In the last decade, popular TV has become more diverse than ever. Queer, trans, and racially marginalized characters are no longer just background figures — they’re often central to the story. But even as visibility increases, many of these characters remain stuck in shallow or stereotypical roles. This is what I call visibility burnout: the emotional and representational exhaustion that comes from being constantly visible but rarely supported with real narrative depth or power. It’s the toll of being seen, but not truly cared for.
Visibility is often treated as progress — a sign that society is moving forward. For many marginalized communities, being seen has been a powerful political demand. But as trans activist Miss Major puts it, “They see us, but they still don’t care about us.” Too often, media offers visibility without protection, agency, or care. Characters are placed in the spotlight, only to become symbols or emotional laborers for others. The spotlight can feel more like exposure than empowerment.
A clear example is Eric Effiong from Netflix’s Sex Education (2019–2023). Eric is a vibrant, funny, emotionally intelligent Nigerian-British teen — a rare and refreshing presence. But despite his centrality, Eric spends much of the series supporting the emotional development of others, especially the show’s white, straight protagonist, Otis. His own narrative is repeatedly sidelined. Even when Eric travels to Nigeria and finds moments of queer joy, these scenes are visually striking but narratively isolated — quickly forgotten and disconnected from the show’s main arcs.
Eric’s story isn’t unique. Across contemporary TV, we see marginalized characters who are colorful and meme-worthy, but underdeveloped. Their visibility often masks a lack of real care or investment. As philosopher Byung-Chul Han notes, our culture pressures individuals — especially those on the margins — to perform endlessly. The result is burnout: not just emotional fatigue, but representational depletion and disillusionment.
To move beyond visibility burnout, we need more than diverse casting. We need better stories — ones that give marginalized characters space to grow, rest, and be complex. We also need structural change behind the camera. Real representation means care, not just presence. Because being seen is not the same as being safe.
2 replies on “Visibility Burnout: When Representation Isn’t Power”
Your description of visible burnout is really interesting, especially when referencing how Eric’s experiences of queer black joy are often sidelined in order to prioritize Otis’ journey. People of color and queer people being relegated to these sensational and supportive roles reminds me of two movies in particular. The American Society of Magical Negros (2024), about a secret society of magical, yet subservient black people that use their powers to let white people get away with bull***t, and G.B.F./Gay Best Friend (2013), about a teenage boy who aims to fulfill the role of Gay Best Friend by coming out at prom, but is overshadowed by another boy who he accidentally outs despite this other boy not falling into any of the flamboyant gay stereotypes. They’re weird movies, and I can’t speak to G.B.F. as much, but at least American Society of Magical Negros tries to make subversive commentary about the different stereotypes its referencing, but ends up creating a hollow story that uses black aesthetics to perpetuate those same anti-black stereotypes.
I love your post! I am glad you came up with a new term for this phenomenon, it is seen a lot especially in the social climate of today. The closest I could relate to this is Bridgerton, where they attempted at casting brown actors and creating South Asian centric storylines but as someone from the subcontinent, I can tell you they didn’t do as great a job as the west seems to think. The stories and dresses might be inspired but they were an exoticised version of themselves. I see a similar thing happen in the case of Sex Education. I think overall it has made leaps and bounds in diversifying its characters and showing a broad spectrum of stories with accurate and real portrayals. With Eric’s case too, I love the character and the space his story has gotten in the show. But I definitely see the shortcomings in this as well, particularly when it is being explored alongside other white characters who seem to have a longer and more rounded emotional and romantic journeys. Eric in comparison was left alone and his story didn’t feel as complete as the others. I understand your point of who is behind the camera too – small mistakes and big representations can also be changed and made better by listening to voices outside of one personality. Aside from just diversifying and queer reading old stories, we need the creation of new ones – ones built not just on the perceived aesthetic of a culture, but lived experiences!