakable clues—like the 13 puns on his own name “Will” in Sonnet 135—suggesting personal involvement. Arthur Freeman adds that Shakespeare would not have repeatedly portrayed a vulnerable, aging bisexual suitor unless it reflected genuine experience, especially given the legal risks of homosexual activity in Elizabethan England.
Thus, while the debate continues, the weight of textual evidence points toward a bisexual identity, positioning Shakespeare as a literary pioneer who navigated love across gender lines while crafting some of the world’s most enduring poetry.
5 Zeus
Is the king of the gods queer? Absolutely. In Homer’s Iliad, Zeus becomes smitten with the youthful shepherd Ganymede, whisking him away in a dramatic abduction that artists have rendered for centuries—from ancient mosaics to Renaissance frescoes. The episode, famously titled “The Rape of Ganymede,” shows Zeus, often in the form of an eagle, seizing the handsome Phrygian youth.
Roman poet Ovid adds a twist, describing Jupiter’s (Zeus’s Roman counterpart) eagle‑clasped grasp of Ganymede and noting the resulting jealousy of Juno, his wife. Some scholars argue the tale represents a spiritual ascent rather than a sexual act, suggesting a symbolic journey of the soul. However, Renaissance painters leveraged the story to celebrate male beauty, with Michelangelo even gifting a sketch of the scene to his lover Tommaso.
By the eighteenth century, the euphemistic “spiritual” explanation fell away, and Ganymede became a clear emblem of homosexual desire, even lending his name to male prostitutes. The myth endures as a testament to the ancient acceptance of same‑sex attraction among even the highest divine beings.
4 Da Vinci
Leonardo da Vinci guarded his personal life with remarkable secrecy, yet gossip from his era hints at same‑sex liaisons. At twenty‑three, during a crackdown on morality, he faced accusations of intimate relations with a man—a charge that could have landed him in prison. Florence at the time was so tolerant that “Florenzer” became slang for a gay man.
Later rumors, recorded by the artist Gian Paolo Lomazzo, suggest da Vinci discussed an affair with the Greek sculptor Phidias, who allegedly asked him about a “backside game” popular among Florentines. Leonardo’s own notebooks, examined by Freud and others, hint at a love triangle involving two male assistants: the mischievous Salaí (“Little Devil”) and the aristocratic Francesco. Their relationships appear to have inspired several of Leonardo’s works, even becoming the subject of a modern opera.
Salaí, a rough‑around‑the‑edges youth, remained with Leonardo for twenty‑five years, while Francesco joined them midway, aged roughly thirteen or fourteen. Their trio toured Europe together until Salaí departed for France, possibly after a falling‑out; he was absent at Leonardo’s death in 1519, and Francesco inherited much of his master’s legacy, whereas Salaí received only a modest vineyard.
3 Caesar
Julius Caesar earned the nickname “the Queen of Bithynia” after an alleged affair with King Nicomedes IV of Bithynia when he was twenty. Sent to secure an alliance for a military campaign against Lesbos, Caesar lingered at the royal court, becoming enamored enough to stay longer than planned and even return shortly after his departure—fueling scandalous rumors.
In Roman society, bisexuality was commonplace, yet being the receptive partner was considered shameful for a Roman male. Consequently, political rivals weaponized the rumor: co‑consul Bibulus labeled Caesar “Bithynicam reginam” in official edicts, poet Licinius Calvus mocked him in verse, and politician Memmius publicly accused him of serving as the king’s cupbearer. Even Caesar’s own soldiers jeered at him for the alleged debasement.
The most scathing attacks came from Cicero, a fellow homosexual, who described Caesar’s encounter in lurid detail—painting a picture of a golden couch, purple drapes, and the “virginity of the one sprung from Venus” being lost in Bithynia. In the Senate, Cicero even shouted, “No more of that, pray, for it is well known what he gave you, and what you gave him in turn,” underscoring how the rumor was used to undermine Caesar’s authority.
2 Paul
Was the apostle Paul a closeted gay man? Though traditionally painted as a fierce critic of homosexuality, his own writings hint at a more inclusive vision. In Galatians 3:28, he famously declares, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female; for you are all one in Christ.” This radical egalitarianism was unusual for his era.
Paul grew up in Bithynia—a region where same‑sex love enjoyed relative freedom, the very place where Caesar’s scandal unfolded. Notably, Paul never mentions a wife, and scholars who search for a marital partner find none. He gravitated toward a tight‑knit, all‑male circle of companions—Timothy, Silas, and Luke—suggesting a preference for male fellowship.
Bishop John Shelby Spong, author of *Rescuing the Bible from Fundamentalism*, posits that Paul was a “self‑loathing, repressed gay male,” interpreting his frequent references to a “thorn in the flesh” and his self‑critical tone as evidence of internalized homophobia. According to Spong, Paul’s theological emphasis on unity may have been a subconscious attempt to reconcile his hidden desires with his public teachings.
1 Jesus
Could Jesus have been gay? The idea explains why attempts to “pray the gay away” have been futile. While there is no explicit biblical evidence confirming his sexuality, there is also no clear proof of heterosexuality. Some scholars point to the intimate relationship between Jesus and John—the “disciple whom Jesus loved”—as recorded in John 13:23, where John leans on Jesus’s bosom while clothed in a single tunic.
John was the sole disciple present at the crucifixion, caring for Mary after Jesus’s death—a role traditionally reserved for a beloved partner. Medieval queer saint Aelred of Rievaulx even described their bond as a “marriage.” Later, King James I, himself reputedly gay, invoked this “friendship” to defend his own same‑sex relationship, while Frederick the Great likened John to Ganymede, the male lover of Zeus.
Moreover, Jesus broke rabbinic norms by remaining unmarried—a radical stance, as Jewish tradition expected rabbis to marry and “be fruitful and multiply.” This defiance alone marks him as queer in the cultural context of his time. Additionally, he healed a young male lover of a Roman centurion and performed a mysterious act in Mark’s Gospel that some interpret as an initiation of a naked boy. Critics who argue for a heterosexual romance with Mary Magdalene often rely on later, non‑biblical traditions. Ultimately, whether Jesus was gay or not, the countless queer individuals persecuted in his name highlight the enduring relevance of his teachings.