A promising Filipino soap, Born To Shine, is drawing sharp criticism for turning Vic, a butch lesbian character, into a threat to other women. Outrage Magazine’s Julienne Loreto argues that the storyline leans on a damaging stereotype, raising questions about representation on a mainstream show with a large audience.
Essential Takeaways
- The show’s early promise: Loreto praises its attention to Visayan culture and its portrayal of Minchie, a fully realised, plus-sized Cebuana character.
- Vic’s storyline: The article says the series frames Vic’s lesbian identity alongside ominous scenes and plots in which she drugs Megan and later Jeni.
- A question of framing: Loreto argues that this makes a lesbian character seem inherently dangerous while a straight male character’s suspicion is proved right.
- Wider context: Research and human-rights reporting document the ways anti-lesbian prejudice can intersect with misogyny and, in some contexts, sexual violence.
- A different possibility: Loreto points to affirming examples from P-pop as a contrast to the soap’s portrayal.
A bright start makes the turn harder to swallow
Loreto’s criticism starts with a sense of lost potential. She recalls Born To Shine as a show that gave space to Visayan heritage and characters who didn’t fit the usual narrow mould, including Minchie, a middle-aged Cebuana mother portrayed as attractive and complex rather than as a punchline.
That contrast makes Vic’s introduction feel especially jarring in Loreto’s account. The article says the butch lesbian character is presented as Megan’s assistant, with her physical comfort of the singer accompanied by ominous music and lingering camera shots. Loreto argues that this framing makes ordinary contact seem sinister because Vic is a lesbian.
When suspicion is proved right
The criticism sharpens when Vic drugs Megan, then later Jeni, according to Loreto’s account of the episodes. In the first storyline, Megan has repeatedly trusted Vic and challenged her boyfriend JC’s suspicions. But once Vic is shown drugging her, JC’s possessiveness is made to look justified, Loreto argues.
That is the central problem for the writer: the plot doesn’t merely depict one character behaving badly. It links a lesbian character’s identity with sexual danger, while casting the straight man as the person who sees the threat correctly. It’s a familiar soap-opera twist, perhaps, but Loreto asks what assumptions it leaves behind.
Representation has a life beyond the screen
The broader concern is not that fictional villains can never be lesbian. It’s that, when marginalised characters are repeatedly reduced to villains or stereotypes, the range of stories audiences see can narrow. The Anti-Racism Commitment Coalition’s Nicole Wood makes this general argument about representation and its potential influence on perceptions and everyday treatment; her article does not assess Born To Shine specifically.
There is also a serious real-world backdrop. Human Rights Watch documents rape, assault and murder targeting Black lesbians in South Africa, including cases associated with attempts to punish or supposedly change their sexuality. That report is about South Africa, not the Philippines, and it cannot establish the effects of a television storyline. It does, however, show why depictions that turn lesbian identity into a shorthand for sexual threat merit careful attention.
P-pop offers a more welcoming counterpoint
Loreto contrasts the soap with examples of P-pop artists and fans making room for women-loving women. In her account, these gestures range from inclusive fan spaces to music and performances that affirm sapphic romance. They offer a different picture of a pop-culture world where lesbians can be fans, artists and part of the community, rather than a danger to it.
Outrage International’s research page provides another piece of context: it describes online gender-based violence experienced by lesbian, bisexual and queer people in the Philippines, including the way sexism and queerphobia can compound one another. Its focus is online abuse, not television, and it doesn’t verify the specific incidents Loreto cites. Still, it underscores that representation sits within a wider environment where anti-LGBTQ prejudice can have consequences.
The question is what kind of story gets told
Loreto is writing an opinion piece, not reporting an independent study of Born To Shine’s impact. Her argument is that a widely watched programme should think carefully about what it repeatedly associates with lesbian identity, especially when a butch lesbian character is cast as a predator and the plot rewards a man’s suspicions.
And that’s the uncomfortable tension: a drama can create suspense without making a whole identity feel like the warning sign. Loreto’s comparison with other, more affirming moments in Filipino pop culture suggests there’s room for richer stories, ones that let lesbian characters be complicated without making their sexuality itself the threat.
A good story can keep its twists without making a marginalised identity the villain’s tell.
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