‘Being gay feels like a liability again’: More LGBTQ+ workers are staying in the closet

For much of the last decade, corporate America told a tidy story about progress: Pride logos, employee resource groups, executives marching in parades. The implication was that the workplace closet—the quiet calculation LGBTQ+ employees make about how much of themselves to reveal at work—was slowly disappearing.

Talk to enough queer professionals today, though, and a different picture emerges. Corporate America is still tricky to navigate. And, after years of people leaving, the closet is starting to fill up again: In January, the Human Rights Campaign (HRC) reported that nearly half of LGBTQ+ adults are now less open about their identity than a year ago.  

Katy, who requested to go by a pseudonym to protect her anonymity in the office, has been married to her wife for ten years. They share two children. She’s publicly gay. Yet at work, she doesn’t share pictures or mention her family.

Sean, who similarly requested his first name be changed, is a mid-30s gay man who’s been out to friends and family since college. He regularly participates in gay sports leagues and volunteers with a local Pride organization. Work is different—he’s been at his current job for just over a year and “definitely talks around” his personal life.

“I’m not ashamed to be gay,” Sean tells me, “but this company is very conservative, and I just can’t afford to rock the boat.”

I believe him. I’m gay and not hiding it: if you Google my name, you’ll find bylines about Heated Rivalry and Grindr. But even at progressive companies, I’ve caught myself omitting pronouns from certain stories (“the person I’m dating” instead of “the guy”) for various reasons, including one very outspokenly religious coworker who I assumed would become uncomfortable with any gay revelations. (And I think correctly, judging by their current social media output.)  

I did the same thing with another coworker who’d made remarks that skirted the border of homophobia. Plus, frankly, sometimes on a Monday, I just want to engage in water-cooler small talk without having to educate people.

For years, “outness” at work has been framed as a personal calculation; a way LGBTQ+ employees protect themselves from bias or discrimination. But that framing tells only half the story: Being closeted at work doesn’t just protect workers. It also protects the comfort and authority of those in power. Visibility creates friction—which threatens the often unexamined assumptions and biases of those on top. 

I spoke to dozens of people across the LGBTQ+ spectrum for this piece about whether they were out at work. The answers varied widely, but one throughline kept emerging: people saying some version of “I don’t need to make an announcement,” or “I don’t talk about my personal life.” Often, it sounded defensive. And in many ways, that defensiveness makes sense, since many of us do a lot of work to be open about ourselves—yet still feel compelled to tamp it down. 

“I used to call myself the office lesbian”

Being openly LGBTQ+ still means making yourself part of a minority group, and visibility can feel risky. 

Globally, an estimated 83% of sexual minorities keep their orientation hidden from most people. Even in countries where legal protections exist, being out still carries social and professional risk. It’s also important to remember that workplace protections are relatively recent.

“LGBTQ+ people have only had explicit federal protection from workplace discrimination since 2020,” Travis Speice, a sociologist who studies masculinity and gender, reminds me. “It’s also important to remember that progressive policies don’t automatically translate into progressive workplace cultures. A company may have inclusive language in its handbook, but that doesn’t mean every employee is equally accepting or affirming.”

It’s also worth noting that Katy, Sean, and I are gay, cisgender, white employees—among the most privileged segments of the LGBTQ+ community. For trans, nonbinary, and LGBTQ+ employees of color, visibility often isn’t something they can opt out of. Their identities may be read or scrutinized regardless of how much they choose to disclose.

At the same time, more Americans identify as LGBTQ+ than ever before. According to Gallup’s latest report, roughly 9% of U.S. adults now identify somewhere on the spectrum—more than double the rate when the organization began measuring it in 2012.

But the act of identifying publicly has also become more politically charged.

“I wasn’t always this way,” Katy tells me. “I used to call myself the ‘office lesbian.’”

I asked her what changed.

“My management team,” she says. “And the world. Being gay feels like it could be a liability again.”

Katy has dodged layoffs over the past few years and doesn’t want to give anyone ammunition to remove her. She also often thinks about how quickly Renée Good—who identified as a member of the LGBTQ+ community, and who was shot dead by ICE Agents in Minneapolis in January—had her reputation tarnished after her murder, a reminder of how easily queer people can become targets of speculation or distortion.

DEI rollbacks, and their cost

“‘Less out’ means LGBTQ+ people are choosing to share their sexual orientation or gender identity with fewer people in their lives—including coworkers, supervisors, clients, and in public settings,” RaShawn Hawkins, senior director of workplace equality at the Human Rights Campaign, explains.

Being “out” at work isn’t about announcements or declarations. “It means an employee feels safe and comfortable sharing their identity openly—whether mentioning a same-sex spouse, using correct pronouns, participating in an ERG, or simply not having to conceal aspects of their life,” Hawkins says.

HRC’s findings are probably due to increased anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric and concerted efforts to roll back workplace DEI efforts. HRC’s State of the Workplace report found 40% of U.S. workers say their employer has reduced, rebranded, or eliminated DEI initiatives. More than half of workers in those workplaces report experiencing stigma or bias.

What’s most interesting to me isn’t why specific individuals are or aren’t out in the workplace, but why DEI and social progress are being targeted in the first place, especially by politicians who campaigned on their business acumen and ostensibly represent a party that prioritizes business and money above all else. Because it’s certainly not a savvy business move. 

Catalyst research shows 77% of executives believe sustained DEI correlates with financial performance. The LGBTQ+ community alone represents an estimated $1.4 trillion in spending power.

“What we are seeing now is not a business-driven retreat,” Hawkins says, “but a climate shaped by political pressure, regulatory uncertainty, and heightened bad-faith scrutiny of workplace inclusion practices.”

“Social privilege only exists if some people don’t have it”

Historian and activist Michael Bronski, author of A Queer History of the United States, explains that expansions of rights and visibility have historically prompted backlash—not because marginalized groups threaten economics, but because they disrupt social hierarchies.

“The concept of social privilege only exists if some people don’t have it,” Bronski said. “There are people very invested in having a certain view of the way society works.” Sociologists call this structural comfort homophily: the tendency for people to bond with those who resemble them. 

Leaders don’t necessarily intend to exclude differences, but when leadership reflects a narrow identity set, unfamiliar perspectives feel disruptive—even when they benefit the organization. For example, a team made up almost entirely of straight executives might see something as simple as an employee mentioning their same-sex spouse in a meeting as “political” or “oversharing,” while similar references to heterosexual families pass without comment.

“Inclusive, transparent workplaces are linked to stronger performance and greater stability,” Hawkins says. “Environments that push people into silence tend to create fear and instability.”

Speice adds that when workplaces discourage authenticity, they also lose opportunities for connection.

“While our personal lives aren’t the focus of our jobs, most of us build trust through small, everyday interactions—sharing about our weekends, our families, our experiences,” he says. “When someone feels they have to withhold that part of themselves, it limits opportunities for authentic team connection.”

I’ve experienced that myself. Some of my best work has happened in environments where I didn’t feel like I had to edit parts of my life. I also feel that the writing I’ve done post- versus pre-coming out is so much better, simply because I’m not omitting a whole part of who I am.

The workplace closet has long been framed as an individual choice—who to tell, when, and how much. But that framing obscures a broader reality: Closets don’t only exist because individuals are afraid. They’re built, in a sense, and maintained because institutions often find them convenient.

When employees feel pressure to stay quiet, culture rarely changes. Norms remain comfortable. Power structures remain undisturbed.

The real question for leaders isn’t whether employees feel safe. It’s whether they’re ready to confront why authenticity feels disruptive at all. Visibility introduces friction. Friction challenges assumptions. 

And uncomfortable as it may be, friction can be good for business—and so can the progress it leads to.