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CNET
a day ago
- CNET
How AI Can Help Queer Folks Navigate the Coming-Out Journey
A lot has changed in the past 15 years, since I was in my early 20s. I was still living at home and my only access to a computer as a broke university student was the shared family desktop. No way was I Googling "am I gay?" Instead, I resorted to buying DVDs of The L Word and hid them under my bed. Desperate times call for desperate measures. It was a time before streaming and iPhones. (I promise I'm not as old as I sound right now.) The most extensive my "research" got was those old "am I gay?" magazine questionnaires, which now feel archaic. But it was there that I learned sexuality exists on a spectrum and it's not black and white. For a laugh, I took a queer quiz again just now -- I'm already out and married to a woman -- and it was fun to see my results. I'm closer to bisexual than gay, which is why "queer" feels right for me. Anyway, I digress. Baby queers are now turning to AI tools to chat about their sexual orientation, much like how it's being used as a therapist and thought partner. Keep in mind, when it comes to matters of the head and heart, don't outsource it to AI. Chatbots aren't a replacement for a trained professional or supportive BFF. But AI does provide a more dynamic way to chat through your potential orientation vs. a Google search. It can be a tool for people contemplating coming out. I tried using ChatGPT for this purpose, to see if it could truly be helpful. Just be wary with what you ask or tell AI chatbots. Deleting your ChatGPT history might not be as easy as it seems. (Disclosure: Ziff Davis, CNET's parent company, in April filed a lawsuit against OpenAI, alleging it infringed Ziff Davis copyrights in training and operating its AI systems.) Prompt your way to pride As someone who identifies as queer, I can say there are a few use cases for AI in the coming out journey. It can be used to help unpack confusing feelings, decide on the best way to identify (queer, LGBTQ+, etc.), find supportive resources and even come up with talking points to bring up with loved ones. I wanted to see if AI could reimagine the queer quiz to make it more interactive and insightful. Here's what I asked ChatGPT: "Recreate the "am I gay?" quizzes that many queer-curious people used to take when they were first trying to figure out their sexual identity. I'd like to take this quiz now." It told me it's a "rite of passage" exercise for people questioning their sexuality, then created a "modernized" version of the quiz. ChatGPT/Screenshot by CNET It was presented a bit clunky, so I asked ChatGPT to allow me to select a button rather than reply Yes, No, Unsure. And it did it! ChatGPT/Screenshot by CNET Not so fast. When I tried to select my answer, it didn't work. Only then did ChatGPT tell me it couldn't add clickable or interactive checkboxes. "I wish I could offer real buttons or toggles, but those aren't supported here," ChatGPT told me. I went back to the initial quiz and just added my answers manually, one at a time. The questions weren't phrased the best. For example, this question warranted more than Yes, No or Unsure. I said Yes but it didn't know which gender I was referring to. ChatGPT/Screenshot by CNET While it asked me about my feelings toward the same gender, it didn't prod me about the opposite gender, so it was a bit leading. It also hedged on labeling me or giving me anything substantial, unlike the good old-fashioned queer quiz. ChatGPT/Screenshot by CNET If I'm asking if I could be gay, there's a 100% chance I'm not strictly straight. Give it to me straight! Or gay! Queer quiz: 1 ChatGPT: 0 AI for coming-out conversation planning Where AI could be more helpful is scenario or conversation planning. I could input a specific situation I'm facing or get "advice" on how to broach the subject with traditional-minded family members. I could ask what parents struggle with the most about discovering their kids are queer. The questions people ask ChatGPT will depend on individual circumstances. Take my parents, for example. They're older, closed off and were raised religious. However, they're kind-hearted and want what's best for me. I told this to ChatGPT, gave it more context about my situation and asked how I should tell them. It told me to first think about why I want to come out -- to feel more honest? So they can meet my partner? So I can build a more authentic connection with them? -- and to decide whether I would come out in person, over the phone, on a video call or in writing. Then it gave me some scripts: ChatGPT/Screenshot by CNET It gave some more good advice, specifically about coming out not being a one-time thing but more of a continuing process. I'll always need to "come out" throughout my lifetime, whenever I meet someone new. Even today, I get asked what my husband does, because I'm feminine and don't "look" queer. ChatGPT also told me to have support ready for after I made the announcement to my parents. Because I've been through this already, I know how my parents responded. My mum said, "so you don't like guys anymore?" I asked ChatGPT how I should answer that. It helped me unpack her response and gave some affirming statements. It gave me some options on how to respond according to whether I wanted to "gently clarify," "educate a little," "emphasize emotion over identity" or "set a boundary without explaining." Feed your coming-out concerns into ChatGPT You could feed specific responses, questions or concerns into ChatGPT as you're navigating the coming-out process. For example, if your biggest concern is not knowing if/how you'll have kids or how you'll identify in a work setting, you can theme your prompts around these problems. Another (albeit lighter) way to use ChatGPT is to discover movies, books, YouTubers and local resources. Seeing yourself reflected in art is a powerful part of self-discovery. Some questions you could ask include: What are the most beautiful queer movies and books? What are some of the best female LGBTQ+ YouTubers? I'm in NYC -- what are some local queer organizations, events, bars and attractions? Better still, tell ChatGPT the art that moved you the most, and ask for similar movies and books. ChatGPT told me I have "beautiful, emotionally intense taste." (It already knew that about me, though.) It gave me this list of books: ChatGPT/Screenshot by CNET The verdict: Gay or nay? I liked being able to chat through specific questions, problems and information with AI. While it's no replacement for sitting down with a friend or going to your first queer bar -- or even asking a question on Reddit, where real people can answer you and provide insight -- it's a handy tool to have to feel less alone.
Vogue
14-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Vogue
Stardoll Made Me Gay
It can be difficult to identify the very moment of one's gay awakening; most of us in the LGBTQ+ community have more than one. I didn't come out in earnest until my mid-20s, but a potent mix of Tegan and Sara, everyone on The L Word (especially Shane McCutcheon), and Casey Novak from Law & Order: Special Victims Unit had, over time, helped me to figure out that there was possibly something, well…not quite straight about the way I thought about women. But now, looking back on my youth from my very gay early 30s, I realize that perhaps the queerest thing I did with my time in middle school was spend hours and hours dressing up cartoon avatars of celebrities on a little website called Stardoll. I haven't revisited the Stardoll website since I was about 13 years old, and as of now, it's not loading for me (maybe because I'm old enough to contribute to a Roth IRA, and that's reflected in my IP address? I don't know!), but back in the day, it was a pink-hued paradise where I frittered away my ample free time putting cute little outfits on drawings of Rachel Bilson, Paris Hilton, Lady Gaga, Amerie, and other famously fashionable women who were represented on the site in—gasp!—little more than their underwear. To my memory, this wasn't quite as perverted as it sounds; the point, after all, was to get these celebs all dolled up, not to gawk at them in their skivvies. But closeted tween multitasker that I was, I was richly capable of doing both. If you'd asked me back when I was a frequent Stardoll flier, I would have hotly denied any Sapphic undertone to my fascination with the site. Weird, solitary kid that I was, what I really liked about Stardoll (besides being able to go 'shopping' without having to wheedle yet another $20 bill out of my mom) was the platform it created for me to mentally craft stories around the women I was dressing. Had I actually jotted these stories down, they might count as early attempts at 'writing,' but instead I kept them confined to my mind, content to mull over plotlines I'd made up about Kate Winslet going undercover to research a role as a scuba instructor or Lindsay Lohan becoming a champion equestrian. (I'm telling you, some of the Stardoll-provided outfits for these celebrities were weird.) The link between staring at bra-and-underwear-clad representations of famous women and eventually coming out as queer might seem obvious, but the ogling was not really the thing. I love Ocean Vuong's reading of queerness as a stoker of creativity, something that pushed him to 'make alternative routes.' While my experience as a privileged white Upper West Side tween was worlds away from Vuong's, what I now know to call queerness has occupied me in my loneliest moments and forced me to create stories out of nothing in order to keep myself company. I learned to do that, at least in part, by spending time with gorgeous femme Stardoll avatars instead of kids my age—kids who might have made fun of me even more, had they known just how outrageously gay my thoughts about those avatars were. (Gayness aside, those kids likely would have also made fun of me for surfing Stardoll at all, given many of my peers were already using fake IDs to buy cases of Smirnoff Ice to chug in parent-free Park Avenue apartments before attending to the all-important business of kissing boys named Trent.)
Yahoo
10-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
My son spoke up on the playground–now it's my turn not to freeze
When I came out in the late 90s, my mother warned me that life was going to be harder. Somehow, I don't think she was picturing me, at 48, debating whether it was too late to cancel my eight-year-old son's playdate because I was afraid to tell the boy's parents that I was married to a woman. Writer Saeed Jones discusses a common misconception about coming out: that it is a one-time event. In reality, it's an act that LGBTQ+ people engage in over and over again. Before coming out, Jones asks, "Is it safe for me to share?" As a femme-presenting white woman who has lived most of my adult life in New York State, there have only been a handful of times I've felt truly unsafe being out. There was the time a man screamed expletives at my girlfriend and me as we held hands on a New York City sidewalk. There was another time I went apartment hunting with a different girlfriend in a city with no housing discrimination protections for LGBTQ+ people. But now it is different. Or so I assumed. My son met his friend at a new public school, which, judging from the numerous Trump signs throughout the district, was a lot more conservative than his old, progressive Montessori school. It wasn't just the signs, though. While local conservative friends said they supported Trump for economic reasons and not any social agenda, I'd read some terrifying language in Project 2025 that defined families composed of a married mother and father as "the foundation of a well-ordered nation and healthy society." Where did my family fit in that? There was also an anecdote that my son had shared from the early part of the school year. On the playground, he'd heard one kid say, "Whoever moves first is gay." I found a meme on TikTok that explained it. Apparently, straight men played this 'joke' on other adult men. After the challenge was issued, both men froze in place. Neither wanted to be "gay." My jaw dropped when I watched this from the comfort of my living room, surrounded by my Carhart-clad wife, three cats, and Billie Eilish streaming from the speaker. Were gay jokes still a thing? Before corporate-sponsored pride parades, legalized same-sex marriage, or The L Word, I'd learned from classmates in the 80s that lesbians were mannish, brutish, or too ugly to get a man. Being gay was even worse. It went beyond a description of one's sexual preference to include any behavior that was considered stupid, immature, or uncool. I, too, might've frozen back then if someone had called me gay. The meme unsettled me at my core. I couldn't stop thinking about it in the days leading up to the playdate. As a mother, I'm used to pushing past my discomfort for my son, so I didn't cancel. Even so, I couldn't shake the feeling as I joined the boy's parents and younger sister in their cozy living room. As Halloween approached, I turned to small talk, starting with a question about the family's plans for trick-or-treating. The wife told me that she didn't care for the holiday. "The sugar?" I suggested, remembering my son's unhinged exuberance after inhaling a sleeve of Smarties. "I'm very religious," she said. "And the holiday is anti-Christian." I nodded solemnly. It wasn't the best time to mention that my son had chosen a red devil costume this year. Or that my wife and I were planning to be witches, inspired by Katherine Hahn and Aubrey Plaza's sapphic relationship in Agatha All Along. Meanwhile, Jones's question continued to linger in my head. I thought it was safe when I told my mother about my first college girlfriend. It was the late 90s, and I was confused about my sexuality. I hoped she'd help me understand it, as she did with other challenges I'd faced. But rather than reassure me that everything would be fine, my mother was upset. "Your life will be so much harder if you end up with a woman," she warned me. Then, she ignored my coming out entirely for years. Left to my imagination, I pictured how her premonition might come to pass. I might become an object of curiosity, like my short-haired high school math teacher, who was rumored to be a lesbian. I might be shunned by family and friends. I would probably never get married or have a family of my own. However, my lived experience exceeded my mother's expectations significantly. Acceptance of same-sex relationships in the U.S. grew in the early 2000s. In 2015, the Supreme Court ruled that same-sex couples had the right to marry. My wife and I got hitched and had a child. Over the years, I became comfortable coming out to family members, friends, coworkers, accountants, and online forms. Now, coming out usually means I blithely share with a new acquaintance that I have a wife. But I felt none of that casual confidence during the playdate. Instead, there was a dryness in my mouth. Something about this heteronormative, anti-Halloween, Game of Life-looking family in this hyper-charged political climate made me sure I knew the answer to Jones's question. Was it safe to share? No, definitely not. That's why I didn't reveal that my wife had been making pita bread daily when the husband complimented his wife's bread-making skills. Or, when the wife shared her aversion to ultra-processed foods, I didn't mention that my wife felt the same way. Then I slipped up. The husband teased his wife for obsessively reading labels in the supermarket. This time, I found myself agreeing out loud: "My wife does that, too." Immediately, I realized my error. I tried to cover it up by reciting some facts my wife had told me about carrageenan while hoping—no, praying—that my confession might go unnoticed. But it was too late. The proverbial (telltale lesbian) cat was out of the bag. Often in life, the things we think will be big deals turn out to be small deals. This was no exception. The husband immediately asked about my wife. To my surprise, he was welcoming and kind. Before we left, he even suggested getting the boys together again. I was relieved that the parents didn't turn out to be monsters, but I reflected on my own performance during the car ride home. I didn't want my son to get the message he had to hide. Hiding part of myself from the outside world didn't alleviate my suffering. It just turned the pain inward. After that conversation with my mother, I stopped dating women for a time and began seeking out men instead. It took me a long time to become comfortable with my sexuality and permit myself to be me. If I learned anything from my own coming out, it's that you can't protect people from being who they are. In my son's case, his story is already written: His parents are two women. Even if I don't blab it to a bunch of strangers, it will still be true. But beyond my personal story, the interaction made me realize another vital reason for coming out. It reminds others that people like me and families like mine exist. I've also found that coming out can be a path to connection—something critical in this time of political divisiveness. My experience with coming out to strangers is that my sharing often engenders a greater openness on their part. They might mention that they have a gay sibling or a close friend who's gay. In one instance, a seemingly straight person revealed a same-sex relationship in their own past. While Trump is eroding the rights of LGBTQ+ people with sweeping executive orders, state lawmakers are urging the Supreme Court to overturn the federal right to same-sex marriage. Meanwhile, others in power are staying silent. I'm thinking about my own ability to fight for the rights of LGBTQ+ people. I often feel defeated. Rights can be abstract, especially if your own aren't at stake. But one thing I do have is this small act: the power to tell another person face-to-face that I exist. And if I lose my nerve, I need only think of my son. Recently, he told me that someone challenged him on the playground with the "whoever moves first is gay" meme. I tensed up, imagining him freezing in a sea of boys, but he told me that he talked back to the boy in a matter-of-fact voice. "You shouldn't say that. It's not nice to people who are gay." My son didn't freeze. Next time, I won't either. Voices is dedicated to featuring a wide range of inspiring personal stories and impactful opinions from the LGBTQ+ community and its allies. Visit to learn more about submission guidelines. We welcome your thoughts and feedback on any of our stories. Email us at voices@ Views expressed in Voices stories are those of the guest writers, columnists and editors, and do not directly represent the views of Out or our parent company, equalpride.
NBC News
03-06-2025
- Entertainment
- NBC News
'The L Word' stars Leisha Hailey and Kate Moennig are 'So Gay for You' in joint memoir
When 'The L Word' debuted on Showtime in January 2004, gays and lesbians couldn't serve openly in the military, employees could be fired for being gay in most of the country and no state had yet begun issuing same-sex marriage licenses. To say a series about glamorous and successful Los Angeles lesbians was groundbreaking at the time would be, inarguably, an understatement. The show's revolutionary nature is, in part, why it has remained so culturally relevant and iconic more than two decades after its premiere. And this, in turn, is why two of its biggest stars — Leisha Hailey and Kate Moennig — decided to undertake a joint memoir, 'So Gay for You,' released Tuesday. 'We wanted to give some 'L Word' real-life experiences that we had on the show, because we've been asked for the last 20-plus years, so we were like, 'Let's just tell everyone what that show was like for us,'' Hailey told NBC News in an interview with Moennig ahead of the book's release. Hailey, 53, and Moennig, 47, both had some level of success prior to 'The L Word,' but neither was where they wanted to be in their career before getting asked to audition for a show then titled 'Earthlings' back in the early aughts. In fact, Hailey was working at a sunglasses store in Los Angeles at the time, while Moennig had a bartending job lined up in New York. The two first met in 2002 on the 14th floor of a corporate office in L.A. to audition for the role of Shane McCutcheon, described as a 'womanizing serial monogamist.' Less than two weeks later, Moennig was offered the part. 'I'll never forget answering the phone and hearing my manager and agent on the line. Relief washed over me: I not only had a job, but one I actually wanted. I always feel like working is the vacation and trying to find the job is the job. For the first time in I couldn't remember how long, it felt like I could take a deep breath,' Moennig wrote in 'So Gay For You.' This wasn't the end of the line for Hailey, though. A week after her Shane audition, she was asked to return to read for another part: Alice Pieszecki, described as 'bubbly' and a 'comic relief character.' 'I really wanted this role—being Alice felt right. It's the closest to Cinderella I'll probably ever feel; the shoe just fit,' she recalled in the memoir. Hailey did, however, reveal that she initially turned down the role because it would have meant putting her band, The Murmurs, on the backburner. But she quickly came to her senses and accepted. 'Not Your Mother's Lesbians' 'The L Word' debuted four weeks before the 'Sex and the City' series finale, leading to the clever marketing slogan: 'Same sex, different city.' The press also had fun with its coverage of the 'vampy' new show, with headlines like ' Not Your Mother's Lesbians ' and ' Tizzy Over Lezzies.' The series centered on a group of eight friends, mostly lesbians, who were living, loving and working in Los Angeles. Jennifer Beals, who played power lesbian Bette Porter, was the sole household name among the main cast members, and Hailey was the only out lesbian. According to Showtime, 1 million viewers tuned in for the series premiere. 'Nothing like this has been done, which is a full group of full-on lesbians that are friends that you watch every day live their lives,' Hailey said, adding that 'nothing's taken its place' since. Moennig added that the show provided its audience with a more nuanced understanding of the lesbian experience, one that went beyond the butch-femme binary. 'It restructured what the lesbian community was perceived to be, and it gave a full portrait of these characters' lives, instead of just their sexuality being their sole identity marker or their coming out stories,' she said. Even as an out lesbian, Hailey said, she, too, was being educated about the community at the time. 'I had never met a group of lesbians like the ones we were playing … I was simultaneously learning that we could be more than what I thought we could be. It kind of broke me wide open,' Hailey said. 'The audience and we on the show were having the same experience, just from different sides.' During its six-season run, 'The L Word' touched on topics and storylines that were unfamiliar to many, if not most, viewers. These included same-sex parenting, gender transitions and closeted service members and athletes. Viewers were also introduced to the interconnectedness of the lesbian dating scene in Los Angeles through 'the chart.' The chart became such a phenomenon that the show's creator decided to spin it off into its own advertiser-supported lesbian social network, The New York Times reported in 2006. In 'So Gay for You,' Hailey revealed that the chart stemmed from a 'real diagram drawn in the writers room to illustrate the trope that all lesbians in a certain geographical area have — or probably will — sleep together.' In addition to the show's highlights, Hailey and Moennig also addressed some of the criticisms the series faced over the years. 'It was a sign of the times that we were in. The show was never out originally to hurt anyone's feelings or disparage anyone. It was just what one knew at the time, so it's a time capsule in that way,' Moennig said. In the memoir, Hailey looks back at 'Lisa the Lesbian Man,' a character Alice dated in the first season. Lisa, who was assigned male at birth and identified as a lesbian, was based on a real person, Hailey revealed. But looking back, Hailey said, some of those scenes with Lisa 'fill me with shame.' 'Lisa wasn't confused about her identity, but this tight — and otherwise progressive — friend group was. Lisa was misunderstood and repeatedly thrown under the bus in service of 'comedy,'' she wrote. 'I loved that my character had a relationship with her, but I wish I could go back in time and do Lisa justice.' Moennig and Hailey said filming 'The L Word' was both enjoyable and intense and, at times, downright unhinged. A member of the crew, they said, even referred to the set as 'gay camp,' which was particularly fitting since Moennig, Hailey and co-star Mia Kirschner, who played Jenny, all lived together at one point while working on the show. 'We would have the time of our lives one night and the next find ourselves in the throes of an emotionally charged, melodramatic argument that would put a sixteenth-century opera to shame,' Hailey wrote. It was around this time, she added, that Kirschner gave Hailey and Moennig their long-time nickname: Pants. 'You're like a pair of pants — you can't have one leg without the other,' Hailey recalled Kirschner telling them. End of an era After six seasons, 'The L Word' series finale aired in March 2009. It was the end of an era for the show's dedicated fans and for its stars. Moennig compared it to 'diving into an ice bath.' 'We just lived in this utopic gay bubble of creativity, and we come out of it thinking that the world has progressed along with us simultaneously to realize, 'Oh, it actually hasn't,'' she said. However, their friendship and their queer 'found family' continued to sustain them as they acclimated to their post-'The L Word' lives. The duo said they found community in their L.A. softball team, The Buzzsox, and formed a bit of a lesbian clubhouse at Hailey's home in the San Fernando Valley, where they had an open-door policy for their friends. 'My friends are my lifeline, and I also think when you're queer, you just relate to each other in a different way, because you understand the ups and downs of what we all go through all the time,' Hailey said. 'I would call Kate in the worst of times and the best of times.' Moennig said she and Hailey share a 'common spoken language.' 'I just get to be,' she said of their two-decade friendship. 'We get to move through life without having to explain ourselves all the time, and there's something really comforting about that.' Since the series wrapped 16 years ago, Hailey and Moennig have also kept busy with professional projects. The duo reprised their roles in 'The L Word: Generation Q,' which ran from 2019 to 2023, and they started their own podcast, 'PANTS With Kate and Leisha,' in 2020. Hailey also toured with her indie-pop band, Uh Huh Her, while Moennig starred in the police procedural 'Ray Donovan.' Now, with 'So Gay for You,' the longtime friends can add 'author' to their lengthy resumes.
Daily Mirror
05-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Daily Mirror
Top Gun legend turn back on fame after devastating attacks
Kelly McGillis was one of the most iconic stars of the 80s, but after her role in Top Gun she walked away from the film industry after a series of devastating attacks and personal struggles The 80s hit film Top Gun rocketed many of its stars to fame, including the flight instructor character Charlie, played by Kelly McGillis, who quickly ascended to become one of Tinseltown's most sought-after actresses. Fast-forward three decades, and a life marred by personal tragedies paints a starkly different picture. Born into the well-heeled surrounds of Newport Beach, California, Kelly McGillis' transition to New York City to chase her acting aspirations was marked by harrowing episodes. In what should have been an enchanting second year at the elite Julliard School, she faced the terror of a mugging at gunpoint. Undeterred, though, McGillis pressed on with her ambition. Yet 1982 brought a grimmer chapter, only four years ahead of her acclaim in Top Gun; her own residence became the setting of a nightmare when intruders forced their way in and subjected her to a knife-point rape. It was the alarm raised by a neighbour that brought police sirens to the scene, precipitating the burglars' escape and their eventual capture, the principal assailant receiving a sentence of three years behind bars, reports the Mirror US. In an intimate recount to People Magazine in 1988, she shared visceral memories of the assault: "I'll never forget the way they smelled. Like alcohol and old one watched, the taller one got on top of me and held the knife to my right the other one got on top of me. They kept switching and telling me they were going to beat me until I was dead." Living with a woman during that period, McGillis interpreted the attack as a divine "punishment" for her sexual orientation. Despite facing a harrowing ordeal, McGillis continued to chase her acting dream and landed a major role in 1985 alongside Harrison Ford in Witness. In 1988, she played a prosecutor in The Accused opposite Jodie Foster, a part which she hoped would help her process her own past traumas. By 1989, McGillis had married yacht salesman Fred Tillman and was confronting her sexuality while relationship strains surfaced. They had two daughters, but their family life took a hit when Tillman was caught soliciting sex from an undercover policewoman posing as a prostitute. Seeking respite from New York's glare, the pair relocated to Florida and set up a bar called Kelly's. During this period, McGillis formed a bond with bartender Melanie Leis. Leis who was openly gay later said: "We were partners in crime and were both drinking and abusing drugs." After finalising her divorce from Tillman in 2002, McGillis left Tinseltown behind to co-parent with Leis in rural Pennsylvania, then moved back to New Jersey where she undertook a new role as a rehab counsellor. Returning to her acting roots in 2008 with a part in the lesbian-themed TV show The L Word, McGillis publicly came out the following year. In a candid chat with she declared: "I'm done with the man thing. "Life is a journey and it's about growing and changing and coming to terms with who and what you are and loving who and what you are." In 2016, she endured another harrowing experience when an intruder broke into her North Carolina residence. When the casting for "Top Gun: Maverick" came around in 2022, McGillis was not selected to return to the iconic series, which she believes might be due to her refusal to undergo plastic surgery or revert her hair to its famous blonde hue – a claim director Joseph Kosinski has refuted. Speaking candidly to ET at age 62, McGillis offered a blunt perspective on the expectations of Hollywood, stating: "I'm old, and I'm fat and I look age-appropriate for what my age is. And that is not what that whole scene is about. I'd much rather feel absolutely secure in my skin and my age than place any value in all that other stuff."
