Queer then, Queer now: Apple TV’s Dickinson as a time-traveling love letter to LGBTQ+ youth

What happens when a 19th-century Emily Dickinson becomes a Gen Z rebel? You get a Pride anthem disguised as a period drama.

June is for boldness. It is for reclaiming voices that history muted. And in the middle of this month-long celebration, a must re-watch would be: Dickinson, i.e., Apple TV+ 's wildly inventive reimagining of poet Emily Dickinson's (played by Hailee Steinfeld) life as the show offers a mirror to LGBTQ+ youth that is both modern and rooted in the past.

Dickinson isn't your typical period drama. Instead of quietly walking through 1800s New England with poetic restraint, the show breaks into Gen Z slang, blares Lizzo, and paints a picture of Emily Dickinson that feels like it was made for today's queer youth.

What makes this Apple TV+ project stand out is how it bridges two timelines (not literally, but metaphorically) the past and present as it reminding viewers that queer identity has always existed, even if it was once hidden in the margins of history.

In this show, queerness isn't whispered, it is voiced out loud, unapologetically.

Disclaimer: This article contains the writer's opinion. Readers’ discretion is advised.

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Corsets and chaos: Dickinson gets unapologetically modern

What is instantly striking about Dickinson is that it refuses to treat history like a museum exhibit. The show smashes the dusty glass of the 19th-century expectations and lets Emily Dickinson run wild.

Wild How? Well, with trap beats, glittering visuals, and a swagger that feels surprisingly current/contemporary.

However, it is not just about the Gen-Z music, though. Yes, hearing Billie Eilish on a show about a 19th century literary icon in a coffin with the poet being in it absolutely hits but it is also about how everything in the show seems tailor made to reach young queer viewers right now.

Emily doesn't just scribble poetry in silence. She parties, rebels against the patriarchy, and falls hard for Sue, her best friend, first and sister-in-law. That love story isn't just a plot line in the background, but it is rather front and center, layered with confusion, longing, and resistance.

Modern language also bursts through conversations, with characters swearing, teasing, and texting (in their own way).

For instance, no 19th-century woman would ever be caught saying:

“Mom, he’s in the lit club with Austin...We hang out, like, all the time.”

Behind all of this modernism is Alena Smith, the creator of the show, making sure that no one watching misses the point: Queerness isn't a new trend. It existed in spaces that looked different but felt the same.

The blend of past and present isn't for laughs, but rather, it is a statement. Dickinson says: The past had queers, too. They just didn't always have the words for it.

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Queering the visual world of Dickinson

The Apple TV+ show doesn't just talk about queer identity. What it does is that it builds an entire world around it. That world is bold, fluid, and far from realistic in the 'traditional sense'.

Death (played by Wiz Khalifa) arrives in a carriage with Billie Eilish's Bury a Friend playing in the background. The audience watches as Emily slips into dreamlike realms with Death, where metaphors become real, where her thoughts take form, and her feelings explode across the screen.

Even Emily's poetry appears as visual elements, scrawled across air and sky like graffiti from the soul. These surreal choices aren't distractions. They are how the show lets queerness bloom where history often tried to bury it.

The costuming adds to this quiet rebellion. Emily often wears darker, structured clothes, while her sister Lavinia floats in pinks and frills, visually separating their identities.

Gender presentation isn't boxed in. It's soft, shifting, and symbolic, sometimes playful, sometimes defiant. Fashion becomes a language in itself, saying things that couldn't be said out loud.

And the result? A show that refuses to tame queerness or clean it up for comfort. It invites it in, celebrates it, and lets it be messy, strange, and full of power.

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Not a history lesson, but a love letter: Dickinson rewrites the rules

Dickinson doesn't pretend to be historically accurate in the usual way. It knows there is a lack of concrete facts about Emily's life, especially her private feelings.

But instead of shrinking from that ambiguity, the show leans into it, turning speculation into imagination. It brings her queerness to life not through dry interpretation but through energy, color, and a vivid sense of what could have been.

Her connection with Sue is no longer just hidden between poetic lines. It is made visible and undeniable.

And yet, the show never lets Emily fully escape her world. Even in her wildest fantasies, she is still rooted in a time that didn't give her space to be everything she was.

One of the most memorable lines is more than a personal jab:

"You have no power to change anything because you have no imagination..."

It's the show's thesis. Queer people have always imagined futures they weren't allowed to live. The show steps into that gap and brings the future to her, asking what it means to be seen when you were never meant to be visible. It does not rewrite history, it reclaims it.

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Dickinson isn't trying to teach a history class. It is writing a letter across time, telling queer youth that they have always existed, even when the world refused to see them.

Through music, fashion, language, and love, the show breathes life into a legacy often silenced. It's not about rewriting the past. It is about reminding us it was never truly straight.

Happy Pride Month.

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Also Read: 5 best LGBTQ shows to watch during Pride month