If you’ve ever wondered why LGBTQ humour creates such unforgettable art, welcome to the queer corner of the internet where sarcasm, camp and lesbian chaos meet visual storytelling. As a UK lesbian cartoon artist who specialises in rude jokes, sapphic nonsense and unapologetically women inspired illustrations, I use humour to turn everyday LGBTQ life into something bold, messy and joyfully relatable. This blog dives into how queer comedy shapes creativity, why it resonates so deeply with our community and how a little lesbian filth can make artwork funnier, sharper and far more honest than anything polished for the mainstream.

If you’re new here, you can always have a peek at the “about me" page to get the full backstory of how I ended up drawing rude cartoons for a living.

Why Queer Humour Hits Different

Queer humour arrives fully formed: sparkly, slightly unhinged and carrying emotional baggage. It’s an energy that comes from the messy, brilliant experience of being LGBTQ, a mix of survival instincts, storytelling and the ability to laugh even when the universe is handing out nonsense.

At its core, queer humour blends three ingredients.

One. Sarcasm.

Queer sarcasm is like British sarcasm but with higher stakes. We do not just roll our eyes. We roll our eyes as if trying to communicate through telepathy to every other queer within a five mile radius. The sarcasm says I know you know, and we both know that you know that I know.

Two. Trauma.

Not in a depressing way. In a comedic way. The best queer jokes come from the weird, painful and chaotic things we experience. Being shoved in the closet for years, getting misgendered in a shop, hearing your aunt say she “always knew” even though you only came out five seconds ago. These things should not be funny, but they are, and our humour turns them into art instead of letting them fester in our brains.

Three. Triumph.

Queer joy is loud. It is the payoff after the pain. The first time you go to Pride without crying. The first girlfriend who actually remembers your birthday. The first time you see queer art on a public wall and realise your existence is no longer being politely ignored. Triumph has always been the punchline of queer history, even when the joke takes longer to land

Blend these and you get humour that lands like a beautifully rude slap. When humour goes into art, it becomes recognisable, emotional and a little odd.

How I fuse humour with Queer visibility without becoming a rainbow washed bank advert

We all know the brands. The ones who go full rainbow in June and then quietly return to heterosexual beige in July. No thanks. As queer artists, we have to walk a delicate line between activism and becoming the human equivalent of a corporate Pride float.

Here’s what keeps my work honest:

I refuse to water myself down.

I just can't do it or maybe a better way of putting it is I won't do it. The amount of “weird” images floating around in my head needs to be on paper or there is spectacular potential for me to explode. Someone out there is going to relate to even the oddest thoughts I have and that means I've helped someone feel less alone. 

I hide the activism inside the jokes.

People expect lectures. They do not expect laughter. When their guard drops, that’s when the truth lands. A little humour, a little filth, a little emotional honesty. Boom. 

I lean into the stereotypes

I save all my sharpest jokes for stereotypes, institutions and Karen from HR who always asks “Which one of you is the man?” even after being corrected twelve times. We as a community often reclaim negative stereotypes or words and make them our own again. Bloody Queers!

A brief, chaotic art history of Queer comedy

Before TikTok lesbians perfected the art of thirst trapping in dungarees, queer comedic art had a whole lineage.

The Zine Era (80s and 90s).

People made angry, horny, political books and swapped them in clubs. Drag flyers, camp comics, coded jokes hidden in scribbles. Humour was rebellion. It had to be.

The Early Internet Chaos (2000s).

Forums and webcomics were full of queer humour long before brands realised gay people had wallets. The art was scrappy, the jokes were weird and the comments section was emotionally damaging, but it built community.

Modern Queer Meme Culture.

Today Queer art is everywhere. TikTok sketches, lesbian memes, sappy digital comics, chaotic reels, sapphics explaining their dating disasters in three frames or less.

How growing up in the UK made my humour polite but filthy

British humour is already a bizarre mixture of politeness, repression and boiling rage. Combine that with queer humour and you get something that looks sweet but will absolutely ruin your day in three syllables.

My humour is politely filthy because Britishness and lesbianism had a baby in my brain.

Here’s the cocktail that created my personality:

One. British sarcasm.

We are sarcastic to the point where other countries think we are being rude, which we absolutely are. We say things like “lovely weather” as we hide from sideways rain. It is a national sport.

Two. Queer honesty.

We are emotionally open in a way that terrifies straight people. We talk about our trauma like it is a funny anecdote from last Thursday.

Three. British awkwardness.

We apologise when someone else bumps into us. We say sorry to the furniture. We queue for things without questioning why. Now add being gay into that. Imagine trying to flirt at a bar while also saying “sorry” every time your arm brushes someone else’s jacket.

All these things shape the way I draw, the way I write and the jokes I make. My cartoons have politeness around the edges but filth in the middle, like a custard cream.

So why does LGBTQ humour make better art?

Because queer humour is survival, rebellion and storytelling wrapped in one chaotic package. It’s personal. It’s honest. It’s messy and joyful and sometimes deeply inappropriate. It reflects real queer life, not the sanitised rainbow version that corporations prefer.

When I draw rude, funny lesbian artwork, I’m documenting our world. I’m holding up a mirror and saying Yes, we are unhinged and yes, it is beautiful. And every time someone recognises themselves, their ex, their crush or their biggest gay regret in one of my illustrations, I know the art is doing the job.

Your eyeballs called. They want more rude, queer art. Visit my shop now and treat them before they throw a tantrum