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Queer opera singers: “I was too feminine, too ‘gay.’ I heard that on opera stages in both Asia and Europe”

When opera singers aren’t forced into stereotypes, but are allowed to express what feels natural, something new emerges, says researcher.

Much of opera’s legacy mirrors the gender norms of the 19th century. Here from George Bizets opera Carmen at the Norwegian Opera & Ballet in 2009.

(Photo: NTB)

Lisbet Jære Lisbet Jære Lisbet Jære Freelance JOURNALIST

Presented by: Presented by: Presented by: University of Oslo

Published 23 December 2025 - 00:01

Opera is rich in grand love dramas between courageous heroes and beautiful heroines, and for many opera singers it’s natural to step into traditional gender roles.

But for queer singers, the same frameworks can feel artificial and uninclusive.

“Classical opera has rigid expectations of how a ‘man’ or ‘woman’ should look, behave, and sound. These conventions are deeply embedded in teaching, casting, and the expectations of audiences,” says researcher Daniel Fong at the University of Oslo. He has researched what it’s like to be queer in opera.

Fong has felt these expectations first-hand. Before becoming a researcher, he was an opera singer: a gay baritone who was often told to be “more masculine” on stage.

“I was too feminine, too ‘gay.’ I heard that on opera stages in both Asia and Europe,” he says.

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What is it like to be a queer opera singer in Norway?

When Fong came to Norway, he began to wonder whether other queer singers had similar experiences in a country known as one of the most LGBT+ inclusive in the world.

That became the starting point for his doctoral thesis.

“When queer singers are freer to express themselves, it can open doors for audiences who don’t see themselves reflected in the classical works,” says researcher Daniel Fong.

The research is based on interviews and observations of queer opera singers in Norway – trans people, non-binary singers, lesbians, gay men, and others who identify outside heteronormative categories. The sample is a mix of professionals and students, and several belong to a collective of queer singers.

The aim was to understand how gender, sexuality, and identity are expressed in one of the most tradition-bound art forms.

“Despite Norway’s progressive reputation, the study shows that tensions related to gender and sexuality still exist in Norway,” says Fong.

Room for change

Much of opera’s legacy mirrors the gender norms of the 19th century, the century often called opera’s golden age. The archetypes aren’t complex but rely on one-dimensional character traits.

Women are either passionate and romantic, like Violetta in La traviata, or seductive and rebellious, like Carmen in Georges Bizet’s opera.

Men may be violent and authoritarian, or they are heroic and romantic princely figures, such as Rodolfo in La bohème.

Sexuality is either heaven or hell.

That these archetypal heroes and heroines still shape both education and productions is an important finding in Fong’s study. But he sees potential for change. Opera can be an arena for new stories, new bodies, and new forms of expression – if the institutions dare to let them in.

“This isn’t about changing everything at once, nor is the goal to remove all traditional, historical roles in opera. But within this system there is room for change, and several people have already begun to claim that space,” he says.

Fong points to three areas for change:

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Audiences must be willing to challenge their own assumptions and habits, and embrace more diverse productions.
Directors and artistic leaders should explore more ways to include different bodies, voices, and expressions of gender.
Educational institutions need to recognise the challenges faced by queer students and develop guidelines that support them.

Freedom, vulnerability, and highly sensitive data

Fong, who is from Singapore, notes that Norway is one of the few countries in the world where he would receive support for such a thesis.

Several of the singers in the study also emphasise that they feel privileged. They have legal rights, they don’t have to fear being thrown in prison, and they can be open in ways that aren’t possible elsewhere in the world.

But privilege doesn’t mean the absence of problems. The community is small, and the group is easily identifiable.

“These are highly sensitive data. Some interviewees fear that their identity could cost them jobs, roles, or admission to educational institutions,” he says.

They talk about daily micro-incidents that gradually erode their self-esteem: misgendering, correction of body language, expectations of 'proper' masculine or feminine expression.

The study also reveals that the queer opera community in Norway is vulnerable to political and social currents. After the shooting in Oslo in July 2022, several respondents said they were afraid to perform on stage or move about in connection with queer productions.

“Singers live with the same economic uncertainty as most freelancers. On top of that there's fear about how audiences, institutions, and workplaces will receive them, and whether political engagement in queer issues might affect their reputation and job opportunities,” Fong says.

Creative counter-strategies and new stories on stage

At the same time, his research shows a strong sense of community within the group. The singers he has followed create their own projects, networks, and safety strategies.

“They demonstrate a ‘community of care’ in practice,” he says. “After performances they go home together. They support each other professionally and emotionally. There is a great deal of solidarity and hope in these environments.”

In their productions, they use gender expression as an artistic resource. Costumes, props, character interpretation, and body language become tools to explore gender and identity on stage.

The opera can be an arena for new stories, new bodies, and new audiences, says Daniel Fong, who has researched what it's like to be queer in the opera. Here from The Royal Swedish Opera in Stockholm.

They take classical roles and turn them towards more fluid gender expression.

One female singer performed a male character in men’s clothing, but without playing 'masculine,' allowing the audience to interpret the body and expression for themselves.

“Such moments show how liberating opera can be. When singers aren’t forced into stereotypes but are allowed to express what feels natural, something new emerges. They contribute perspectives and stories that opera truly needs,” says Fong.

Making opera relevant to more people

Opera houses today struggle to reach new audiences.

“Perhaps one solution is precisely to make opera more relevant to more people,” Fong says. “When queer singers are freer to express themselves, it can open doors for audiences who don’t see themselves reflected in the classical works.”

For the singers in the study, this is not just about representation, but about the possibility of being whole human beings – both artistically and personally. At a deeper level, the study is not only about the rights and opportunities of queer opera singers, says Fong.

“My aim is to foster sensitivity and tolerance towards being different. Many heterosexual men and women also struggle to find their place within these stereotypical roles,” he says.