The photographer capturing what it’s like being queer in China

“I want members of the queer Chinese diaspora to fathom how special it is to be who we are,” says Jeffrey Jin, “to feel an almost-familial bond with these faces that they’ve never even met.” It’s those faces – the ones that populate Jin’s most recent series – that sit alone in bedrooms, lounge carelessly on sidewalks, and embrace tenderly on mattresses, all while projecting their own sense of resilience. While Western notions of China often cast the country as “monolithic, restrictive, and intolerant”, as Jin describes, his photographs explore the queer bonds bubbling beneath its surface. And despite his subject’s calm exterior, there’s an urgency to the images he presents – we feel resilience in each stare, love in each laugh, entire lives splayed out on walls and bookcases.

The photographs are all the more meaningful once we learn the circumstances in which they were created. A trip to China, the country of Jin’s heritage, was extended indefinitely after running into unforeseen legal trouble. The photographer was forced to set up shop in Shanghai, finding solace with a chosen family in an un-chosen new home. These photographs are the product of that trip, and while the images are ones of strength, Jin reminds us that there is more to the community than this. “In the cracks and crevices lie some of the most electric queer spaces I’ve ever encountered, and the people within them are vibrant and loving,” the photographer says. “Although the atmosphere in some of these photos might be more on the sombre side, please don’t misinterpret my intentions – these people deserve to be celebrated.”

In the conversation below, the photographer details the events that led to his extended stay in Shanghai, and reveals how his chosen family came to be.

Hi Jeffrey. When did you begin taking photographs for the project? Was there an exact moment of inspiration that led you to create the work?

Jeffrey Jin: I suppose I began taking photos for the project – which didn’t even actualise itself into a formal ‘project’ until October – as soon as I stepped foot into China. I began in Guilin, a slow-paced city in the south, before coming to Shanghai. It was there that I met Lina and took a few photos of them one night on the way back to our hotel. I took photos of my friends Sey and Kyoto later in August. After discovering I already had several photos of queer people out of mere coincidence, I figured I should keep going and try to form a cohesive and purposeful body of work.

How did you cast the people in the series? Were there any criteria other than belonging to the LGBTQ+ community?

Jeffrey Jin: The casting process was pretty spontaneous, and the people in the photos are the result of a variety of interactions. A handful of them were mutual friends, and some I had met at Elevator, a queer club in Shanghai that’s unfortunately closing down at the end of the year due to lack of funding. One is a Tinder match, another is a familiar face I’d only ever bump into after dark outside Shanghai’s techno venues, both of us tipsy and soaked in sweat.

I didn’t necessarily structure the project with criteria other than being queer and Chinese, but many of the subjects ended up being around my age and part of the subculture scene as well. I liked that most of them didn’t consider themselves models.

The styling is particularly striking – was this specifically for the shoot, or did they have free reign to wear whatever?

Jeffrey Jin: Everyone styled themselves. I gave my two cents for some of the outfits, but I’m a huge proponent of subjects having control over their clothing choices. I look back on the photos and see everyone’s different personalities emanating through what they decided to wear that day.

I value photographing those with individual style, style that isn’t just conveyed through what someone wears, but how they think and speak and move throughout the world. I truly believe all of these components can be captured through a lens. The world, and especially Shanghai, is full of beautiful faces to photograph. What I really care about is whether your brain is beautiful too. 

“Many of them asked me what America was like – if I had ever touched a gun, what drugs I had done…. I realised that I had never answered questions like those in Chinese” – Jeffrey Jin

How did you build a relationship with them while shooting?

Jeffrey Jin: I just kept talking. I love to run my mouth when I shoot, inserting questions about first crushes, what life is like back in their hometown, whether they’ve been to Chengdu, the gay capital of China. We usually shared a meal before or after, and conversation flowed quite naturally most of the time. Yutou and I bonded over our appreciation for Arca’s music. Sky told me he has a friend from here who moved all the way to Austin, where I go to school, and plans on opening up a hotpot restaurant. Many of them asked me what America was like in return – if I had ever touched a gun, what drugs I had done, what the queer culture is like in Texas. I realised that I had never answered questions like those in Chinese.

Can you tell me about the issues that led to your extended stay in China?

Jeffrey Jin: A couple of months ago, I got into some trouble with the police in Shanghai for making an incredibly stupid decision. They confiscated my American passport and denied me any specifics regarding when I would be able to return to the States – all I was told was that I had to wait. After 36 hours in a detention centre, I was released back into the world on bail and pending trial. Month after month, I spent most of my time waiting in Shanghai, one of China’s densest and liveliest cities. Every day was a game of mental fortitude, not knowing exactly when I could return, especially since China’s statutes regarding non-citizens are so vague.

Truthfully, I could handle being arrested, detained, and interrogated – the most unendurable part was the way that my circumstances affected my family’s perception of me. After about a month, I was called back to the police station in Shanghai to sign some more papers and, shortly following, decided to move into a small apartment where I’d spend the remainder of my time.

Did that change your relationship with Shanghai?

Jeffrey Jin: My excitement to return to China – the ‘motherland’ – quickly morphed into resentment and frustration and regret. What happens when home no longer feels like home? When a place of solace transforms into a place of solitude? I beat myself up day in and day out over my mistake. From what was supposed to be a one-week stay, I ended up establishing a sense of livelihood in Shanghai for nearly half a year, developing a routine and integrating myself into a culture that I originally felt very far removed from after being born and raised in Texas, only ever having been to China before to briefly visit relatives.

Such a life-changing situation must’ve bled into your work.

Jeffrey Jin: You could say this photo series that I intentionally began during my fourth or fifth month in Shanghai immortalises that entire experience for me. Woven into these shots is a reminder to turn moments of misfortune into something meaningful. I encouraged myself to meet more and more queer people – people who might look like me but exist in radically different ways – and to absorb their stories. To heal from them. I didn’t touch my camera for an entire month after the incident initially happened, the longest I’ve ever gone. But I’m thankful I eased myself into shooting again. Although immense barriers of time and distance obstructed me from my real family back home, I gradually grounded myself in the realisation that I could find family here too.

“I really like the photo of Yihao sitting on his couch and myself in the mirror… I think I took it to include myself in the series somehow. To indicate that I’m queer and Chinese, too” – Jeffrey Jin

If you could choose one image in the series, that is either your favourite image or representative of the project as a whole, which one would it be and why?

Jeffrey Jin: I really like the photo of Yihao sitting on his couch and myself in the mirror. It’s a vulnerable self-portrait of us both, and I think I took it to include myself in the series somehow. To indicate that I’m queer and Chinese, too, and that identity is what connects me to these other subjects.

That day was so special for me; I admire Yihao and what he’s done for the LGBTQ+ community in China a lot. We ended up hanging out until 3am the next day. He showed me a documentary about Li Ermao, a renowned transgender woman in China with a tragic backstory, and I showed him a short film by Huang Shuli, a cinematographer from Wenzhou that I hold close to my heart. I feel very fortunate to have gotten to know him on a human level and that our relationship exists beyond the time that we spent shooting. Photos begin to hold real meaning for me when I can attach distinct memories to them.

What would you say is the guiding principle behind this photo series?

Jeffrey Jin: Authenticity is the flesh and bones of this body of work. There’s an unparalleled joy in encountering, interacting with, and photographing what feels real to me. Also, the timing of the work’s publication is particularly special to me – I finally got my passport back, and am headed back home this weekend.

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