Queerly, Games Workshop
Somewhere around aged 7 or 8 I picked up my first Skaven, a short ratman with a penchant for poisoning people. I got bit by the Games Workshop (GW) bug pretty hard, and for the next ten years I collected, painted, played and enjoyed the hobby. To the point where I ran the Warhammer 40,000 club at school and my already geeky profile got reinforced. My hometown did not have a GW store, so every time I went on holiday or to the town a twenty-minute train ride over going into one always felt like hallowed ground. Rows of models with histories and notoriety, books filled with lands and peoples far beyond my own, and a somewhat community within which could almost find my place.
I was never a big gamer, more concerned with collecting and converting the models than fighting battles. Over time my focus was on creating stories in my head, and having armies that fit my own ideas of what GW’s lore was. This was my hobby, and I personalised it to a great degree. Of course, being a teenage know-it-all I had long debates about space marines and Warhammer, probably wearing the under-paid store staff out ad nauseum.
Then university. In a Lancashire town-cum-city I trekked up from bonny Kent, an adventure waiting to happen, part hobbit tale, part raggedy arse jump on the first ship that sails from the harbour. It was also my first year of transitioning, and I was awkward in ways that I only see in hindsight. My gender was not something that bothered me, I was who I was; yet by continuing my hobby it put me in a place that at the time stuck out from the other geeks. It was only empathic friends who told me about the whispers and comments, as I never heard anything. Indeed, one of my most surreal personal encounters happened when the store manager came back to my place for coffee — we lay on my bed chatting, and while nothing happened it was a moment of acceptance that stuck with me.
For all the weirdness and comments, the hobby allowed me to have a sense of community for a while, as I made friends and grew into my womanhood. Yet, GW itself was still very much in the throws of being a male dominated company and hobby-space. It showed through in its miniatures, its magazines, indeed its whole ethos. There were no regular women, as unlike male grunts women were cast as sexy sirens, big breasted warrior nuns, and generally overly sexualised for the male gaze. There certainly was no queerness, and to even think the hobby could have anything outside of the Chaos god Slaanesh (Google them to see the imagery and writing) as matter-of-fact queerness was not something that crossed anyone’s minds.
Over time my ardour for collecting waned, yet my love of the lore and GW remained. After a decidedly unfortunate series of events in 2014 I applied to work at GW in Nottingham, and they took a chance on me. Having a fixed term contract was both a blessing, as it got my foot in the door, and a road block, as it meant if I wanted to stay I would have to apply for more roles internally. Hand on heart I loved my time at GW and having nothing but good things to say about the organization. I was there during the cusp between the old lore and new, when the oil tanker was starting its turn. However, I probably was not the right fit, as emotionally I was going through a bad period, and it showed up in my work. I made wonderful friends, who have their own stories to tell, and by the time I left I had worked in online, their magazine, the warehouse, and on a few projects. Having seen the best of GW, not securing a permanent job broke a piece of me.
The day I left was the last time I picked up a paintbrush, and for four years my love of the hobby ebbed away. To the point that when I moved into a new apartment, I gave away all of my collection, tools, and paints. Like an addict finally relinquishing their habit, I let it all go. Part of me was glad, as my new apartment had no room, yet giving something up that for most of my life had provided solace wrenched at my core. My relationship with GW was, and is, complicated.
This adult version of me looks at the hobby with fresh eyes, seeing GW as the business it is. The lore is rich, and to the this day I still believe that the writers and sculptors have created this amazing setting that anyone can explore. However, it also lacks a quintessence that the rest of my creative passions have; namely, there is little to no queerness, and women are still side-lined to ever overly sexualised nymphs or supporting characters. Yet, GW has gone some way over the last decade to have more women as central characters, and yes, it is a hobby focused on war and death. As a queer woman I yearn to see better representation, to show that while there is only war the hobby I was so engrossed in can bring representation to the fore because queer people love the hobby as well.
Maybe this the halcyon dreamscape filled with skulls and Nuln Oil I want to play in, but surely the far future and fantasy worlds have a place for queer people and their bad-assery? Surely there is a place for queer folk to fight and die in emperors names, just as capable and feisty as the straight folk? Of course, not everyone agrees that war and slaughter are the right place to bring queerness into, for love has no place in foxholes. Try telling that to Spartans, war poets, and Jean D’Arc.
Wargames at their intrinsic core are plastic miniatures brought to life by players coming together in a common hobby. If a gamer can see themselves in the models they collect, be it a space marine, ork, or fantastical knight then they engage better and have a better experience. They also spend more money on the hobby and tell all their mates about it. My passion started with skaven and, having got back into the hobby in 2020, is currently focused on a gender queer character leading her own army. If GW cannot queer my hobby, then I will do it for me.
Ultimately, Games Workshop have captured my heart and passions in a way few companies have. I have a connection to the hobby that transcends the miniatures and writing, stretching back to callow youth within which my personal crucible was forged. Adult me has shed the rose-tinted glasses, and would dearly love GW to embrace wider archetypes, queerness, and kick arse women within its formal cannon. Until then, I remain queerly Gamers Workshop.
