By Gabriela Gioia
When I was a child I lived in Florencio Varela, a small city in Argentina two hours away from Buenos Aires. It wasn’t known for its tourist attractions or quality of life. On the contrary, its reputation was shaped by news stereotypes: conservative, Catholic—and, according to reports—one of the most violent cities in the province.
However, Friday nights held a special meaning for me. It was the only time I could watch television alone, without fighting with my siblings over the TV.
From the top bunk, I would stretch out my hand to change channels on our old remote-less TV. Those moments were mine, and I spent hours watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The X-Files, and Space Ghost Coast to Coast.
That year, I was 11 years old. That year, I started at a new school. That year, I had my first kiss. It was my first kiss with a boy, though there were so many other thoughts running through my head.
My body didn’t change like my classmates’—it still looked like a child’s body.
While my friends obsessed over the Backstreet Boys, I cared about different things. I was deeply into The X-Files and its entire universe. I even attempted to create a fan website for The X-Files, though I never published it.
Mulder, that mysterious, nerdy man! I could spend hours listening to him talk about conspiracy theories and aliens, with his glasses (at least in the earlier episodes) and his jokes referencing a North American culture which I knew little about. It didn’t matter; I loved him just as he was. Spooky Mulder.
And Scully, intelligent, powerful, free. With her little cross necklace, clinging to a belief in something, her long neck, and her shirts.
It’s funny how the things I loved most about Scully would later be what I loved most about my first girlfriend. The cross necklace, the long neck, and the shirts repeated themselves.
That woman wasn’t afraid of anything, not even opening up corpses. She became my first model of empowerment, perhaps even feminism, and of career aspirations (though years later, my love for cinema and filmmaking would win out).
But it wasn’t just admiration; there was something more. It was expected that, as a teenager experiencing first loves, I would fall for Mulder. But being drawn to Scully felt wrong to me. I denied it. How could I like women? I realized I had to keep that secret to myself.
Local TV aired Xena: Warrior Princess and Hercules: The Legendary Journeys. I liked Xena more because she showed that women could be strong and fight, plus her companion had the same name as me, Gabrielle.
Sometimes, there were crossover episodes where Xena appeared with Hercules, and Gabrielle with Iolaus. But even as a kid, I noticed that Xena cared for Gabrielle in a different way. Gabrielle was her damsel in distress. She loved her or at least, that was the subtext. The reality was that they were a couple, but some producers didn’t like the idea, so they were just “very good friends.”
But in my understanding, they were bisexual. Xena loved someone named like me. I would have loved to be Gabrielle.
At that time, there were very few openly LGBT characters on TV, and even fewer bisexual ones. Years later, I would research, out of personal curiosity, the concept of bisexual erasure back then, and how it perpetuates in the present. In TV and film, there weren’t role models to help me understand what I felt, and the few that existed were full of stereotypes: bisexuals were indecisive, liars, or just there to fulfill someone else’s fantasies.
I think a lot about how different my life would have been with good bisexual representation on TV. Maybe I could have avoided years of self-hatred and confusion.
But I also know that my story, like so many others, demonstrates why it’s essential to keep fighting for visibility. Telling our stories doesn’t just change our lives—it opens doors for those who come after. So they never feel alone in front of the screen and can find a friendly voice that tells them that what they feel is not wrong.
Gabriela Gioia is a filmmaker, photographer, and writer from Argentina, currently based in Berlin, Germany. With a background in documentary filmmaking, art direction, and audiovisual criticism, her work seamlessly merges activism and art. Her projects delve into themes of queer identity, migration, and feminism, reflecting her commitment to amplifying underrepresented voices and stories.