Abstract
This article introduces the concept of “queer fantasy economy” as a compelling framework for analyzing the production, representation, and reception of commercially produced queer media. Taking the Thai Y-series drama—a rapidly expanding genre that originated in Thailand and has gained widespread popularity in non-Anglophone regions from Asia to Latin America—as a case study, we examine the recurring allegations of queerbaiting in the transnational fandom. By exploring the intricate dynamics of the Thai Y-series industry, including its queer representation, as well as audience engagement and marketing strategies, we interrogate simplistic critiques of queerbaiting and advocate for more nuanced, contextualized perspectives. The “queer fantasy economy” approach illuminates the interplay between economic imperatives, creative worldmaking, state power, and the affective economies of queer visibility. Ultimately, we argue that “queer fantasy economy” provides a nuanced lens for understanding queer media as an expedient strategy for queer advocacy and representation, and for rethinking queer media’s transformative potential in societies where civic space for gender and sexual diversity is limited or shrinking.
Keywords
Introduction
As the 2020s unfold with both progress and regression in LGBTQ+ rights worldwide, a remarkable cultural force has emerged from Southeast Asia: Thailand’s Y-series drama. These queer TV dramas, typically starring good-looking young actors and featuring homoerotic romances in often idealized ways, have captivated audiences from Asia to Latin America. Given ongoing debates over whether commercially successful queer media exploits or “baits” queer audiences, their global popularity complicates conventional understandings of queer visibility, affective economy, and transnational fandom. On 20 March 2024, executives and actors from two Thai Y-series production houses accompanied by the Minister of Commerce, visited the Government House of Thailand to meet the Prime Minister. This high-profile reception signals the Y-series industry’s growing economic weight and international reach, to the point that it has been incorporated into Thailand’s broader cultural promotion agendas and soft power strategy. While state recognition of queer media remains rare worldwide, Thai government’s embrace of Y-series stands out. What makes Y-series an exception? In this article, we examine transnational fandoms’ queerbaiting critique of Thai Y-series industry. Queerbaiting refers to media producers enticing queer audiences by hinting at LGBTQ+ representations but without actual fulfilment (Brennan, 2019). Drawing on digital ethnography and in-depth interviews, we propose “queer fantasy economy” as an alternative framework that expands prevailing US-centric scholarship of queer representation and audience engagement.
Y-series (ซีรีส์วาย, series wai) is a local abbreviated term adapted from the Japanese yaoi and yuri (Saejang, 2019), comprises boys love (BL) and girls love (GL) TV dramas. Far from niche, in 2023, Thailand’s Department of International Trade Promotion reported over 270% growth in Y-series production since 2020 (Khaosod English, 2023). The Siam Commercial Bank Economic Intelligence Center (hereafter, SCB EIC) identifies Y-series as a key driver in Thailand’s post-COVID recovery of entertainment production (Krongkaew, 2025). The Ministry of Commerce (2024; hereafter MOC) valued the industry at 1 billion baht (USD28.3 million), with SCB EIC projecting 4.9 billion baht (USD140 million) by 2025 (Krongkaew, 2025). Moreover, the industry also generates substantial revenues for tourism and related sectors. In this article, we use “Y-series” to refer to the TV dramas themselves, and “Y-series industry” to refer to their broader production, personnel, and industrial practices.
As Y-series gain popularity, criticism emerges about their connection to capitalism. Since Y-series embrace queer fantasy, they have sparked transnational fans’ concerns about the exploitation of LGBTQ+ communities through queerbaiting, a critique originated from Anglo-American fan activists criticizing media producers for teasing queer representation to attract queer audiences but failing to follow through (Brennan, 2019; McDermott, 2021). Many transnational fans equate the Y-series industry with queerbaiting, scrutinizing actors’ real-life sexualities, and questioning the sincerity of their professed allyship with LGBTQ+ communities. From our long-term digital ethnography, such allegations are often weaponized in transnational fandom conflicts, leading to trolling and even stalking of actors in real life.
The question of whether the Y-series industry engages in queerbaiting warrants closer scrutiny. In the following sections, we elucidate how queerbaiting can be a potent critical lens for exposing the commodification of queer affect, but its uncritical, indiscriminate application risks flattening complex representational politics in varied contexts of queer media industries, especially in the Global South. Informed by “queer Asia as methods” (Ge et al., 2025) and “queer regionalism” (Chiang and Wong, 2016), this article seeks to problematize and provincialize the US-centric queerbaiting critique by examining the inter-Asia/intra-regional queer dynamics grounded in Thai Y-series. By arguing that Y-series is a site of queer fantasy that can be an expedient strategy to promote LGBTQ+ visibility and equality in Thailand, we further propose “queer fantasy economy” as an alternative approach to understand the queer mediascape in Asia and regions with constrained or diminishing civic space for gender and sexual diversity.
Problematizing queerbaiting
Queerbaiting refers to the tokenistic inclusion of non-heterosexual subtext as bait for consumption, but non-heterosexuality is either eliminated or not actualized at the end (Brennan, 2019). This usage departs from the term’s earlier political and legal connotations in mid- to late-20th century America (Bridges, 2018), although its negative undertone of unwanted homophobia remains (Nordin, 2015). However, the queerbaiting allegation against the Y-series industry is multi-layered, from Y-series to their same-sex on-screen couples.
Take Gap (2022), the first full-length GL series as an example, its leads, Freen Sarocha and Becky Armstrong, have attracted huge international followings, each with over 4 million followers on Instagram as of May 2025. Recognizing Gap’s global success, Thailand’s MOC signed a memorandum of intent with its production house to promote Thai products and services with its next GL series. Like most Thai on-screen couples, Freen and Becky are known by a portmanteau—FreenBecky. As romantic partners in Y-series, they are fantasized by fans as real-person ship (RPS), meaning fans imagine romantic relationship between actors. RPSs are embraced in the Y-series industry as promotional strategy, and most actors regard staging queer romance to fulfill fans’ fantasies as part of their jobs (Jirattikorn, 2025). However, such staged romance is criticized by transnational fans as queerbaiting because it suggests but does not confirm the actors’ non-heterosexuality.
“Queerbaiting” becomes a loaded term and cultural flashpoint in Y-series online fandoms. On X, posts in multiple languages are leveled against Y-series actors, their fan service, and the industry for queerbaiting. Alongside Anglophone fans’ common concern over queerbaiting (Baudinette, 2023b), similar discourses are translated, appropriated and circulated in Sinophone fandoms to express disappointment, distrust or anger. In the Sinophone Y-series fandom, “queerbaiting” is more often known by its fandom-coined term maifu (
For decades, Global North scholarship has offered insightful perspectives in critiquing queer media in consumer capitalism, but as Jackson (2011: 24) contends, “the anti-capitalist, anti-commodification arguments of some queer critics in Western liberal democracies undervalue the importance of the market as a space of queer autonomy in authoritarian Asian societies.” Reflecting on Thailand’s Y-series industry, Baudinette (2023a) argues the classic queerbaiting critique neglects fans’ agency and the transformative potential of the consumer landscape for queer liberation. To critically engage with the recurring queerbaiting controversies in the Anglophone and Sinophone Y-series fandoms we observed in our digital ethnography, we also interviewed transnational Y-series fans to understand their experience and perspectives.
Research methods and terminology
We employed a qualitative approach combining in-depth interviews and digital ethnography to explore how queerbaiting is discussed and experienced in transnational Y-series fandoms. During mid-2023, we interviewed 21 Sinophone fans of FreenBecky, aged 20–71, from Taiwan, Hong Kong, Singapore, and Malaysia. Participants were recruited through personal networks, purposive and snowball sampling. Considering that transnational Sinophone fans are generally multilingual netizens outside China’s “great firewall” who freely access all social media and engage in both Anglophone and Sinophone fandom spaces, where queerbaiting allegations are commonly observed, their distinctive position allows them to offer more informed perspectives to this study as transnational fans.
Unintentionally, the interviews occurred shortly after a heated queerbaiting debate in Y-series fandom, and all interviewees self-identified as non-heterosexual women, echoing Tha-In’s (2023) large-scale survey findings that Thai GL viewers are predominantly queer women. During the debate, fans intensely scrutinized the actors’ real-life sexuality. Because such debates often involve harassment and cyberbullying of both actors and the fans who support them—including practices such as doxxing or death threats, we have consciously chosen not to provide further details of the incident to uphold fan studies research ethics of care (Li and Pang, 2025b)—providing sufficient contextual information for readers to grasp the argument without reproducing potentially harmful details.
Alongside our yearslong routine digital ethnography of both BL and GL fandoms of Y-series where quotidian queerbaiting allegations take place, we closely observed the multilingual debate on X from July to September 2023, including posts in highly-engaged top threads and live audio conversations. Immersing in the virtual worlds guided by community rhythms, we conducted digital ethnography against the traditional notion of a rigid, predefined field site (Boellstorff et al., 2012). To ensure anonymity, social media findings are presented in aggregate form, and all interviewee names are pseudonyms. As a growing and influential part of the Y-series industry, GL and its fandom are integral to queerbaiting debates and serve here as one illustrative entry point for understanding these critiques within the Y-series industry. If transnational queer audiences are key stakeholders of these controversies, insights from queer Sinophone fans of Thai GL series can help unravel the multi-layered queerbaiting allegations against the Y-series industry.
Please note that in this article, “actors” is used as a gender-neutral collective term referring to performers of all genders. Following Saejang (2019), we use “Y” as a generic term for both BL and GL genres produced in Thailand although some refer to BL as Y and GL as Yuri. Also, the term “Sinophone” varies by context: for individuals, we follow Shih (2007) in referring to those living outside or on the margins of China and Chineseness; for fandom spaces or social media posts, it denotes communication in written or spoken Sinitic languages.
Queer Mediascape in Thailand
In Thailand, Y-series is not the first and only genre representing non-heterosexuality, but it is undoubtedly the most far-reaching genre of Thai queer media in the 2020s. Back in the 2000s, filmmaker Apichatpong Weerasethakul made art-house films that addressed non-normative sexuality; Thai New Wave cinema depicted lives of sexual minorities (Baudinette, 2023a). Several Thai LGBTQ+ commercial films also gained international success. The first is The Iron Ladies (2000), a comedy based on a true story of a men’s volleyball team composed primarily of kathoey (i.e. transwomen) and gays. This film and its sequel were big hits in Thailand and the international film festival circuit. 2007 came the ground-breaking Love of Siam, a romantic story between two boys, and 2010 Yes or No, a same-sex teen love story between two schoolgirls. Both films were internationally well-received, and somehow set the tone for many early Y-series as coming-of-age schoolyard romance.
Whereas prime-time soap operas remained largely heteronormative, suppressing queer sexuality (Baker and Phongpaichit, 2022; Baudinette and Svetanant, 2023), elements of same-sex romance emerged as subplots in TV series such as LOVE 8009 (2004) and Tomorrow, I’ll Still Love You (2009), with romance between mature male characters (Limpongsatorn, 2020). After Hormones Season 2 (2014), which depicted romance between teenage boys, MCOT HD channel aired Lovesick (2014), the first TV series with male-male romance as its main plot, followed by a boom in BL content in Thailand (Baudinette, 2023a). As Thai BL series went mainstream and global, GL series production took off in 2022. By 2024, more than 340 Y-series were produced (Krongkaew, 2025). The industry became so phenomenal that the government incorporates it into Thailand’s soft power strategy.
Rethinking queerbaiting: Y-Series as a site of queer fantasy
However similar in settings, Y-series are different from other queer representations in not only their form but also their fantasy of queer romance. Filmmaker Soisa-ngim once described Y-series as “a fantasized world” often written by female, portraying “extremely romantic” and sometimes “unrealistic” love stories (GagaOOLalaOfficial, 2021). This dreamlike world of Thai Y-series—taking BL series as an example—draws on inter-Asia pop-cultural references, from Japanese yaoi trope and K-pop shipping culture (Baudinette, 2023a; Prasannam, 2019). Conventions from Japanese yaoi manga and anime, such as the seme/uke dyad (stereotypical top/bottom pair) and kabe-don (cornering), were adopted in the early Thai Y-series productions (Baudinette, 2023a). Besides, Y-series also validate and legitimize their transnational viewers’ queer aspirations, dreams, and hopes, especially in homophobic and transphobic societies where legal protections are lacking (Baudinette, 2025; Jirattikorn, 2025). During COVID-19 lockdown, the more maturely-produced, English-subbed Thai Y-series which are available for free online gained global popularity (Baudinette, 2023a). After lockdown restrictions were lifted, Thai BL series production surged (Bunyavejchewin et al., 2024), featuring more diverse themes and narratives; transnational fans resumed visits to Thailand for fan-meetings and fan pilgrimage. In 2022, Idolfactory launched Gap, marking the start of the GL era (Li and Pang, 2025a).
The worldwide popularity of Y-series actors, especially in non-Anglophone regions, is attributed to the queer fantasies depicted in Y-series and embedded in their vibrant RPS culture (Silva et al., 2025). Shipping, the shorthand for “relationshipping,” refers to fans fantasizing about romantic (usually homoerotic) relationships between idols (Baudinette, 2023b). Fans who enjoy shipping are known as “shippers,” and the on-screen couple they fantasize is the “ship.” In Thailand, a “ship” or on-screen couple is called khujin (
Given this deep entanglement of fantasy, queer affect, and marketing strategy, it is unsurprising that Y-series are criticized for queerbaiting; however, such debates require closer scrutiny. We first examine these allegations, based on our digital ethnography of the transnational Y-series fandoms. We then analyze the Y-series industry’s marketing strategy of encouraging fans to imagine actors as real-life couples mirroring their on-screen relationships, drawing on interviews with transnational Sinophone fans conducted after a queerbaiting controversy. Finally, we consider why the queerbaiting critique is counter-productive for understanding such marketing practices in a Global South context.
To begin with, we examine allegations against Y-series, specifically, the queer representations within the dramas. On social media, transnational fans allege that Y-series capitalize on queer themes and queer audiences. But is portraying same-sex romance and eroticism necessarily queerbaiting? We argue it is not. Brennan (2019: 1) defines queerbaiting as “pledging an allegiance to issues of queer visibility without actually delivering on such an allegiance in any tangible way.” In other words, queerbaiting refers to texts that intentionally suggest queerness but ultimately withhold or deny such possibilities (Brennan, 2018a). Y-series, rather than denying or mocking homoerotic possibilities, openly depict queer characters and affirm their non-heterosexuality. What makes queer-coded representations queerbaiting? Analyzing Japanese BL dramas, Shimauchi (2025) argued that queerbaiting occurs when kisses are attempted but not actualized. If we understand queerbaiting in this way, then Thai Y-series do not warrant the criticism because they are known for explicit kisses and love scenes. For example, in adaptations like Cherry Magic (2023) and My Love Mix-Up (2024), kisses and/or love scenes absent in the Japanese originals are actualized in Thai versions.
Besides actualizing queer intimacy, some fans argue that Y-series engage in queerbaiting because Y-series do not meaningfully advocate LGBTQ+ rights. In fact, many Y-series dramas do address real-world challenges faced by LGBTQ+ individuals. From the earlier BL series Dark Blue Kiss (2019) to the recent GL series Us (2025), many dramas have advocated for family acceptance and same-sex marriage legalization, especially prior to Thailand’s enactment of marriage equality law. It is true that some Y-series sub-genres, such as the Omegaverse, present a world more “fantastic” than the lived experience of LGBTQ+ in Thailand, and some reinforced stereotypes of sexual minorities, but in recent productions, there are attempts to avoid romanticizing forced kisses and coercive sex and normalize transwomen’s love lives. Besides, many recent Y-series have explored diverse themes, characters and narratives in delivering queer fantasy. Examples include series that rethink sexual ethics (Bed Friend, 2023; Wandee Goodday, 2024), social justice (Not Me, 2021; Petrichor, 2024), work ethics (The Trainee, 2024), and disability (Moonlight Chicken, 2023; Last Twilight, 2023; Pluto, 2024). Representations of LGBTQ+ in Y-series may exhibit certain limitations, but these developments suggest that Y-series productions have evolved over the years with wider thematic breadth, heightened gender awareness, and social consciousness beyond LGBTQ+ rights.
If queercoding in Y-series does not necessarily imply queerbaiting, what about producers and actors who profit from their success? Here, intent matters. In Anglophone debates, intent has always been a “key tenet” of queerbaiting; by “intent,” Brennan (2019: 7) refers to producers who intentionally “employ a closeting device” to “keep their representations both erotic and shrouded in ‘queer secrecy.’” In Thailand, producers have not played ignorant to the queer interpretations of their Y-series. It is unavoidable that some crew or cast members are homophobic, engage in the straight-men dominant “chai-tae culture,” and work purely for financial gains; after all, TV production is a team effort. Nevertheless, as illustrated by Promkhuntong (2025), the sets can also be a site for queer worldmaking. Considering the socio-political activisms in Thailand advocating for political correctness, gender and marriage equality, and the “Krasae call out” campaign urging Y-series actors to speak out against social injustice, Y-series writers, actors and producers are now expected to demonstrate greater gender awareness and sensitivity (Prasannam, 2023) and speak out on LGBTQ+ issues, regardless of their sexual orientation (Baudinette, 2023a). The facts that actors Engfa Waraha and Earth Katsamonnat participated in pride events, Tong Thanayut lobbied for equal rights, Saint Suppapong co-produced the GL series Gap against all odds to counter the BL-dominated Y-series industry, and Gap’s production team was receptive to lesbian community criticisms during production, show that the Y-series industry can join forces to promote gender and sexual equality rather than merely exploit the LGBTQ+ community. The Y-series industry and its productions become nurturing grounds for queer fantasy and queer worldmaking.
Commodifying Queer Fantasy: Khujin and affective engagement
Given the above, Y-series are somewhat safe from queerbaiting allegations, but the industry’s khujin marketing strategy remains controversial. Khujin refers to the Thai entertainment industry promotional practice of pairing actors as “on-screen couples,” not limited to Y-series and queer audiences. The term khujin is a portmanteau of khu (คู่, lit. “pair” or “couple”) and jin (จิ้น), a Thai abbreviated transliteration of the English word “imagined” (i.e. the /dʒ.ɪn/ in /ɪˈmædʒ.ɪn/). For example, FreenBecky, whose transnational fans we interviewed, are a khujin. On X, many have argued that khujin’s fan service constitutes queerbaiting because actors perform homoeroticism to attract fans’ affection and loyalty. We contend, however, that such controversies surrounding khujin stem partly from limited contextual knowledge, issues of (mis)translation, and differing expectations within transnational fandoms.
The dynamics of khujin can be observed in the operation of GMMTV, a Thai TV company known for its Y-series and khujin idols. In Boys Love Media in Thailand, Baudinette (2023a) describes the marketing mechanism of same-sex khujin as the “BL machine” that scouts and trains talents to perform homoeroticism as khujin, blurs the boundary between on-screen characters and RPSs, strengthens khujin’s visibility and popularity through product placements, fans events and variety shows. This mechanism is so successful that it has extended to many GL idols. Although not all production houses follow GMMTV’s model due to resource constraints or different marketing strategies, most Y-series debut and promote their leads as khujin. This mechanism commodifies homoerotic romance, with khujin “designed to be ‘shipped’” (Baudinette, 2023a).
However, shippers’ deep affective investment in khujin’s homoerotic bonds places shippers in a precarious position: any news or rumors disrupting the bond can be a blow to the fandom. Our digital ethnography identified three scenarios: (1) fans’ favorite khujin stops working together, (2) one or both members form new same-sex khujin, or (3) one or both enter real-life relationships, particularly with the opposite sex. To further understand fans’ perception and engagement with Y-series khujin, we interviewed 21 transnational Sinophone fans of FreenBecky shortly after a major rumored incident of the third scenario. In in-depth interviews lasting one to five hours, fans recounted their emotional rollercoaster and sobering reflections.
Fan service as fan engagement
Fans consumed Y-series and their khujin not only culturally, but also affectively and financially. At online and in-person events, khujin evoke fans’ collective queer affect by reenacting signature scenes in the series, performing possessiveness, sweetness, and “skinship”—physical contact that shows affection, such as extreme close-ups and various affectionate touches. Fans see such staged homoeroticism as “fan service,” and actively compile and circulate snapshots, clips of these fin moments and skinship, and behind-the-scenes footage. In this “text–paratext–queer contextuality matrix” (Ng, 2017), fans co-create the fantasy that “my ship is real,” imagining the khujin as a couple dating in real life. This fantasy often develops into a hope, or even a faith that fans feel compelled to defend. To sustain this fantasy and show support, many invest time and money in casting votes, buying merchandise, and sending gifts. Such devotion leaves fans vulnerable to disillusionment. In the wake of hope-shattering rumors—member(s) in a same-sex khujin dating the opposite sex, some transnational fans, including three of our interviewees, bluntly concluded that fan service amounted to queerbaiting. To their dismay, they framed the rumored incident as a breach of trust and integrity. Several interviewees observed that fans on Weibo, the China-based social media platform, were furious and alleged the khujin of deceit and equated fan service with queerbaiting.
A closer examination with the relationship between fan service and queerbaiting is needed. Generally speaking, fan service carries a less exploitative connotation than queerbaiting, as it often refers to a gratuitous response catering to fans’ desire while aligning with market logic (Brennan, 2018b). Among the FreenBecky fans we interviewed, Winnie, a 71-year-old queer woman from Hong Kong, described fan service as a practice that panders to fans. Y-series transnational fans anticipate fan service from their beloved khujin, seeing it as a sign of professionalism, yet remain skeptical of the khujin’s genuineness and conscious of the role their fellow shippers play in such dynamics. Put more academically, fans recognize that their fantasies are reinforced by the text–paratext–queer contextuality matrix within the Y-series shipper fandom. Another interviewee, Colby (aged 30, from Taiwan), illustrated how shippers’ imagination and expectations operate: Perhaps FreenBecky intend to give off a “couple” vibe, but they have reiterated that they are sisters. In an interview, they even said, “I know all of you would say that no sisters would get along like this, but this is really how we are.” I think fans who impose their idea of a “couple vibe” onto FreenBecky are simply imagining too much. When these fans realized that FreenBecky may not share the kind of relationship they imagined, they became dissatisfied and began to attack them.
Still, many argue that fan service—attracting audiences with queer content—constitutes queerbaiting. In fact, the Thai local term for this fan service of khujin is khaai-jin (ขายจิ้น; lit. selling imagination), similar to the Chinese term maifu, which we mentioned earlier. While maifu is often equated with queerbaiting (Zheng, 2024), we suggest it aligns more closely with “slashbaiting,” a term Brennan (2018b) uses to describe homoeroticism in contemporary media as intentional fan service. Unlike the exploitative logic associated with queerbaiting, slashbaiting reframes the practice as playful content aimed at a niche fandom, while also appealing to a broader audience. In this sense, slashbaiting as playful fan service more accurately captures the Y-series industry, which for years has catered to sao-Y (mostly straight women with an interest in male homoeroticism). When Thai GL series emerged, they adopted this successful khujin model and unexpectedly attracted a large queer female fanbase as well. To engage fans, khujin are encouraged to interact on social media, livestream and live events, to produce “narratives of friendship and intimacy” that fuel fans’ affective responses (Baudinette, 2023a). Fans then extract staged homoeroticism and amplify any subtext they can read in the khujin’s uncontrived, spontaneous interactions, extending the homoerotic fantasies presented in media texts into real life. In Jirattikorn’s (2025) terms, fans embrace the “allure of idealized fantasies as part of their enjoyment” and co-construct the “hyperreality” of khujin.
Khujin as an open text
Hence, khujin becomes an open, polysemic text. Fans enthusiastically project their queer fantasies and shape the narratives surrounding their favorite khujin. They create and share fanart, fanfictions and fanvids that romanticize the relationship. As Jenkins (2012: 77) explicates, public sharing “shifts fannish interpretations from individual to collective responses.” When interpretive communities meet network connectivity, social media algorithms recommend contents to like-minded users. Theo (aged 35, from Hong Kong), for example, is one of the many who became a shipper after watching compilations of FreenBecky’s fin moments. Like Theo, fans from different cultural backgrounds with different understandings of intimacy interpret khujin as a text, both individually and collectively. Leah (aged 46, from Taiwan) was frustrated because she believed that having a bite of someone’s food and paying homage at a temple together were intimate acts exclusive to lovers. She regretted not understanding Thai culture and industry practice. Eleanor (aged 53, from Taiwan), shared this initial disappointment but eventually reconciled that, like FreenBecky, she too was very caring toward close friends, and that such acts of service could be spontaneous and not necessarily romantic.
In the wider Y-series fandom, khujin’s behaviors are subject to scrutiny. Here, we hope to complicate the discussion by arguing that kisses may not be a key determinant of whether a media or celebrity text is queerbaiting. For instance, hugs and pecks are common among some Y-series actors; yet, fans interpret these acts differently—as expressions of love between parent and child, siblings, friends, or lovers—depending on their own reading of the actors’ relationship. The association between bodily contact (such as hugs, pecks, and arm around the waist) and interpersonal relationships (such as friendship, kinship, and romantic partnerships) is the product of complex interplay of local norms around public displays of affection, government regulation of TV content, and transnational media influence.
Some transnational fans—those we observed on X and those we interviewed—shared that being unfamiliar with Thai khujin marketing approach and the practice of fan service as fan engagement may harbor false hopes that khujin are real couples due to their staged romances and other shipping practices. When they learn that their beloved khujin is, as the Thai term suggests, an “imagined couple,” the revelation can come as a shock. Others, however, took a more reflective view. Interviewees such as Doris (aged 23, from Malaysia), Yvette (aged 23, from Taiwan) and Flora (aged 41, from Taiwan) observed that it is often fans who (over-)imagine the khujin as real, creating “evidence” from subjective expectations and speculations. Harley (aged 20, from Singapore) illustrated this with the case of peer shipping within her fan group, noting that shipping is meant for fun, not fraud, and emphasizing the importance of “shipping with responsibility.” In this light, the ship or khujin can be understood, in Hall’s (2018) terms, as a negotiated rather than a dominant code.
As a negotiated code, khujin is frequently misinterpreted in transnational queer media consumption. Transnational Y-series fandoms rely heavily on machine and amateur translations, often resulting in mistranslation and misunderstanding (Pang, 2023). The Thai word khujin, as explained, literally means “imagined couple,” but its various translations confuse non-Thai fans. As of May 2025, Google Translate renders khujin as “a perfect couple.” From our digital ethnography, in both English- and Chinese-language posts, fans usually translate khujin as “couple,” sometimes “real couple” (likely because jin sounds similar to jing (จริง, lit. real)), or occasionally “on-screen couple.” Most “khujin of the year” awards are simply translated as “couple of the year” awards, and the word jin (“imagined”) is often omitted in casual conversations and media interviews. The key qualifier “imagined” is lost in cyberspace. Non-Thai-speaking fans rarely discover its actual meaning unless they search in Thai script using AI or Thai dictionary websites such as Longdo Dict (2025), which defines khujin as deriving from the English word “imagine” and described “two people (most likely stars or well-known public figures) whose fans and audience eagerly want them to become lovers in real life because the two may have worked together or given the public an image that they are very close to each other,” not to mention its possible association with the Thai word jintanaakaan (
Queer fantasy as an affective commodity
It was not until September 2024 that Thailand’s Marriage Equality Act was published on Royal Gazette, legalizing same-sex marriage. In other words, the “BL machine” (that extends to GL) and same-sex khujin emerged and evolved at a time when LGBTQ+ rights in Thailand were far from equal or secured. Thai legal frameworks for sexual minorities differ significantly from those in the West where the concept of queerbaiting arose, and Thailand falls short of the queer paradise image portrayed in foreign media (Käng, 2011). In this context, Y-series serve as a platform for advocating equal rights. While some Y-series still perpetuate stereotypical and toxic representations, many creators have taken on the responsibility to improve representations in response to calls for change since 2020 (Prasannam, 2023). For LGBTQ+ in other Asian societies, engaging with hopeful queer representations in similar contexts brings positive impacts on their lives (Santos and Baudinette, 2025). As such, the homoeroticism and romance portrayed in Y-series become affective commodities that offer many viewers hope and reimagined version of queer futures that might otherwise seem unimaginable.
Nevertheless, the affectivity of queer fantasy and imagination comes at a cost. Many transnational viewers find Y-series industry’s khujin practices a cultural shock, particularly the queer women. Unlike their queer men counterparts who are aware of BL series being a genre catering to the homoerotic fantasies of sao-Y (Baudinette, 2023a), almost all our interviewees are not. Even with experience engaging with international queer media, they were entirely new to Thai Y-series and its khujin practices. Doris (aged 23, from Malaysia), who was an experienced fan club organizer, observed that many first-timers were shocked to learn that khujin are not intended to be “real.” Interviewees such as Bonnie (aged 31, from Taiwan) and Ella (aged 24, from Hong Kong) mentioned how queer female fans, in particular, project their longing, hope and fantasy onto the khujin FreenBecky. Or in Eleanor’s words (aged 53, from Taiwan), “it’s like what’s impossible to us, they made it possible. So, they must make it through till the end.” High expectations surround them, so when the rumor broke out suggesting otherwise, it broke many hearts. Some fans felt deceived, while many were disappointed. Erica (aged 42, from Hong Kong) shared that Fans were sad and disappointed because there were very few Sapphic role models in Asia, so they wished that [the happy ending] in the series would come true in real life. Especially when [same-sex relationship] is considered disgraceful and not recognized in many Asian regions, the rumor [that khujin is not queer in real life] shattered fans’ wishes and dreams. That’s why it hurt so bad. Everyone was bereft of hope.
Despite this broken queer promise, most of our interviewees did not agree that khujin practice was queerbaiting. Hong Kong fans Kailey (aged 26) remarked, “FreenBecky truly supports LGBTQ+,” while Shane (aged 43) noted that Drama is just drama. It’s like the heterosexual on-screen couples: Andy Lau and Rosamund Kwan are not romantic partners in real life, but they can still be an on-screen couple [in Hong Kong cinema].
Seeing the khujin’s queer appeal and huge followings, some merchants explicitly hire khujin to market consumer goods in commercial livestreams. This raises the question of whether bundling queer fantasy with product advertising constitutes a form of queerbaiting. However, Theo (aged 35, from Hong Kong) argued, “you paid the money, and they offered what you wanted. They provided fan service, delighted you with sweetness; you were happy! Giving money doesn’t entitle you to dictate how they live. In fact, that’s not right!” Even as queer fantasy operates as an affective commodity, the boundary between fans and idols must be maintained.
Queer fantasy economy: An alternative to the queerbaiting critique
The policing of queerbaiting has become a sweeping generalization, often dismissive of the complexities of the Y-series industry, its transnational fandoms and Thailand’s unique genderscape. Overemphasizing the “baiting” aspect risks doing the hard-won gains in queer visibility a disservice. Blaming Y-series actors for taking queer roles solely for easy money and quick fame also overlooks the possible cost the actors face playing queer roles in Y-series, a genre still stigmatized in Thailand (idolfactoryfanclub, 2023) and censored in many Asian regions despite its popularity and Thailand’s state endorsement. In Thailand, both media representations and legal rights for LGBTQ+ are hard-fought battles that can complement each other, and queerbaiting has proved to be a misplaced critique. Yet, the awareness of queerbaiting is not without its positive side. For instance, some allegedly straight actors of Y-series making jokes about coming out on April Fool’s Day prompted backlash from fans for their insensitivity toward LGBTQ+ struggles.
Still, from our digital ethnography on social media, we observed that many fans pressure Y-series actors to prove themselves not “paying lip service” by revealing their sexual orientations. This may be derived from the Anglophone actor-character “identity alignment” discourse (Cover, 2023), but this, too, can be counter-productive as sexuality is deeply personal. Just as our interviewee Rayne (aged 43, from Hong Kong) puts it, “to a certain extent, this is forcing others to come out of the closet.” One might argue that Y-series already have strong homoerotic overtones, so why couldn’t actors reveal their non-heterosexuality? However, as evidenced in the forced coming out of Kit Connor, the lead in Netflix’s Heartstopper (2022-2024), in response to fans’ queerbaiting allegations, such pressure is inconsiderate, unethical, and traumatizing. Revealing one’s sexual orientation does not end queerbaiting; it instead forecloses the fluidity of sexuality and the possibility of queerness (Fathallah, 2021). Queerbaiting, in this context, is an inept critique because it closes off possibilities.
Without ambiguity, fantasy cannot thrive. Holding onto the queerbaiting critique, as Brennan (2018a: 192–193) notes, “any hint of fluidity and suggestiveness is debased, and only actualization (or obviousness) is acceptable.” Applied rigidly, queerbaiting logic dismisses any genuine bonds and affections between khujin—regardless of their sexual orientation—and the labor of Y-series industry practitioners advancing LGBTQ+ visibility and rights. It also disavows the diverse LGBTQ+ experiences of intersectionalities (Cover, 2023) and denies the possible allyship from straight actors, producers, and industry stakeholders. As interviewee Theo (aged 35, from Hong Kong) insightfully commented, Whether the actors like men or women has nothing to do with me. Of course, it’s upsetting if they don’t turn out to be part of the community as one expected. They may not be actual LGBT, but in fact they are our allies! I think this is good, too.
Another interviewee, Lorraine (aged 38, from Hong Kong) added, “As long as one is not 100% straight, one already falls in the queer spectrum.” Moving beyond the queerbaiting critique means moving beyond binary thinking: non-queer can be allies; queer might also queerbait; actors are not limited to being homosexual or heterosexual—they may be bisexual, pansexual, asexual, or questioning.
Ultimately, queer romantic fantasy is central to the Y-series industry. As Jirattikorn (2025) pinpoints, Y-series serves dually as “a medium for LGBTQ+ representation and a carefully curated fantasy space” where its fans derive enjoyment and meaning from its ambiguity with their criticality and imagination. The queerbaiting critique often obscures the role of shipping khujin as a source of fantasy, hope, and reassurance for viewers, both straight and queer. For shippers, queer suggestiveness fuels creativity and imagination; for queer audiences, such fantasy “sweetens” their lives and visualizes what Ahmed (2010) describes as possibilities for alternative forms of happiness. This is reflected in the disparity between the high viewership of happy and romantic scenes and the lower engagement with scenes depicting real-life hardship. Audiences yearn for sweet, romantic and sensual fantasy. We need an alternative for more productive discussions.
To address the varied contexts of queer media produced outside the West and move away from the historically situated harm discourse that queerbaiting represents, we propose the framework “queer fantasy economy” to unpack the complexities of Thailand’s Y-series industry, its khujin and fan service practices, and open more possibilities beyond reductive critiques. The queer fantasy economy operates on two interconnected levels: as an affective economy in Ahmed’s (2004) sense, and as an economic capital yielding monetary gains.
On the first level, this queer fantasy economy operates socially, materially and psychically, where signs circulate and become affective, shaping emotions and desires. It is the movement between signs converting into queer affects (Ahmed, 2004). Y-series could be, in Wong’s (2020) term, a queer affective economy. They draw in active shipper fandoms and co-create an affective ecosystem around queer fantasy. Khujin’s staged homoeroticism as signs of intimacy, alongside fans’ creative interpretations, (mis)translations, and fan-edits, fuel shippers’ fin feeling—the bliss derived from the (imagined) intimacy between the khujin—and tinhatting—the belief that actors are secretly dating but are forced to keep their relationship a secret. To sustain this queer fantasy, fans convert affection into material and monetary support.
This brings us to the second level of queer fantasy economy logic that echoes Baudinette and Svetanant’s (2023) “queer affective media engagement” which generates surplus with an affect-commodity-money flow. The Y-series industry capitalizes on queer fantasy: fans enthusiastically support fan-meetings, livestream sales and merchandise in the hope of enjoying more fin moments and boosting their khujin’s visibility and market value. Aware of capitalist market logic, fans still cherish the fantasy they project onto their beloved khujin. This fosters the belief that “my ship is real, but yours is queerbaiting,” a charge often weaponized against rival khujin or directed at production house and the Y-series industry when such belief is faltered. However, just as marketing heterosexual romance to the straight audience is not considered “straight-baiting,” alleging that Y-series industry is queerbaiting can undermine the subjectivity and agency of queer fans.
By advancing the notion of queer fantasy economy, we acknowledge the Thai term khaai-jin and recognize both the bright and dark sides of the Y-series industry. While stereotypes, homonormativity, and exploitation persist, the industry is also evolving, making possible diverse LGBTQ+ representations and queer worldmaking in mainstream media (Promkhuntong, 2025). As Baudinette (2025) observes, the queer affects embedded in transnational fandoms have driven significant emancipatory politics, creating new ways of being, doing and understanding for LGBTQ+ individuals in a heteropatriarchal world. Our critique of Thai Y-series industry, therefore, should move beyond binary terms and concepts rooted in the West, and instead explore their nuances in the local and transnational contexts.
From a broader perspective, Thailand’s Y-series industry presents a different picture from those in Euro-American societies. Every June, shopping malls decorated with rainbow flags might seem like a bid for rainbow capitalism. However, many, such as the high-end shopping mall Siam Paragon located at the heart of Bangkok, actively support pride events with both words and deeds. Many Y-series celebrities eloquently engage in LGBTQ+ advocacy online and offline. Recognizing the revenue Y-series industry generates, the Thai government has signed memoranda of intent with production houses, offered funding support, enlisted khujin to represent Thailand at international festivals hosted by the Royal Thai Embassy in different continents, and appointed Y-series producers and directors to the National Soft Power Strategy Committee (NSPSC)—officially recognizing Y-series as a national soft power.
Despite this, Witthayakhajorndet, founder and CEO of production house Be On Cloud, noted that Y-series are far from matching Korean dramas in budget or returns due to systemic constraints. Even with an internationally successful series KinnPorsche (2022), he relies more on Y-series idol concerts and fan-meetings than production revenue to sustain his company (prachachatOnline, 2023). In this light, the marketing emphasis on khujin is as much a survival tactic as a commercial strategy.
In short, queer fantasy economy is neither inherently positive nor negative. It offers a way to think out of the “queerbaiting” box, which can be counter-productive when applied to the Y-series industry or other non-Western queer media. Rather than assuming the industry is by default exploiting the queer community or undermining LGBTQ+ activism, we see scope for collaboration, critical intervention, and allyship in advancing LGBTQ+ visibility and inclusion. Although the means and objectives may differ, the queer fantasy economy can create an expedient—sometimes uneasy—space where the state, industry, activists, and community negotiate co-existence and work, at times in tension, toward greater diversity and social justice.
Conclusion
This discussion of Y-series, queerbaiting, and the queer fantasy economy invites us to consider their significance within wider transnational dynamics of queer media. In this sense, fans participate in what Jackson (2009) terms global queering—local transformations shaped by the intersecting forces of national and transnational capital. On the stage of “centralwOrld Bangkok Countdown 2025,” four Y-series khujin stood alongside the Governor of Bangkok, joyfully celebrating the new year at the “Times Square of Asia.” This scene was like a queer dream come true. In the current market economy, the queer fantasy economy of Y-series can be a nexus for creative engagement and queer advocacy.
Interrogating the conflation of Thailand’s Y-series industry with queerbaiting in transnational fandoms, we have argued that Y-series offer an effective intervention to reveal the limits of the Euro-Americentric concept of queerbaiting and its misplacement in the Global South. To read Y-series industry only as market-pandering is to overlook its (sub-)cultural worldmaking. As Baudinette (2023a: 103–105) notes, while such commoditized romance of Thai Y-series industry may engage in some form of queerbaiting, it nevertheless “fundamentally disrupt[s] the heteronormativity of Thai media landscape” and contributes to “ongoing transformations of the consumer landscape for queer liberation.” Considering the recurring weaponized allegations of queerbaiting in Y-series transnational fandoms, this article offers a new perspective on queer media and fantasy-making. By contextualizing these allegations in Thailand’s Y-series industry before the implementation of marriage equality, we explore the dynamics of Y-series same-sex khujin. To move beyond the binary and the counter-productive debate of queerbaiting, we propose “queer fantasy economy” as an alternative lens for discussing the Y-series industry, and potentially queer media production and circulation in contexts subject to pressure or backlash.
Since the mid-2010s, the Thai Y-series genre has created a synergistic queer fantasy milieu: a surge in both productions and audience engagement has positioned Thailand as a hub for queer media in Asia. In 2024, the Thai Government established Thailand Creative Content Agency (THACCA) to promote Thai soft power, including the Y-series industry; Thailand hosted its first queer film and TV festival; at the ContentAsia Awards, director Aof Noppharnach won his fourth Best Asian LGBTQ+ Programme Award for his Y-series. In December 2025, GMMTV received Thailand’s Public Diplomacy Award 2025 (TPDA2025) from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Thailand Foundation. While it remains to be seen how things will evolve after marriage equality and other LGBTQ+ rights implemented in Thailand, the Y-series, as a soft power, has already transcended the entertainment industry and national borders, recognized by both the Thai government and international queer media industry, evidenced by Thai-Japan and Thai-Korea co-productions (Taweekittiviroj and Banterng, 2025). The Y-series industry is thriving as a vibrant queer fantasy economy, driven by interactions among the industry, transnational audiences, market, and the government. With a nuanced, contextual understanding of this industry through the lens of queer fantasy economy, we resist sweeping generalizations that dismiss the endeavor of the visionary crew and cast who support LGBTQ+ rights, or the potential for allyship across popular culture, LGBTQ+ advocacy and soft power initiatives.
Foregrounding “queer fantasy economy” as an alternative approach expands analytical horizons and possibilities for queer media studies and alliances. In regions—whether in the Global North or South—where civic space for gender and sexual diversity is constrained or diminishing, soft power can be more than a state project: it can become a collaborative capacity for creative engagement and advocacy, making LGBTQ+ lives legible, liveable, and visible.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
We are grateful to Thomas Baudinette, Kwannie Krairit and Michaela Benson for the conversations we had on this project. We also thank Tak-Yin Wong, Hei-Ching Suen, and Xiaobo Yang for their assistance in transcribing the interviews.
Funding
The authors received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Declaration of conflicting interests
The authors declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.