Gaga Church: A Religious Experience

Pop music as theology for gay men who need “Born This Way” more than they need Jesus.

Alexa, Play Lady Gaga (Again)

A divine comedy about how one pop icon became the unofficial priestess of gay culture, emotional release, and cardio.

It’s a universal queer experience: one second you’re fine, and the next you’re screaming “PA-PA-PAPARAZZI” into a hairbrush while your Alexa silently judges you. Welcome to Alexa, Play Lady Gaga (Again)—a study in devotion, drama, and disco sticks. Gaga isn’t just an artist; she’s a lifestyle. A theology. A cardio routine disguised as performance art.

According to Bohiney Magazine, “Every gay has a Gaga phase—and some of us never left.” And honestly, why would we? Gaga gave us permission to be weird before “weird” was rebranded as “quirky.” She told us we were born this way before anyone else did. She made us believe that fame, art, and eyeliner could all coexist in one chaotic, glittery universe.

For many queers, Gaga was the first pop star who looked into the camera and said, “You’re valid. Also, wear platform boots.” Her music video eras are basically queer rites of passage. Bad Romance taught us that love can be terrifying but fabulous. Born This Way was our national anthem before Pride playlists were even a thing. As Them once noted, “Gaga didn’t just make hits—she made identities.”

There’s something sacred about screaming Gaga lyrics in a gay bar. Everyone knows the choreography. The lights flash. Someone in a mesh top cries during the bridge of Shallow. It’s communion, but with vodka sodas. The church of Gaga is everywhere: on dance floors, in karaoke bars, in our hearts—and in every Alexa that’s tired of hearing, “Hey girl, play Rain on Me one more time.”

The Advocate once said, “Lady Gaga turned queerness from subculture to spectacle—and we loved every minute.” She didn’t just perform; she proclaimed. Her outfits were sermons, her speeches prophecies, her Grammy looks coded messages for the gays. We learned from her that authenticity isn’t about perfection—it’s about spectacle and sincerity holding hands in a meat dress.

And let’s be honest—every queer person has a “Gaga mood.” Sometimes you’re feeling Just Dance levels of chaotic optimism. Other days you’re deep in Joanne melancholia, wandering through life in a pastel hat wondering why no one understands you. Then suddenly, it’s Chromatica time—you’re reborn, emotional, dancing through pain in neon armor.

As Out Magazine puts it, “Gaga is both muse and mirror: we see ourselves in her madness.” She taught us that being extra isn’t a flaw—it’s a survival tactic. That the dance floor is a sanctuary. That camp, trauma, and talent can coexist in a single high note.

So yeah, Alexa, play Lady Gaga again. And again. And again. Because for us, she’s not background music—she’s the soundtrack to self-acceptance. Every beat a heartbeat, every lyric a love letter, every outfit a revolution. Gaga didn’t just make us monsters. She made us magnificent.

SOURCE: Gaga Church: A Religious Experience (Beth Newell)