As Pride Month draws to a close, conversations around LGBTQ+ representation in television are once again heating up—and not everyone in the industry is feeling optimistic about where things are headed next.

Actor, writer, and comedian Joel Kim Booster is the latest voice calling attention to what he sees as a troubling pattern in Hollywood’s response to recent queer storytelling successes. The 2x Emmy nominee has raised concerns that, despite the popularity of recent LGBTQ+ series, studios may be taking entirely the wrong lessons from their breakout hits.

His comments come in the wake of the growing cultural impact of Heated Rivalry, the Crave and HBO Max hockey romance series based on Rachel Reid’s Game Changer novels. The show, which centers on a decades-spanning secret relationship between two rival professional hockey players, quickly became a fan phenomenon and helped push queer romance into mainstream streaming conversations in a way few shows have managed before.

But according to Booster, instead of encouraging more queer-led storytelling, Hollywood appears to be doubling down on the surface-level elements.

“There are now six hockey shows in development, none of them gay,” Booster told The Provincetown Independent. “And it’s like, guys, I think it wasn’t the hockey that was the big issue.”

His frustration points to a wider industry trend that has been quietly building over the past year. Following the success of Heated Rivalry, multiple studios have greenlit or fast-tracked hockey-themed projects, including adaptations of popular romance novels and original sports dramas. Among them is Prime Video’s Off Campus, based on Elle Kennedy’s bestselling college hockey series, and Netflix’s upcoming adaptation of Icebreaker by Hannah Grace.

While both projects have generated significant online buzz, neither centers queer relationships in the same way Heated Rivalry does, a distinction that fans and critics alike have been quick to point out.

Booster’s remarks highlight a recurring issue in entertainment cycles: when a specific project succeeds, studios often replicate its most visible aesthetic elements rather than the underlying reason it resonated with audiences in the first place.

In the case of Heated Rivalry, many viewers and critics credit its success not simply to its sports backdrop, but to its emotional depth, its unapologetically queer storytelling, and its willingness to center intimacy between its two male leads without filtering it through subtext or hesitation.

That distinction, Booster suggests, is exactly what is being missed.

The conversation around representation comes at a time when the entertainment industry is facing increased scrutiny over diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives. Booster also pointed to broader political and cultural pressures influencing creative decisions, particularly in the United States.

“People are really frightened and risk-averse right now because of this administration and what we’ve seen in the way of censorship or retaliation,” he said, referencing the wider impact of anti-DEI sentiment on media production and development.

While studios have publicly committed to inclusivity in recent years, many creatives argue that the momentum has slowed—or, in some cases, reversed—behind the scenes. Projects featuring LGBTQ+ leads still exist, but they are often framed as exceptions rather than part of a sustained shift in storytelling priorities.

The concern, for many industry observers, is not just about visibility, but about authenticity.

When queer narratives are included, they are sometimes placed in genres or settings that mirror successful mainstream formulas without fully embracing the perspectives that made earlier projects resonate with audiences. In this case, the explosion of hockey romance adaptations has sparked debate about whether studios are prioritizing marketable aesthetics over meaningful representation.

The issue is particularly sensitive in light of recent industry data.

In November, GLAAD released its 20th annual Where We Are on TV report, which tracks LGBTQ+ representation across scripted television. The findings revealed that nearly 41% of LGBTQ characters would not be returning to television due to cancellations, series endings, or limited-run formats.

The report underscored what advocates have been warning about for years: progress in representation is often fragile, dependent on individual hits rather than structural commitment.

Against that backdrop, Heated Rivalry has become something of a cultural touchstone. Its success demonstrated that queer-led stories—particularly those that center romance and intimacy—can attract large, passionate audiences when given proper platform support.

The show’s upcoming second season, expected to begin filming in August after showrunner Jacob Tierney completes the scripts, is already one of the most anticipated returns in streaming television. Fans have been closely following updates, with expectations that the series will continue adapting Rachel Reid’s Game Changers novels while expanding the emotional and narrative stakes of its central relationship.

Meanwhile, Off Campus and Icebreaker are both moving forward with their own adaptations, albeit in very different tonal directions. While they share thematic DNA in the form of sports romance and high-intensity relationships, neither has positioned itself as a direct continuation of the queer narrative momentum sparked by Heated Rivalry.

That contrast has fueled online discussions among fans, many of whom see a disconnect between audience demand and industry output. On social media, viewers frequently point out that while queer romance has proven commercially viable, studios often treat it as a niche rather than a core storytelling category.

Booster’s comments tap directly into that frustration, suggesting that Hollywood’s instinct is often to replicate surface trends rather than invest in the deeper storytelling shifts that audiences are responding to.

Part of what made Heated Rivalry resonate so strongly, according to critics and fans, is its refusal to treat its central relationship as secondary to the genre framework. The hockey setting is not the story—it is simply the backdrop. The emotional arc between its protagonists is what drives the narrative forward.

That distinction, Booster implies, is what studios risk overlooking when they rush to develop similar projects without the same thematic focus.

As Pride Month comes to a close, the conversation around representation feels especially urgent. While visibility has increased in recent years, the sustainability of that progress remains uncertain.

For Booster and others advocating for more meaningful inclusion, the goal is not simply to see more queer characters on screen, but to ensure that those characters exist at the center of stories—not just as symbolic additions to pre-existing formulas.

Whether Hollywood will take that message on board remains to be seen.

For now, the industry continues to move forward with its slate of hockey romances, high-profile adaptations, and genre-driven projects. But as audiences become more vocal about what they want—and what they feel is missing—the pressure to evolve beyond surface-level replication is only likely to grow.

And in that space between what is being made and what is being asked for, the conversation about representation is far from over.