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In this article, we argue that dominant norms of demographic data are insufficient for accounting for the complexities that characterize many lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ, or broadly “queer”) lives. Here, we draw from the responses of 178 people who identified as non-heterosexual or non-cisgender to demographic questions we developed regarding gender and sexual orientation. Demographic data commonly imagines identity as fixed, singular, and discrete. However, our findings suggest that, for LGBTQ people, gender and sexual identities are often multiple and in flux. An overwhelming majority of our respondents reported shifting in their understandings of their sexual identities over time. In addition, for many of our respondents, gender identity was made up of overlapping factors, including the relationship between gender and transgender identities. These findings challenge researchers to reconsider how identity is understood as and through data. Drawing from critical data studies, feminist and queer digital media studies, and social justice initiatives like Data for Black Lives, we call for a reimagining of identity-based data as “queer data” or “data for queer lives.” We offer also recommendations for researchers to develop more inclusive survey questions. At the same time, we address the ways that queer perspectives destabilize the underlying logics of data by resisting classification and “capture.” For marginalized people, the stakes of this work extend beyond academia, especially in the era of algorithms and big data when the issue of who is or is not “counted” profoundly affects visibility, access, and power in the digital realm.

This article articulates and critiques the ways that Twitch, currently the most popular platform for video game live streaming, defines sexual content through its community guidelines, terms of service, and other policy documents. On Twitch, both streamers and viewers are prohibited from posting sexually explicit or suggestive content. This includes images that appear in games as well as on-camera performances. Twitch presents defining sexual content as a matter of common sense and community protection; however, what counts as “sexual content” is far from objective. This analysis reveals that Twitch’s definition of sexual content is in fact vague, subjective, and contradictory and enables discrimination. These policy documents reflect problematic social biases, such as those against women in gaming spaces. Twitch’s policies also reflect anxieties about the relationship between live streaming and webcam-based sex work. This article challenges the sexist cultural logics that shape these policy documents and, by extension, Twitch’s platform politics.

This article looks at the appearance of domestic spaces on the popular livestreaming platform Twitch.tv, with a focus on livestreams that appear to be shot in streamers’ bedrooms. Many Twitch streamers broadcast from their homes, making domestic space central to questions of placemaking for this rapidly growing digital media form. Within the home, bedrooms merit particular attention because they carry particular cultural connotations; they are associated with intimacy, embodiment, and erotics. Drawing from observations of gaming and nongaming streams, we map where bedrooms do and do not appear on Twitch. We locate the majority of bedrooms in categories that foreground connections between streamers and viewers, like Just Chatting, Music & Performing Arts, and autonomous sensory meridian response (ASMR). By contrast, across a wide range of video game genres, bedrooms remain largely absent from gaming streams. The presence of bedrooms on Twitch also breaks down along gender lines, with women streaming being far more likely to broadcast from their bedrooms than men. Here, we build from existing research on both livestreaming and digital placemaking to argue for an understanding of place on Twitch as fundamentally performative. This performance is inherently gendered and bound up with the affective labor of streaming. In addition, we demonstrate how the bedroom, even when it does not appear on screen, can be understood as a ‘structuring logic’ of placemaking on Twitch. Given the history of livestreaming, which grows out of women’s experiments with online ‘lifecasting’, the bedroom sets expectations for the type of spatial and emotional access a stream is imagined to offer viewers. In this sense, the absence of bedrooms in gaming streams can be understood as a disavowal of intimate domestic space: an attempt by predominantly male streamers to distance themselves from the implicit parallels between livestreaming and practices like webcam modeling.

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